Page 77 of Dark Mafia Heir

I narrow my eyes, giving the crowd a quick once-over before I tell him, “Go on.”

“We found something. An encrypted phone recording of someone discussing the warehouse on the dock, and there are more recordings with Dante’s name in the mention. We haven’t yet been able to trace the person on the end of the line, but you can guess whose voice we recognized.”

We share a look, and his eyes dart to the man in the night blue suit who is glaring at me from across the room while he talks to his men.

Lorenzo grits his teeth, and tucks his hand into his jacket. “He knows more than we thought—about the attack on the warehouse. About Dante.”

This information hits me like a punch to the gut, and I’m pulling out my gun again.

“Are you sure?” Because if he is, I’m raining hell on that pompous piece of shit, here and now.

He nods once, his jaw set. “You can ask Luca. I know you think my methods are rash or not as organized sometimes, but this time, I swear, Nio, we’ve done the necessary checks.”

I glance across the room, my eyes zeroing in on Salvatore. He’s laughing now, with a woman, his head tipped back as if he doesn’t have a single worry in the world. What he doesn’t know is that he has me to worry about now.

My blood boils, the heat of anger rising to the surface, threatening to spill over.

He's always been good at playing these fucking games, but never like this, like a sneaky crook who’s scared to show his face and get the job done himself.

In the end, I am right, and Dario is wrong.

Salvatore is involved somehow, and that’s all I need to know.

I drain the rest of my drink, the burn of vodka igniting my fury. “Tell one of the men stationed outside to get the car ready,” I say, checking the magazine in my gun. “Vivienne and I will be out in five minutes.”

There’s a familiar psychotic glint in Lorenzo’s eyes when he smiles. “We’re doing it here, aren’t we?”

Standing to my feet, I smile at my wife. “Whatever you do, put your head down, and don’t get up until you hear the sound of my voice. Are we clear?”

“Antonio, what are you?—”

“Down, Vivienne.” Aiming my gun, I signal Lorenzo. “Now.”

Tapping the earpiece in his ear, he barks off in a hot rush of Italian orders, and takes his gun out of his pocket. While he’s talking, I notice Salvatore no longer stands where he should. Not a good sign.

I scan the room, and his men are nowhere to be?—

The air explodes with multiple gunshots and, we can’t see him, but I hear his voice boom in a thunderous echo. “Take them down!”

A woman screams—high-pitched, strangled—as she drops to the floor, hands flying to her face in a desperate, frantic attemptto shield herself from the madness. Another shriek follows, and voices rise in frantic, disjointed screams.

Salvatore’s men surge forward like unleashed hounds, their guns raised high, the metallic glint catching the reflection of lights from the chandeliers.

Lorenzo and I retaliate, but barely have time to duck. Instantly, a dozen of my men flood the hall, and Lorenzo ducks behind a concrete pillar, returning fire with a craziness in his eyes.

I know how this is going to end eventually. More men will end up in a crumpled heap, and people will be caught in the crossfire.

I want to stay, to finish off Salvatore Russo once and for all after getting his confession firsthand, but one glance at the woman in the red dress crouched by the table makes all thoughts of vengeance fly out of the window. The primal need to protect her pushes all other desires and comes first.

“Vivienne!”

She’s frozen for a heartbeat, her eyes wide with terror, as she wraps her arms around her stomach, shielding herself.

Another bullet ricochets off the pillars in the hall near us, and something inside me snaps.

I reach for her, grabbing her arm, and pulling her toward me.

I don’t wait for her to catch up. My grip is tight, almost bruising, as I force her to move, weaving through the chaotic web of people running for their lives.

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