Page 18 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
Why would those two goons run from her building after being inside for five minutes? The answer’s unclear. What is clear is there’s no good reason for them to visit her building on a fucking Saturday morning, and minutes after I left.
I’m almost to her building when everything turns to shit. Bullets ricochet off the pavement by my feet, coming at me from behind. With a glance over my shoulder, I spot my SUV idling diagonally across the street and blocking a white van trying to drive around it. Men in suits swarm the street, using my fucking vehicle for target practice.
No way, motherfuckers.
I spin and fire, hitting two men in the chest.
“Found him,” someone behind me shouts. “He’s here…” I pivot and shoot him in the head, shutting him up permanently.
My body tenses. This is an ambush.
And I fucked up.
Enraged, I start shooting at random. Killing as many men as I can, before I’m overtaken and slammed to the pavement.
A vicious beating ensues, but I give as good as I get. Every dirty trick I learned as a teen I execute with relish. Broken noses. Two fingers jammed into a man’s eye sockets. I even rearrange a stronzo’s balls and dick.
Every man is out for the knockout.
Except one.
Through the curses and flesh hitting flesh, I hear a click, and then through the blood, I stare up at a barrel.
Fucking terrific. This is how I’m going out? Before my goals, my ambitions, my desires are fulfilled? Before I can step out of the great Sebastiano Beneventi’s shadow?
I disobeyed an order by coming here last night. Was it worth it? Her eager smile. My dirty hands all over her. So innocent. So corruptible.
Soover—it had to be.
“Go on,” I taunt. “Shoot.”
“You were supposed to be dead.” He grins.
This is it.
BOOM.
The ground shakes, and a plume of dust fills the sky. The man drops his gun, and it bounces on the sidewalk near my head. I grab it, and then shoot him in the stomach, his expression filled with surprise.
I stare at the plume, trying to make sense of it.
And then, it clicks.
Ah, fuck. Riley.
Men grab me. I’m dragged from the sidewalk into a white van.
I spring to my feet and lunge at the driver as he accelerates.
Something hits the windshield … not something, someone.
Tommaso.
He holds on but loses his grip when the van takes the corner. He slides off the hood and out of sight.
My vision clouds as I’m wrestled to the floor.
It washerbuilding that exploded.
