Page 30 of Wicked Union

I read once that kings allow their troops to go into battle and lead from behind. In doing so, they protect the monarchy and ensure their people have a leader if the battle fails. I'm not that king. I march with determination into the front of the theater followed by my nearly fifty men who are armed and ready to defend me and themselves.

We barely get past the ticket counter when I hear shouting and doors slamming. I’m not sure what sort of an operation they have going in here, but it reeks of chemicals. It's dark too, like they purposefully keep the lights off so people will think the building is empty or abandoned. So with guns drawn, we move toward the shouting. If Alexsander Uhkov wants a war, I'll bring one to him.

"There." I point with the tip of my gun down a side hallway leading who knows where, and a few men head that direction. A few of my guys move to the right toward a closed door, while others clear the bathrooms. I continue to move to the main theater doors, and Tony opens one to me.

We take them by surprise. They scramble when the doors are thrown open. I have my gun out ready to fire, but I take in whatI'm looking at first. A grow room full of varying forms of plants. Hydroponics have been constructed, large solar lamps—the Russians have craftily discovered a way around my roadblocks for their drug rings, which means the stench in the lobby is downdraft from their cooking room, probably upstairs.

"Show's over!" I shout, and the first rounds ring out. My men rush in, flanking me on the right and left. We stoop behind old metal theater seating that hasn't been removed and aim toward the large area down front where the chairs were torn up and Alexsander's men built their grow room.

The sound is deafening, at least forty guns discharging rapidly. It's adrenaline-inducing. My pulse races as I creep forward row by row, pushing closer to their plants where I can see more clearly what I'm dealing with. I watch men fall to the left and right. One of mine goes down, and there's little I can do to save him. I rise and fire, then duck and wait. It draws the ire of the enemy my way, allowing my men to advance.

Our mission is simple—to destroy as many Russians as we can without losing any of our men. So we're already partially failing, but I can't just kill them. I have to hurt their organization too. They took out three of our women, which means a decrease in cash flow from their hooking. It's only fair that they limp if we're limping.

"The plants!" I order, and my men know what I mean. Three of them charge forward and begin destroying the grow operation. I lay cover fire for them, buying them enough time to destroy over half the plants, until one of them gets hit in the hip. He goes down, and the others drop with him, hiding behind one of the tables.

"You're going down, Ramiro," I hear from somewhere, and then I smell smoke.

The gunshots don't let up, either. More bullets hail from everywhere. It's so loud I can't tell where until something strikes my arm and I scream in pain. I'm shot, from someone behind me. I cower between the rows of seats to assess how bad it is, but I can still move my arm for now, so it's not too bad.

"Fucker!" Tony shouts and lets off a blast of rounds. "Got him, Boss." It's time. We'll all be slaughtered here in their home if we don't go soon.

I survey the damage done. At least twenty Russians on the ground, three of our own. While I was assessing my injury, the guys managed to decimate another twenty plants, leaving the Russians with only one fourth of their original operation. It will take them months to recover and grow those plants to size again. I'd say that's a win.

"Move out now!" I order, and I don't have to say it twice.

I'm not sure how many of my men who moved off down that hallway have been hurt, but I'm hoping it's none. We fall back quickly now that our message is sent, and as we do, I know they'll give chase. In fact, I'm aware that they will probably increase their pressure on us now, but I'll be ready.

At the car, I climb in, feeling a bit lightheaded. I'm bleeding harder than I thought I was. I won't die, but I'm gonna need a few days. "Take me home…" I tell Tony, and I let my eyes shut as I hear four car doors slam. Message sent. Now we wait.

23

ARIA

Tito's been gone a while, off to "take control", as he put it before he left. He needs to—take control, that is. His involvement with my family has gotten out of control, and I'm worried about what will happen to my parents. What has happened with Melody is terrifying to me. She's off with family now, where she's safe, but I'm sickened that simply by reason of association with the Ramiro family, she was put at risk. I hate that for her, and I hate that for Tito because it renews my desire to destroy him.

I pace the living room while I wait. My heart is ripping apart with every pass across the white marble floors. One second, I'm certain I will murder the man in his sleep and the next, I'm desperate to feel his arms around me, comforting me in my fear and sadness. First Jasper, now Melody… Tito has to see how this marriage has only brought harm to the Peraltas. He has to see how it's affecting me. If he cared at all, he'd stop, but he either doesn't see, doesn't care, or he is doing it on purpose.

The door clicks open, and I'm there, rushing to tug it wide as the guys squeeze in. Tony and the man they call Vinny are here,Sal following behind. They carry him in with an arm draped over each of their broad shoulders.

"What's wrong?" I ask, breathless. I follow them back into the living room where Sal drapes a thick jacket over Tito's white couch before they drop him there.

Tony tears open the chest of Tito's jacket and shirt, and I see blood. The man continues to tear at the fabric revealing Tito's corded muscles and tattoos until the shirt is in shreds and a painful-looking wound is exposed.

"Fuck… It's just a scrape, man…" Tony shakes his head and examines the injury as I rush to Tito's side.

"What happened! My God," I gasp, crawling onto the couch next to him. I use a scrap of the torn shirt to wipe away the blood that oozes out. He's lost quite a bit by the looks of it, and these assholes are doing nothing.

"What the fuck is it to you, lady?" Tony nods at Tito's liquor cabinet… "The hundred proof," he snaps at Sal, who scurries to get the bottle.

"He's been shot? He needs a hospital." I press the bloody strip of material to the wound to stop the bleeding, but Tony has other ideas.

"Move it, Aria. You're in the way."

He doesn’t own me, and for some stupid fucking reason, I actually care what happens here. Maybe it's because Tito needs to run this family and save mine, or maybe it's because I'm falling in fucking love with this bastard in spite of myself.

"He needs an ambulance," I growl, but Tito groans, and I turn to focus on him.

Tony pushes me out of the way and uncorks the bottle, pouring the powerful alcohol across Tito's arm. Tito screams and opens his eyes, instantly angry until he sees Tony and the vodka that streams down his bicep and drips from his elbow into my lap.

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