Page 12 of Sinful Mafia Prince

“Why do you think it’s in the hidden compartment?”

Dom frowned as he again eyed the goods, trying to decide what would be the easiest and most discreet. Then Chef hit a button on his phone, and the side panels of the trunk opened up to reveal several saws and wicked-looking blades.

“I’ve also got these, if none of the guns suit. The hacksaw’s mine, though. So don’t even think about it.”

Dom grimaced as he looked at the tool under discussion. It had a gold-plated handle and razor-sharp teeth that gleamed. He didn’t even want to think about what that thing had cut through in the past. But as Chef pulled it out of its holder and gripped the handle lovingly, Dom knew his friend would wield it better than he could anyway.

“Not sure we’ll have time to saw off any appendages tonight,” Dom said, tucking one of the guns into the back of his pants before reaching for another.

“Hey, there’s always time for fucking up a Fiore. I was thinking more getting past any window bars. It’s also good for the back of a knee or throat.”

The casual way Chef talked about his pastimes would’ve made most people squeamish, but Dom could only chuckle. Let his friend get his kicks on assholes however he saw fit. Especially if that asshole belonged to the family they were about to take down.

They finished loading themselves up, adding a suppressor to one of the guns, and Chef shut the trunk.“Time to rain hell on these bastards.”

Dom nodded, and they took off through the woods by where they’d parked, far enough away from the Fiore house not to attract notice, but close enough they could get Luca back to the car relatively easily if he was injured.

Just the thought of someone touching Luca had Dom’s blood boiling. He told himself constantly that he didn’t care, but he was proving that to be false right now. Going against his father’s orders…that wasn’t Dom. But he couldn’t leave Luca in the hands of these motherfuckers.

The woods backed up to each of the mansions in the neighborhood the Fiores had chosen to hide away in—a million fucking miles from the city, the cowards. Dom led the way through the woods, staying alert for anyone patrolling the area.

“That’s it,” Chef whispered, pointing to a house lit up like the fucking Fourth of July. Lights blazed in almost every window despite the late hour, and the backyard had what looked like spotlights facing every direction. Nowhere to hide.

“I’m almost flattered they aren’t making this easy,” Dom said as he scanned the house’s exterior, looking for any blind spots.

“Please. They don’t even have a bloodthirsty guard dog or ten. It’s like they’re asking for it.”

Dom counted the cameras he could see mounted along the corners of the roof. “Clocked five cameras. You?”

“Yep, I got five too. Gonna be hard to get in there without causing a ruckus if we shoot ’em out.”

Dom agreed. The second the cameras went down, all hell would break loose. They needed a different way in. He crouched beside Chef and again took in the scene. There might not be any bloodthirsty guard dogs, but there were a few of Fiore’s muscle men guarding the main house—though “guarding it” might be giving them a little too much credit.

One was lounging on one of the patio chairs while another was smoking a cigarette, and the third seemed a lot more interested in his phone than he was in the gun he carried over his shoulder.

Fucking morons.Dom had always said the Fiores’ biggest problem was that they surrounded themselves with minions that were dumb as a box of rocks. But that was what happened when you groomed men you plucked off the street. There was no intelligence to back up the firepower, and if you didn’t get to the gun first—which he was counting on—you were dead.

“The guards,” Dom said, gesturing with a tilt of his head. “They’ll be over here soon enough. We take them out, grab their clothes and weapons, and act the part. When we get to the fool on the patio chair, we can help him relax for good.”

Chef screwed his nose up. “You want me to wear their clothes?”

“You think I’m happy about this either?”

Chef eyed Dom’s designer shirt. “No, but come on, I have so many things to switch out of my pockets. And you know those fuckers don’t bathe.”

Dom didn’t want to think about that right now. All he was focused on was getting inside with his head still on his shoulders. “Just try not to get blood all over them.”

Chef looked at the saw in his hand. “You might be better at that than me.”

Dom looked back to see the men approaching and knew he and Chef needed to get over the fence, and soon, or this little plan of theirs would be shot to shit. He gestured for Chef to go first.

Chef scaled the fence like the professional criminal he was, and as his feet hit the ground with a soft thump, the Fiore poisoning his lungs looked up. Chef froze behind a hedge, and when no other noise came, the idiot went right back to smoking.

No investigating. No readying his weapon. Really, his incompetence was unbelievable—and tonight, for him, it would be deadly.

Dom climbed down the other side of the fence rather than jumping so his landing was soft and undetected. He moved in close beside Chef and watched as the smoking man got closer. Dom immediately recognized the ugly fucker as one of the assholes who had taken Luca.

He was always up for a one-on-one with a Fiore, but to be able to stick it to the prick who’d taken what was his? Revenge was going to be really fucking sweet.

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