Page 13 of Sinful Mafia Prince

He and Chef crouched there, holding their breath to not make a sound, and waited for the smoker to cross their path. Dom figured the best shot he had here was to come from behind, and that was where he performed best.

His adrenaline pumped through his veins as he watched and waited, and when the dumb fucker walked right by, Dom moved to strike. Stealthy as a tiger he stalked his prey, and just when the moment was right, he pounced.

Dom clamped a hand down over the man’s mouth and put a gun to his temple. “You should’ve killed me in the parking garage, asshole.”

One shot later, the man fell limp and Dom dragged him behind the hedge. “Strip him.”

Chef screwed his nose up as he took in the tattered jeans and raggedy shirt. “Are you sure?”

Dom eyed his friend, then looked back to check on what the other two “guards” were up to. Thanks to the suppressed gun, they were none the wiser to their buddy’s misfortune, but Dom wasn’t sure they would’ve put two and two together anyway. They’d probably think it was fireworks.

Dom spotted his next victim coming their way, and couldn’t help but think how grateful he was that cell phones were such addictive little devices. For example, this idiot had an AK-47 strapped to his shoulder, but he was so invested in what he was reading on his phone that—pop—he didn’t even hear the bullet that hit him between the eyes.

Unfortunate, really. For him, anyway.

As he pitched forward to the ground, Dom raced out, grabbed him around the shoulders and hauled him back to their hiding spot. He and Chef made quick work of the clothes, guns, and…vices the two men had been packing, and when they were suited up and ready to go, they slipped out from behind the hedges.

Careful to play their part, they mimicked the other men’s moves as they meandered back to where the last of their obstacles sat. Honestly, Dom might have to send Fiore a thank-you letter for hiring such incompetent imbeciles. He’d thought the spotlights and guards were going to make this difficult, but so far this had been a walk in the park.

As they approached their final target, Dom, who was imitating the smoking man, moved around their lazy companion, who was thumbing through a porno that looked about three years old and just as worn.Disgusting fucking Fiores.

Chef, who was a couple steps behind, had his phone out pretending to be invested in whatever bullshit text fest had been taking place earlier, and luckily for them, the slug in the chair was riveted by two enormous titties.

Dom was tempted to say something, give the asshole a second to realize those were the final set of breasts he’d ever see, but in the end he decided even that was too nice for a Fiore. He took the shot through the back of the guy’s head without a second thought, and what do you know, the fucker ended upkissinghis final set of breasts too.

“Perfect,” Chef said as he moved in behind the guy and pulled the chair free of the patio table. As he dumped their deadweight off to the side in one of the garden beds where he wouldn’t be detected, Dom glanced up at the windows of the second floor.

It was handy that they were so well lit, but at the same time, he was starting to wonder how in the hell they would work out where—

“This one,” Chef whispered, and picked the chair up to move around the side of the house. They kept close to the brick façade, out of camera range, and when Dom stopped beside his friend and looked up, he saw bars on the window.

Chef whipped out his hacksaw and grinned. “I told you this would come in handy.”

Dom looked to the window, the brick wall, then the downspout. “Are you about to tell me you have a ladder in the back of your pants too? Because otherwise, I’m not impressed.”

“Oh, so you like ’em big and long, huh?”

Dom arched a brow. “Really? Now is the time for jokes?”

“No, now is the time that I climb up there using this.” Chef pulled out some rope and pointed to the downspout.

“You’re kidding, right?” Dom looked at the pipe again. Narrow, old, and flimsy. He had serious doubts whether that thing would hold his weight.

“Nope. Trust me. I’ve scaled much worse than this to get my prize. I’ll go up, cut through the bars, you keep watch.”

“Who’s the boss of this operation?”

“I mean, if you think you’re faster with a saw than I am…” Dom narrowed his eyes, and Chef’s lips twitched. “Don’t worry, Prince Charming. I’ll let you save him from the tower.”

“Fuck off and get up there.”

Chef chuckled as he went to work scaling the wall, making the impossible seem possible, and Dom stood guard. In the dead of night, the push and pull of the saw through the metal sounded like nails on a chalkboard. But with Chef being the expert he was with the tool, he tossed bar after bar to the garden in no time.

Once he was back on the ground, he turned to Dom and pulled a flat file from his pants pocket. Jesus, the guy was a walking toolbox.

“The window is glued or nailed shut. You’re going to need to wedge this under the frame and—”

“Yeah, I got it.” Dom took the file and looked up the wall and pipe. “I’m more worried about getting up there.”

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