Page 37 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“Less efficient ways. Murder is the fastest.” Ennio readjusts on the floor, tucking his legs in even closer and sliding his hands under his thighs to keep warm. “My father always said that sentiment is a dangerous game in the mafia world.”

“Funny that you are so loyal to him. That is a form of sentiment, isn’t it? And it’s the reason you’re bleeding out in this repulsive motel room instead of warm and safe in your bed.”

His eyes widen for a second, like he’s found what I’ve said amusing. Then he controls his expression and meets my gaze. “I suppose you were right before. No matter how we try, sons will never be better than their fathers. In my case, I hope that means I’m stronger than you think. I hope that means I’m going to survive.”

Before I can even formulate a response, Ennio leaps off of the floor, landing on his good leg, and lunges for me.

One of his hands goes for my neck, the other for my wrist, trying to pry the tire iron out of my hand.

Somehow, he slipped out of the ties. While he eased me with idle chatter, he was escaping right before my eyes.

Bad move. Now I have to hurt him.

I lift my arm and bring my elbow down on the crook of his arm. Bone crunches somewhere. Ennio’s arm retracts, letting go of my wrist, and I swing the tire iron at him.

He throws up his arm to protect his face, and I hear the metal make cracking contact with his wrist. Ennio cries out in pain.

He spins away from me and lunges for the door handle. He manages to grab it and rip it open. The door swings wide, letting in the first trickles of dawn light.

I scramble after him, but Ennio is ahead of me—and he’s screaming like a fucking banshee.

As I burst out of the motel room, I see more doors opening up and down the rows.

Fuck.That means witnesses.

I know I’m up shit creek, but there’s no bailing now. Regardless, I’m fucked. And I’d rather be fucked without an eyewitness account of my murdering two guards and kidnapping him.

This can only end one way now.

For a man with a bullet in his knee, Ennio is moving remarkably fast. He’s twenty, thirty yards away from me now. The tire iron is useless.

I drop the tool on the concrete, grab the gun from my waistband, and take aim.

BANG. BANG.

Two shots ring out.

And Ennio D’Onofrio hits the ground. Once he falls, he doesn’t move again.

I hear Arya’s door open behind me, but I’m already racing across the parking lot towards Ennio, unsure if I hope to find him dead or alive.

Turns out he’s well on his way from one to the other. There’s a wound to his neck, blood gurgling out in a pulsing rhythm. His eyes are rolled back in his head. Mouth open. Arms limp.

He’s got a few seconds left to live.

“Fuck,” I growl.

How could everything have gone so wrong? I risked everything to bring Ennio back here, to find some way to right the botched hit. Now, he’s useless to me. Giorgio won’t show his face for his dead son.

And as I turn around and catch sight of Arya’s horrified face standing in the doorway, I know something else: Arya will never forget what happened here.

13

Arya

I feel like I’m almost asleep when I hear the gunshots.

BANG. BANG.

---