Page 73 of Stricken

I snort. "Your ego knows no bounds."

"Part of my charm." He winks.

The words flow easily between us. It would be so simple to let my guard down, to pretend we're just two friends or lovers on a joyride. But the weight of my gun against my ribs is a constant reminder of reality. I question my decision again. Do I need to be doing this without getting anything out of it?

"You know," Nico muses, interrupting my thoughts, "with the haul we're about to get from Salvatore, we could actually do it. Vanish. Set ourselves up for life."

I grip the steering wheel tighter, possibilities swirling in my mind like smoke. "And what would Uncle dearest say about that?"

Nico's face darkens. "Fuck him. I'm tired of living under his thumb."

"Aren't we all?" I murmur, thinking of my own father's iron fist. Even now, when he's gone, his shadows still haunt him from time to time.

For a second, I let myself imagine it—Nico and I, free from our families' bloody legacies. But the fantasy crumbles as quickly as it forms. There's no escaping who we are, what we've done. There's just moving forward, not running away.

The remainder of the drive is filled with the soft hum of the engine. We are both lost in thought and quiet.

Soon, the familiar set of buildings loom on the horizon, hulking shapes rising against the night sky as we get closer. My pulse quickens—an insistent drumbeat at my temple, each thud echoing through my chest like a warning bell tolling. I force myself to draw in air slowly, to steady the storm inside. A hundred percent focus is crucial.

I ease the Audi behind dense desert bushes where it's camouflaged by shadow and foliage—a safe harbor hidden from prying eyes.

I turn off the engine and glance at Nico. His hand reaches over to cover mine and we sit like this for a second, just breathing.

"Ready to raise some hell,caro?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

I nod, pushing down the conflicting emotions roiling in my gut. "Let's do this, Romeo."

And then we climb out of the vehicle and head over to meet the rest of my crew.

As Nico and I approach the warehouse, a devious whisper slithers through my mind. It would be so easy to take advantage of Nico now, to seize this opportunity and eliminate a rival. My father's voice, cold and calculating, urges me to strike.

But then Nico turns to me, his blue eyes catching the moonlight, and it's like I'm struck with a realization he's the one before he even speaks.

"You know, Hot Shot, I'm glad you're here." His lips quirk up. That stupid heart-stopping cocky smirk. "Surprisingly, there's no one I trust more to have my back."

His words are a cruel, unexpected punch to the gut, warm and devastating. I see my mother's gentle smile, hear her soft voice telling me to be kind, to be better than my father. For years, I've buried that part of myself under layers of ruthlessness and ambition. But now, looking at Nico, I feel that buried shard of humanity stirring.

"We need to be smart about this," I say, pushing away the unnecessary thoughts and emotions. "Hector confirmed that the front gate's too risky. Too much noise, too many eyes. Someone may hear us trying to break in. Or we can get caught on the security camera from the business next door."

Nico's all business now. "What's your play?"

"Side door. We put down the guards. Go in quiet, get the merch out by hand. Last thing we need is some nosy neighbor calling the cops."

"Agreed. And Vlad?" Nico's voice drops low. "No unnecessary bloodshed."

I meet his gaze, seeing my own reluctance to cross that line mirrored in his eyes. "My guys can make it happen. We get what we came for, we get out. Clean and quiet."

As we finalize our strategy, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. For the first time in years, I'm not just my father's son, not just a cold-blooded killer. I'm choosing a different path, even if it's just for tonight. Even if we're committing a crime.

The Hellhounds move like shadows, chloroform-soaked rags at the ready. Ivan's skills motherfucking shine here.

Four guards. Four swift takedowns.

Bodies slump to the ground, one after another. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

I'm at Nico's side, our movements fluid, practiced. He catches my eye, an eerie smile playing on his lips. We're good together. Too good.

"Tie them up," I whisper an order. "And get those vans closer. Now."

---