Page 124 of Hot Momosa

“I’ll be careful.” I wouldn’t leave her and Gunnar undefended, but I didn’t have time to argue.

“I want to see him. Dead or alive. I want to spit in his face.”

While I shared the sentiment, she was the mother of my child—a Madonna who’d grown up in luxury, not some street-smart ball-buster. Then again, that asshole Becker had terrorized her for over a year, tried to blow us all to smithereens, and shot her and Enzo.

She has every right to spit on, kick, or flay the guy if she so desires.

“I’ll call you when, and if, it’s safe. Until then, stay here. Marco and the rest of the family should be back soon.”

“Be careful, Leo. It’s hard enough to plan a wedding with one person recovering from a gunshot wound, let alone two.”

“You say the sweetest things. How did I bag such a romantic?”

Dahlia laughed.

I kissed her sweet lips and headed downstairs.

It took less than ten minutes to assemble a team, and another ten to drive to the French Quarter.

The plan was simple. Two of Marco’s men would go through the front door, while I and the remaining three would cross to the rooftop deck from an adjacent building. From there, we’d split up with half going in through the sliding glass door in the living room and the rest through the slider in the master.

For once, I didn’t mind trailing along behind someone else. I’d studied martial arts, was trained in firearms, and could handle myself in bar fights. However, my skill levels were nothing compared to the men who’d accompanied me. They were pros.

Once we were on the rooftop of the building to the left of mine, I crouched beside Stuart. “See anything?”

He lowered his binoculars. “Becker is in a chair a few feet in from the front door.”

Another member of the team relayed the information to the men waiting to enter. After a slight adjustment to the plan, the guy motioned for us to cross the gap between rooftops.

I moved forward, preparing to jump. The space between structures was no big deal, but the childproof railing I’d installed was another matter altogether. I’d need height to clear it.

I’d crouched into a starter’s position when someone, or something, screeched from the building to the right. The shadow of what appeared to be a human windmilling his arms and legs, leaped across the expanse, cleared the railing, and rolled onto my deck.

I’m man enough to admit I had to clench to keep from shitting myself.

“What the hell?” Stuart hit the ground and pulled me down with him.

“I’m pretty sure that was the guy I’m co-parenting the poodles with.”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said, that I don’t know where to begin.” He shook his head.

I moved closer to the edge and used Stuart’s binoculars to get a better look.

Artie-freaking-Guzman, what the heck are you doing?

He popped up and jumped around, punching the air as if he thought he was Rocky training for a boxing match.

I aimed the binoculars at the sliders and swore under my breath. Robert Becker stood with his hands on his hips, watching the idiot dance around.

Artie let out another battle cry and plowed into the door as if he thought it’d shatter.

It didn’t.

He slammed into the glass with a hollow thud that had the entire security team cringing.

Like an old cartoon character, Artie Guzman seemed to hang there, flattened against the door, before slowly sliding down.

The team leader radioed to the men waiting outside the elevator. “He’s distracted. Move.”

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