Page 20 of The Don's Forbidden Obsession

It was a lot of pressure.

I didn’t like killing people.

Running businesses? I could do that in my sleep.

But the nitty-gritty? That was the hard part.

I hadn’t struggled as much even when I was an enforcer. Being a capo was easy. I followed orders. The guys were shitbags, and I knew that. They deserved what they had coming.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

Now? Now I knew not all of them deserved it.

Now I knew that sometimes, you have to protect your reputation so other people don’t think you are weak. You have to keep up the image. You have to be a force to be reckoned with.

It was those sorts of killings — and the fact that I was the one to order them — that were starting to destroy every second of sleep.

Those demons haunted me. It caused me to drink myself into oblivion every night lately.

Just as I was about to kick back far enough to steady my feet on the top of the desk and close my eyes for a moment, the whole damn place erupted in gunfire.

At first, I thought my sound machine was busted, but the screaming from the dance floor caused me to leap to my feet and draw the gun I had holstered at my side.

It sounded like a fucking bomb had gone off.

My heart pounded like a jackhammer in my chest as I gripped my piece, ready to defend my turf.

Just as I sprang toward the door, it burst open, and a scattering of bullets sprayed around the room.

Adrenaline took over, and I dove for cover behind my desk, a small gash on my arm. Bullets whizzed and ricocheted off every surface in a monsoon of firepower. Gathering my gumption, I returned fire from my side of the desk, shots echoing through the room as I tried to take down the bastard who was shooting at me.

The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder, and my office sanctuary had become a warzone.

A regular ol’ scene straight out of an action movie.

Glass shattered, bullets zipped, and chaos surrounded me — and from the sounds of it, the people in my club, too.

Adrenaline pumped and fueled my every move.

I ducked and weaved — whatever the hell I had to do to survive the hailstorm of bullets bouncing off the walls and furniture.

I was going to kill the son of a bitch.

Finally, with a tumbling crawl out from behind the desk, I hit my mark and he dropped to the floor.

My ears rang and my heart drummed as I wiped the sweat dripping down my brow and crawled to my feet. I cautiously stepped toward the door, holding my gun at attention, scanning the room and hallway for other threats.

As soon as I stepped out of the office, I was hit with another scene from an action movie. Bullets flew left and right as people dove for cover.

It was chaos.

Pure chaos.

Who the hell just walked in here and decided to turn my place into a fucking shooting range?

My guys aren’t taking this lying down. They're firing back with everything they've got, trying to protect our turf and the innocent patrons screaming bloody murder, running out the doors. My security team was hustling people out through the emergency exits. Some were caught up in the mess, though.

I hopped over the railing of my office and down to the dance floor.

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