Page 40 of Dangerous Secrets

I take the sodium cyanide out and fill the end of one dart with it, then use a tranquilizer solution in the second. I will get one shot each, but I’m not worried. I am an ace shot with every dart gun I’ve ever used. The one Rome bought at the sporting goods store will do the trick.

“And I’m there as backup?”

“Yes.” I glance at the building and try to bolster my resolve. “Keep the car running out back in case we need a getaway. I wish you didn’t have to come in at all.”

Turning to look at Rome, I watch him pull his balaclava over his head. It’s the only one-hundred-percent fool-proof way of making sure his face doesn’t get seen. I can lead him past security cameras, but I can’t make sure a stray waiter or manager doesn’t get a glimpse of him.

“Are you ready?” I ask, now feeling my nerves kick in. It’s a healthy feeling to have, knowing you are walking into a lion’s den and all. Having no fear would be stupid—like trying to surf in a hurricane—just death waiting to happen.

“Ready,” he mumbles, holstering his gun. I tuck the darts into the waistband of the jeans I’m wearing—also compliments of Rome this afternoon—and step out of his car. He pulls away slowly. He knows the plan and I know he will stick to it. That’s one thing I can count on, that Roman Gusev will back me up in killing his family’s largest rival. I don’t have to think twice about it. And I know he won’t leave me here to fend for myself. He wants this child as much as he wants me.

My sneakers slosh through puddles as I jog up to the restaurant. A few heads pop up to look at me when I walk in and the bell jingles. I recognize the host right away and he nods at me. “Here to see Mickey?” he asks, and I jerk my chin up. My business is always way above his pay grade, so today is no different. “He’s in the back.”

Eyes nervously scanning the empty dining room, I head to the door to the kitchen. Two waiters watch me walk across the dimly lit room, weaving between tables. I keep my head down because none of Mickey’s business connections ever speak to these low-level schmucks. They probably understand he’s part of the mob, but they’re here to wait tables and get tips. It’s just a quick paycheck with no liability or tie to the darker business dealings.

In the kitchen, I shimmy past a large rolling shelf of dishes steaming hot from the dishwasher. The cook grunts an acknowledgement of my presence but doesn’t so much as glance at me. That’s all the better. The host has seen me and so have two waiters. They will confirm to Soren and the rest of the mob that I am the one who was here, the one who killed Mickey. And when that happens, Soren won’t have a choice but to come after me.

The storage room in this place is large, overly large considering the size of the restaurant, but again, it’s just a front for Mickey’s organization. This back room is easily twice the size of the dining room and the private office in back is like a fucking suite at the Hilton. Security cameras cover almost every angle, leaving one specific blind spot to the back entrance. It allows Mickey to sneak in and out undetected when he does nefarious crimes and needs an alibi.

I hear voices coming from the office, but I head straight to the door, opening it. Rome is there, mask on, ready to move. I let the door swing shut after he enters and he progresses toward the office the way I showed him, hugging the wall like it’s my body. I walk just in sight of the camera and pray that Mickey isn’t watching the feed. If he saw that I opened the door for Rome, he’ll be prepared for me to enter the office. The closer we get though, the more convinced I am that he saw nothing.

“Stay here,” I whisper to Rome, but he knows how this is supposed to go down. He’s only here if I miss and they get physical. He nods his consent and remains just outside the door as I slink in, ready to make my move.

“Ah, Bianca, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Mickey straightens in his seat and tucks his tie beneath his suit coat.

“It’s done.” The jacket I wear is damp from the rain, and I fiddle with the end of the dart gun tucked up my sleeve. It’s a short one, the end of which I feel pressing against the heel of my palm.

“And the proof?” His eyebrows rise in intrigue, but his lips draw to a thin line as he runs a tongue across his teeth beneath them.

“You’ll see on the news.” He sits behind a large table, leaning back. His muscle, a guy I recognize but whose name I don’t know, stands beside him. Just as I thought; he only has one guard today.

So far my plan is working and Mickey doesn’t seem to suspect a thing. I move deeper into the room, folding my hands in front of myself. I grasp my right wrist and feel the tip of the dart gun there hiding away.

“Hmm, interesting, because when I last spoke to Soren, he was certain you weren’t going to pull it off and that he needed to take over.” My blood runs cold at the mention of my brother’s name.

“He was wrong.” I square my shoulders and stiffen my resolve. I’m looking into the eyes of death and they’re staring back at me accusingly. “I did it this morning at the funeral for Alexsi as I promised I would.”

Mickey looks up at his guard and the man reaches for his weapon. I’m made. The only way he could know I’m lying is if Soren’s plan for rehabilitation was Mickey’s idea all along. Without thinking, I drop to a knee while pulling the gun out and a dart from my waistband. The green tip slips into the gun as I bring it to my lips and I manage to send a puff of air down the tube as the man takes aim.

Before he can pull the trigger though, I’m rolling, maneuvering away from the spot to dodge a literal bullet. The gun booms loudly and I say, “Shit!” I missed him. I had to have. I find myself crashing into a chair before pushing myself upward and the door bursts open to reveal Rome with his gun on aim. He pulls the trigger and the man drops, and Mickey is left with his hands raised in surrender.

“Do it,” he barks at me, and I pull the second dart from my hip.

“Now, wait a second, Bianca… We can work this—” But Mickey can’t even finish his sentence as the dart sticks in his neck. He grasps at it, but the release is clean. Even if someone could suck the toxin out, he has only minutes left now. He begins coughing, grasping at his neck and chest.

“It’s over, Mickey… I’m out,” I tell him, moving toward the door. After the gunshot the employees will be coming to see what’s going on. We make it to the back door just as the cook rounds the corner with a shotgun in hand. He fires off a round that blasts the heavy metal door as it closes behind us and we jump into Rome’s car. He races off, tearing the balaclava off his head and glancing down at me.

“Are you okay? Are you hit?”

“I’m fine, Rome, drive.” I sit up and buckle in for the ride. I have no clue where we are going but I assume to his house. The job is done now and my heart is so torn up. I stare off into space not paying attention to where we’re at or what we’re doing. My brothers will come for me and Rome will be forced to defend me. It’s just what will happen.

“You can’t harm them,” I mutter, and he grunts. He knows what I mean. “Not even if they harm me. That’s my condition.”

Rome is silent the rest of the drive. At his place, he opens the car door for me and leads me into his house. It’s smaller than I figured it would be, smaller than it looks from the outside at least. His strong hand rests on my back as he guides me into a bedroom. I’m worn out and emotional. This entire fucking thing has given me a headache, but I still want his arms around me. So when he gets me to strip down to my panties and tucks me into bed, I grasp his hand and ask him to stay.

“Please…” I whisper and he nods. Rome peels off his suit and button-down shirt. Just in his boxers he crawls into bed next to me and curls around me. We lie there for a few minutes in tense silence until I feel a flutter in my stomach. I grip his hand and press his palm against my skin and he kisses the back of my shoulder.

“He’s a strong one.”

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