Page 27 of Hateful Vows
I take the binoculars from him and don’t recognise those guys either. I’d bet everything I own that they’re only mercenaries.
“Let’s advance and take them out.”
I’ve barely finished my sentence when Irina settles on the ground next to me, opening a black bag and starting to assemble something.
“What is she doing?” Tino asks before he whistles in awe. And I’m not far behind.
Because Irina just assembled a fucking sniper rifle in under three minutes.
“That’s fucking impressive,” Tino says and I slap the back of his head.
Irina’s lips purse with contentment. “That’s how you give your wife a compliment, Dante. Learn from Tino.”
The bastard grins. I don’t like this new-found bout of friendship. She should be content with me, not my best friend.
Irina gets into position.
“On your order, boss.”
I growl at the pet-name. My body doesn’t care about the edge of derision in her voice.
Everything about this woman makes me hard but knowing what it takes to become a sharp-shooter, that’s the real turn on. My wife isn’t simply the most venomous creature I know, she’s also the smartest and would probably wipe the floor with my ass if I let her take the advantage. I hope she does.
I nod.
“Keep your phone close by,sposa mia. I’ll call when we’re ready to storm inside.”
She doesn’t look up but takes her phone from her pocket, setting it up next to her, on the parapet of the wall she fixed the weapon on.
I take it as agreement and Tino, his team of five and I make quick work of getting closer to the building entrance.
I ring Irina. “Now.”
The men barely make a sound as they collapse to the floor. The seven of us move as a unit towards the metallic door of the shipyard. Blood spreads underneath one of the guards we pass, a clean shot through the head.
One of Tino’s men opens the door. It’s not locked.
It should be locked.
“I hate this,” one of the men murmurs behind me and I have to agree. This feels like a fucking trap.
Our stealth is a testimony of our years of training as we move into the vast space. Tino’s team clears the corners but there isn’t anything to find. No ship graces the belly of the building. The only visible potential threat is a form in the middle. I can’t make out what it is with the darkness of the space.
We move slowly, but once my eyes are accustomed to the dark, there’s no mistaking the two corpses on the floor, in a puddle of their own crimson blood. They’re face down, next to each other, arranged in a macabre display.
My heart beats in my ears. Everyone I care about is accounted for. So why does a sick feeling spread into my chest and squeeze like a vine?
I turn the first man face up.
Venti’s weathered face greets me, his eyes still open and bloodshot.
The other man next to him is leaner, smaller. “No,” I breathe.
I swallow the bile that threatens to make its way out. The other man’s face is too fucking young.
Matteo Venti. Venti’s oldest son and Francisco’s brother.
“Shit,” Tino exclaims behind me.
