Page 85 of Filthy Little Games

“We wait until Emilio leaves. If he takes the guards with him, we do what we planned to do tonight.”

“You still want to do this tonight?”

“Yes, tonight!”

“That could be hours from now, boss.”

“Yes, Aldo, it could be. So, have a seat, get comfortable. We’re not leaving unless it’s with that little girl.”

Tristan finally tells us that Emilio has exited the building with his guards a little after ten. I assumed the girl would be asleep by now and was wondering if he was going to stay overnight. That definitely would’ve fucked everything up.

Once we confirm that all his cars have pulled away, we wait another thirty minutes for Emilio to get out of Manhattan before putting our plan into action.

Stun gun baton out and by my side, I pull the brim of my Yankees hat down over my eyes and lead the way down the stairs back to the sixth floor.

“Ready?” I turn to ask Aldo at the stairwell door.

“Let’s do this, boss.”

For a long moment, I wonder if I’m about to send this man, my cousins, and myself to an early grave.

But I didn’t force any of them to be here. They could have walked away when I told them what we were doing. And with the Kevlar vests, we’re as protected as we can be. We also have the element of surprise on our side too.

I open the stairwell door and slam my baton into the camera above the lens to bust it, hoping it’s the only one on the floor. Then I walk straight to the apartment. I knock rather than try to sneak in. It’ll look less like a kidnapping if the door isn’t broken down and the lock is still intact. Here’s hoping the guards assume it’s their bossman returning or one of his henchmen and answer without thinking.

The meatheads are too confident. I hear the stride of boots on the other side of the door, then the turn of the lock. They didn’t bother glancing out the peephole. Thank god they’re morons.

As soon as the man opens the door, Aldo is ready. Standing off to the side where he can’t be seen, he reaches around and shoves the stun gun directly into the man’s neck before he can open his mouth and ask what we want.

The guard barely makes a sound as he clutches his throat and stumbles backward. I strike him on the top of his head with the blunt end of the baton, putting him down. Aldo grabs his phone as we move past him.

We run right into the second guard on his way to check on his buddy. He throws up a gargantuan-sized forearm to block my baton coming down toward his face. I shove the weapon into his dick instead, dropping him to his knees. A few hits to his head with the baton have him down and out too.

Only two more to go if there are, in fact, only four.

The interior of the apartment is mostly dark, only two lamps glowing softly next to a sofa. With quiet steps, we cross the living room and wait. I tell Dre and Tristan through the earpiece, “Get up here.”

“On the way,” Dre replies.

As soon as they join us, it’s time to finish this. “We find the other guards, disarm them by stuns or blows only, get their phones, and then you two zip tie their wrists and ankles to take them with us,” I instruct. “Can’t have them telling their boss what happened as soon as we leave.”

“You want them alive?” Dre asks.

“Yes.”

“Why? The dead don’t speak,” Aldo remarks.

“Not that I owe any of you a reason, but I want to question them. Make sure at least one survives. Two would be better.”

“You’ve got it, boss,” Tristan replies, and Dre nods his agreement.

“How do we get them out of the building without the cameras catching us?” Aldo asks.

Taking a play from Zara’s book, I tell them, “Let’s see if they’ll fit down the garbage chute, then fish them out of the compactor.”

“Brilliant,” Tristan chuckles.

“It is,” I agree. “And it was Zara’s idea.”

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