Page 83 of Cage the Storm
She scrutinizes me, waiting for me to break. To show weakness, but that will never happen. If not for this baby, I would have been by my husband’s side, fighting right along with him.
“Then why do you look so afraid?” Afraid?
“No. Not for him. For them, because he will burn their fucking world down around them.” I know where he’s going. And I don’t care.
My father had Nico tortured. And dragged a blade across my stomach like I wasn’t his flesh and blood. If I weren’t carrying this child, I’d be right there with him, pulling the trigger.
I turn, giving her my back as I walk to the window, knowing it’s dangerous to be so exposed, but I need a moment to gather my thoughts. Several of Nico’s soldiers are standing guard. That should give me some peace of mind, but it has the opposite effect. Knowing Nico has fewer men fighting beside him unsettles me.
Fear suddenly coils tightly inside my chest. Every worst-case scenario is playing through my mind. A repeat of what happened when we were ripped from our home and tortured to near death. The absolute terror I felt at losing Nico and the threat that they would cut my child out of my body. I know how sadistic my father and his men can be, and if he doesn’t come back, I’ll need to raise this baby alone.
And I don’t know how to survive that.
The realization slides in, painfully, carving its way into my heart.
I don’t know where he ends, and I begin anymore.
Somewhere between the gunfire, the blood, the agony, we became something more. Something unbreakable.
I close my eyes, forcing the sting behind them to disappear. He’s coming back. Hehasto.
The truth of it all guts me. If he doesn’t come back, if something happens to him, there won’t be anything left of me: my strength, my determination, and my defiance. Every one of them is a mere illusion.
Without him, I won’t just break. I will shatter.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
NICOLAI
My ribs ache,but it’s nothing compared to the fury flooding my veins. I roll my shoulders, ignoring the pull of torn muscle, and crack my neck. I breathe through the fire curling beneath my skin. My fingers hover over my weapons. Checking, making sure every blade, every magazine, is exactly where it needs to be.
Enzo’s intel was solid. D’Angelo was inside the warehouse, waiting for a call that would never come, the confirmation of my death. He thought he had time. Thought he still had control.
I’ll let him keep believing it, for now.
Our cars sit blocks away, hidden in the alley of an abandoned lot. My men move in silence, slipping through the dark like shadows. Tactical gear as black as midnight, with their weapons at the ready.
Twelve guards surround the warehouse. A precautionary measure since D’Angelo knows I wouldn’t go down without a fight. That I’m not so easy to kill, and he’s most likely waiting for a phone call that will never come. I’m very much alive,stronzo,motherfucker. And I’m coming to get you.
When Mateo signals.
We move.
I step forward, my body a constant reminder of why we’re fucking here. Weakness does not exist in our world, and I’m living proof that the best man will win tonight.
Once we’re all in position, we wait until the snipers are in place. Then, one by one, those guards will be eliminated. A single bullet to the head will end them where they stand, and no one will be the wiser. Then we will infiltrate the abandoned slaughterhouse.
A finger twirl is all it takes before the first sniper takes out his target. Then it’s like watching a game of dominoes as they hit the ground one by one.
The calm that follows is heavier than the bodies now littering the ground. Not a single cry, no warning. Just the ruthless efficiency of death delivered from a distance.
I move forward, the warehouse looming ahead, my men advancing in tandem, ghosts woven into the dark. The scent of gunpowder hovers in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
Enzo steps into the warehouse first, playing his part. I catch a glimpse of D’Angelo pacing by an old wooden bench; phone pressed to his ear.
“Well?” D’Angelo’s voice shudders. “You were supposed to call. Is he dead?”
“Vecchio uomo, you’re impatient.” Old man. Mateo steps into the light behind Enzo. His semi-automatic rifle clutched tightly to his chest, finger at the ready. My lips twitch. Always loved that man’s flair for drama.
