Page 4 of Dangerous King
"Run," I yell at the girl, and push her toward the ten-foot wall surrounding Giovanni's property as the dogs home in on us.
The fucker dared to take my sister. Does he think I'm stupid? That I wouldn't find out who was behind this? Rage wars with worry. Izzy. My baby sister. Why would he take her? Izzy would never even harm a fly.
To get to you, my fingers pull at the knot of my tie. I need to loosen it, the veins on my neck are swelling with anger, and I'm slowly suffocating myself.
"We got her location, boss," Silvano, my Consigliere and best friend, announces, holding up his phone.
Thank fuck I insisted on all of us being injected with trackers. Having access to all the best and newest technology is one of the many perks of dealing arms. That's what our family does. My father is the capo of the Sartori family, one of the five familiesof the Cosa Nostra here in New York City, and we're in charge of arms trafficking and gambling.
"Let's go." I pull my gun from my waistband, making sure it's locked and loaded, which it always is. The Staccato is a thing of beauty—matte black slide, skeletonized trigger, built-in compensator that keeps her flat no matter how fast I run her. Her custom grip fits my palm like a second skin. She's fast, flawless, and unforgiving—just the way I like my weapons.
As much as I burn to get to my sister, I know Giovanni Giordano's property is a fortress. Like… well, not like mine. Nobody has a fortress like mine. But it's more secure than your average Joe's compound: steel-reinforced gates, thermal sensors, guards who shoot first and bury the questions later. Getting in will take precision, planning, and superior firepower. Luckily, I have all three. My family doesn't just run guns—we design them, test them, bleed them into the black market before most governments know they exist.
I've got prototype rounds that punch through concrete and leave no trace. Suppressed SMGs tuned to a whisper. Drones that see body heat through ten inches of steel.
But getting Izzy out alive? That's not about firepower. That's finesse. Timing. Knowing when to pull the trigger and when to hold the line. I'm not taking any chances. Not with her. Because if they touch a hair on her head, there won't be a war.
There'll be a reckoning.
We leave the house and stride toward the dark line of waiting vehicles. Ten SUVs, all flanking the centerpiece: my custom-built, military-grade Hummer. Matte black, armored, reinforcedsuspension, bulletproof glass, and a V8 engine that sounds like war. It's the only one I trust when I'm riding into hell.
Each SUV is packed with seven of my best men. Soldiers handpicked for their loyalty, their instincts, and their ability to get the job done without needing to be told twice.
Silvano's already moving toward the passenger side of my Hummer, about to climb in, when my brother, Dante, steps forward. "Enrico?—"
"Don't," I say, holding his stare as I keep walking, knowing what he wants.
He plants himself in front of Silvano anyway. "Let me go with you."
I stop, setting my jaw tight, my boots grinding to a halt on the driveway. I shake my head once, firm and final. "You stay here."
His eyes narrow. "Why?"
"Because someone needs to hold the line," I reply darkly. "If this goes sideways, if I don't come back, we can't risk the house falling. There might be retaliation."
He hesitates, just enough to tell me he understands precisely what I'm asking.
"You're not just my brother," I add, voice low. "You're my contingency."
It's not a question, and it's not up for debate. But he wouldn't be Dante if his face didn't flash with anger, tight and dangerous. Of my three brothers, Dante burns the hottest. Once he's lit, the only way to defuse him is with blood—lots of it. The streets remember his rages. So do the morgues.
People say he's unhinged, but they're wrong. He'sprotective, especially of our baby sister.
Izzy is the only girl in our family. We sheltered her as well as we could, kept her untouched by the dirt the rest of us wade through. But now she's in Giovanni's hands, and I worry it'll break her. She's strong in spirit, but she's never had to face real monsters before. I can't wait to run my knife through that bastard.
Dante lowers his head until our foreheads touch, his breath hot and ragged with rage. "Make him pay," he growls.
"You know I will," I promise. Blood will flow tonight. Giovanni's. And anyone else who stands in my way.
"Call Don Edoardo," I say, stepping back. "Fill him in."
"That miserable swine," Dante mutters.
I grunt in agreement. If we had a Capo dei Capi worth a damn, we wouldn't be in this mess. ButDonEdoardo thrives on chaos. He keeps us fractured on purpose, scared someone might take his crown.
Which someone should.
Silvano climbs into the Hummer beside me. Dante grabs his shoulder before the door shuts. "Watch my brother."
