Page 39 of City Of Thieves
And the man who has zero blood ties to my family gains more control of it.
“Salvatore isnotfamily,” I seethe. “Family is blood.”
“What do you call Dario, then?”
“His son. A fuckingBarone,” I deadpan, because frankly, I’m tired of having this argument.
Heavy tension crackles on the line.
“If there was a way around this, don’t you think I would have found it already?” my father counters sharply. “Ever since your brother’s death, this whole family has been a tilted house of cards. If we don’t show a united front, the whole damn thing will come crashing down around us.”
“Then light a match and burn it.”
I hear that old leather chair in his office creak as he leans back. He wants to admonish me, but he knows traveling down that road will only lead to a dead end.
“Forty-eight hours, Renzo,” he says finally.
If I was on edge before, I’m now a powder keg ready to explode.
I respect my father, but I also don’t take well to threats. To avoid saying anything that can’t be taken back, I end the call quickly.
He’s wrong.
Family is everything.
Being his underboss is my future.
But I can’t do right by either with this question mark hanging over my head. It feels too much like treachery to my brother, the man who most of New Jersey believes I murdered to secure a seat of power.
There’s only one way I can clear my name and make this right.
In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be one step closer to unmasking his killer in an auction house one mile from here.
In forty-eight, I’ll return home and claim my throne.
* * *
Fear has a unique smell.It’s contradictory and off beat. Like a hundred dirty pennies soaking in sweet molasses. It hits you one way, then knocks you the other. That’s how I know something’s wrong the moment I walk toward my hotel suite.
I smell it.
That sweet, coppery odor.
The hallway is flooded with it, so I draw my gun, release the safety, then press my back against the wall between our two suite doors. I listen for movement on either side, but all is quiet… Until a muffled scream seeps out from underneath the one to my left.
Tatiana’s room.
Stealth is no longer a concern. Driving my foot into the door, the blunt force of my kick splinters the wood from its hinges. As the remains scatter in all directions, I storm into her room with my gun aimed high and my finger on the trigger.
It takes a fraction of a second to register what I’m seeing, but in my head, it’s hours. The pressure in my chest returns, but this time it doesn’t just squeeze, it detonates.
Tatiana is lying on the floor next to the bed, her arms curled protectively around her stomach. Looming above her, an ugly fuck of a man covered in tattoos is fisting her hair while driving the steel toe of his boot into her ribcage.
“Fucking,suka.” Drawing his gun, he spits on her groaning body before swinging the barrel toward me.
The edges of my vision darken, and all I see is Nero’s lifeless body tangled with Tatiana’s screams. Everything moves in slow motion, my restraint snapping as more darkness rolls in… That’s when the unforgiving black walls go up, and there’s nothing left but empty rage. I’m not in control anymore. Whatever lives inside here is a killing machine.
I feel myself lunge at him, the impact knocking the gun out of his hand. The lamp goes crashing to the floor as we both hit the nightstand, flipping it over and landing beside it. I wrap my fingers around the Glock in my hand, and then I strike.
