Page 47 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

Before me, the dilapidated four-story building towers at a distance from the alley. Between our position and the unfenced compound, there’s a large block of steel container that rests horizontally.Perfect.

I bring two hands to my head and point to the building. The signal is clear to my men, and we move, crouched and with hurried strides until our backs are against the container.

“Unit ten, second floor,” Elio says from where he is crunched beside me, nodding at the four-story building. Then he angles his fingers at another building. “That’s the same drugstore from the pictures.” He gestures to said store two buildings down, with its neon sign barely hanging on by a thread.

It’s safe to say we are closing in on Russo.

I bring my eyes back to the first building and watch that apartment floor for any signs of life. Sure enough, a shadow moves behind the window, the faint glow of a light breaking through the filth-stained glass. I glance at my wristwatch—9:53 p.m. Just like the investigator had noted, Russo is home–probably having dinner.

We have him.

Tensing my back, I turn to my men. “We must capture him tonight. Don’t draw your guns unless it’s absolutely necessary. We can’t mess this up. Russo is a crafty man. Keep your eyes wide open for any possible tricks.”

They nod, their bodies visibly tensing for action. With my three fingers raised, I count down from three, pulling each finger down until I reach one. “Go.”

Instantly, they jump out of the cover and jog toward the entrance. Two of them come to a halt on either side of the door, their shoulders leaning stiffly against the walls. I nod at them, and they push the door open, thankfully with minimal force because it’s unlocked.

Stinky trash that seems to have gathered over a long time greets us as we enter. The hallway is dimly lit and quiet, save for the occasional scamper of rodents. Did no one else live in the building?

“Take the fire exit and the hallway,” I nod at the two men and motion in the opposite direction. “Elio, you’re coming with me. We’ll take the stairs.”

I steady a hand on the waistband of my pants, feeling my gun strapped to my side. I don’t want surprises.

My eyes strain to catch any motion in the dark as we ascend the stairs. The building is noticeably quiet as our feet thud lightly against the cracked floorboard in the hallways.

When we make it to the second floor, I throw my fingers against my nose. The stench of stale alcohol is stronger, and it takes a lot of self-control not to puke my guts out.

“Siamo qui(We’re here),” Elio whispers, lowering himself in a crouch position in order to work the doorknob with a set of lockpicks. It would blow our cover to knock the door down.

There’s a click before I push the door slowly open and enter. My pulse quickens, and I tighten my fist against my gun as I scan the room. The scene before me is not what I expect.

The same smell that hangs on the second floor lingers in his room. I narrow my eyes at a half-eaten pizza on the couch. It seems to still be fresh. But that’s not the only thing. The old box TV flickers in a corner, displaying an old noir film, and adjacent to it, there’s a small table filled with scattered documents.

The space is small. Just a room and a toilet, which Elio is walking to. I grit my teeth and scan the room again, yanking every obstacle as I pace the corners. There’s not much space the bastard can hide, and that can only mean one thing.

Fuck. The food is enough to tell me that Russo was here. Clenching my fist, I stride away from a corner and stop in front of the small table. I’m glancing at the papers, and most of them are empty. The few that don't have random dates scribbled on them.

“Boss, you need to see this,” Elio calls out from the toilet just as I reach to grab one piece of paper.

I hurry towards him, and the anger I’ve been trying to keep at bay rises. Fuck!

Fresh air gusts in from the open window. Gritting my teeth, I brush past Elio and raise myself against the dirty tub. The window looks out the back of the building, and there stand several abandoned structures on a large expanse of land.

Sneaky motherfucker!No wonder he chose this location. Desolate and easy to flee.

“He’s gone, but it seems there wasn’t enough time to clean his trail,” Elio informs. I trace his voice back to the room.

Elio is bent over the table, pulling out a pile of papers that happened to be in a leather briefcase. He probably fetched it from under the table.

His brow furrows as he looks up at me. “Russo’s financial records. He’s been getting payments from someone named Tsvetok Smerti.”

I frown. The name is unfamiliar.

“Does it ring a bell?”

I shake my head. “But it’s Russian.”

“You think he’s working with them?” Elio shuffles between the papers in his hand, his brows furrowing even more as he scans each one. “The name is all over every transaction.”

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