Page 71 of Vincenzo
Now, where’s the other one?
As if on cue, a tall burly son-of-a-bitch limps into the living room, and there’s no doubt in my mind he’s the one who had that plastic bag wrapped around Amalia’s head.
Red-hot anger courses through my veins like lava about to erupt from a volcano. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it in. Seeing him there, still alive after what he did to my little hellion, has me wanting to storm in there and shoot him right between the eyes.
“Is that him?” Armando grinds out.
“Yep.”
“So what’s the plan?” Armando asks.
I glance at him.
“You found these guys, so you take the lead on this one. I’m just here to assist. I want to see these fuckers go down for what they did to Amalia.”
I give him a nod, then drag my gaze back to the large window. “Follow my lead,” I say, and walk up the steps to the front door.
The pitch-black dark of the night works in our favor. There aren’t any streetlights or house lights except for the dimmed lighting that reflects onto the porch through the large window.
When I get to the door, I open the screen door, which creaks in the process. I glance through the window, and the three men are so enveloped in their own conversation that they don’t even hear it.
Fucking amateurs.
“You’re going to knock?” Armando asks from behind me, surprise in his tone.
I let out a humorous scoff. “Not exactly.”
Sliding out my gun from my holster, I take a step back and bring my leg up. With everything I have in me, I kick the door open and let out a sigh of relief knowing these guys are just as stupid as I had anticipated. They didn’t even bother putting a deadbolt, making it extremely easy to kick the rotting door in.
I step over the threshold and take in the widened eyes and dropped jaws of the men in the room. They immediately hold up their hands when they see I have my gun aimed at them. Too bad for them that doesn’t mean shit to me.
Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, shooting the first one in the thigh, then move my aim to the one sitting next to him and shoot him in the knee cap. Their screams fill the air instantly.
Moving my gun over to the last one—the one who had the bag wrapped around my girl’s head—I aim it at his chest. The sweat shines on his bald head under the fluorescent lighting.
“Miguel,” I say, tilting my head at him.
“W-what do you want?” He slowly walks backward.
“I’d stop moving if I were you,” I say, my voice deadly steady.
He looks between me and the end table next to the couch. If I were to guess, I’d say there’s a gun in that drawer, and with the two distracted idiots struggling on the couch, he thinks he’s going to have to grab it to make it out of here alive.
It’s a dumb fucking idea when there’s still several feet of space between him and the end table and my gun is aimeddirectly at him with my finger pulsing on the trigger, begging to be released.
“I also wouldn’t do that if I were?—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Miguel bolts for the end table, so I take my shot, shooting him right in the ass.
“Fuck!”he cries out, falling to the floor like a heaping pile of fucking shit. “What the hell was that for? You shot me in the ass!”
“I told you to stop moving. See what happens when you don’t fucking listen?”
“What do you want? What the hell did we?—”
Miguel goes quiet when he turns on his side to face me. His eyes widen when he looks over my shoulder. “W-what are you doing here?”
“Evening, Miguel,” Armando says from behind me. “I see you’ve met my new friend here.”
