Page 85 of His Deadly Lies

With the rest of our men behind us, and Carter leading the bust, we break our way into the warehouse. Adrenaline rushes through me and blocks out everything else, every worry for the future or fear for my own life. There’s only the gun in my hands, and the surprised looks on the faces of the men in front of me.

I point the Magnum pistol at one of them, his arms loaded with a box of goods stamped with the Balestra crest.

Right fucking time. Right fucking place.

I shoot him a wolf’s smile. “Put the box down if you know what’s good for you,” I tell him, clicking the safety off for effect.

The man doesn’t drop the box, but the two behind him do, the wood cracking against the cement with a bang. The sound spurs the others into action, and one of them whips out a gun, firing off a round that goes wide. A handful of shots follow before the Vittorios move into place, and the Balestras follow behind, rounding up a total of fifteen others.

Through it all, the man I have my sights trained on hasn’t moved a muscle.

He looks exactly like the guy we trailed to the motel. Now that I’m getting an up close and personal look, I’m absolutely sure he’s the same one. His hair is much thinner this close, and his face is pockmarked. He glares at me, his nose hooked slightly like a vulture.

“Why are my goods in your warehouse?” I ask.

The high of figuring this out runs through my veins like my own personal drug.

I expect him to lie. I expect to hear all manner of excuses. He slowly drops the box in his hands and sets me with a small smile. “We wanted to get your attention,” he answers at last. “You finally figured it out.”

He speaks with a heavy southern accent that automatically grates on my nerves. Much worse than anything else, probably because it’s unexpected. Not to mention his grubby paws on our goods. The missing boxes from the shipments that have been disappearing from us over the past six months. They’ve all come through here. Probably all have been touched by this man.

“Insulting my intelligence isn’t really endearing,” I reply.

I’m distantly aware of Carter moving into place behind me with his own gun trained on the threats. My arm doesn’t waver.

“We were dispatched to do this…for you. To prove our mettle to you in hopes we’ll be able to work together.” The man gestures to the others we’ve rounded up, who cluster behind him. None of them look like they’re older than thirty, and several of them have probably been tapped straight out of high school.

None of them are familiar, either. Until my gaze snags on a man in the back of the group, and I catch my breath.

The guy from the club. The one who made my martini. My fingers start to tremble.

“Stealing from my family is not the best way to do it,” I reply louder than necessary.

“Neither is drugging my daughter,” Edward chimes in from my left. “There must be consequences for these actions and your stupidity.”

He won’t let this insult stand.

It’s a surprise he hasn’t fired yet.

“Drug her?” The leader of the ragtag wannabes looks ready to argue. “We’d never drug her.”

I stare at the man in the back, who looks so uncomfortable he squirms. “Would you like to try your story again?”

“We shot her driver, and that was as much as we were willing to do. We would never hurt your heir, Mr. Balestra.” He speaks directly to my father. Not to me. “Our employer said it was the best way to learn from you. Honestly.”

“I don’t have time for liars.” Edward cocks his gun and fires off a shot that hits the man in the shoulder rather than the head.

Unfortunately, the tension in the room has reached a shattering point, and all hell breaks loose.

Several of the group behind him react to his wound by drawing out their own weapons.

“Stop! What are you doing? Put your guns down!” The leader lets out a plaintive wail, sprawled on his back and clutching his bleeding shoulder.

Bullets start to fly, and all of a sudden, we’re back in the Wild West.

A bullet whizzes by my head, and I duck, hopefully fast enough not to lose a piece of me with Carter at my side with his hand on my back. His eyes are wide but clear, no hint of anguish on his face. Only clear resolve.

He pushes me down and fires a round. One of the men drops in front of us.

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