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“Short staffed tonight,” Dion continued.

“Yeah, Molly had her baby and I have a couple out sick. Plus, there’s some big fire going on down Burke Street.”

There was nothing particularly wrong about Randall’s statement, with a single exception,

If Molly had birthed her child, there was no chance for the kid’s survival at only four months.

With Dion laughing, acting as if the man’s statement was normal, he didn’t have a chance to see my expression shift from emotionless to offering a warning.

Gunfire broke out seconds later, loud voices coming from the main room.

Randall dropped as if on cue, the scum hiding under his desk. I wanted nothing more than to put a bullet into the asshole’s brain myself.

But there was no time.

Both Dion and I raced to the office door, my friend and Underboss giving me a nod. With a hard kick of my boot, the door went flying off its cheap hinges.

Another wave of gunfire erupted, this time the aim directed toward the open doorway. We’d worked together so many times that there was no need for directions. As soon as the last of the bullets was shot into the office, we both moved into the middle of the doorway, shooting indiscriminately.

Bodies went down, grunts and moans heard just before the dead men slumped to the cold concrete.

We didn’t stop there, both of us shifting from side to side as we were faced with enemy soldiers popping up from every direction.

When a son of a bitch got too close to Dion, I was the one to put a bullet in the asshole’s head. Dion grinned as he threw a look over his shoulder. Later, he’d tell me that he owed me one.

Hell, the man owed me more than ten, but I wasn’t counting.

We had each other’s backs. In the cruel, calculating world of the Italian Mafioso, it was the one thing I could count on.

Five minutes later, quiet fell onto the warehouse. Other than a couple of cries from the remaining employees who’d taken refuge underneath tables and pieces of equipment.

Gio rushed into the room, sweat beading across his forehead.

“Who the fuck did this?” Dion demanded.

“The fucking Lupini boys.”

Lupini. The name wasn’t a surprise, although the peace shared between the two powerful mafia families had been ongoing for years. But when power, influence, and money were involved, treaties born of evil and bloodshed were only as good as the next dead body dropped on your doorstep.

“Well, fuck,” Dion snarled, immediately heading toward the office. I followed behind him, reaching the chickenshit Randall before he did.

As soon as I jerked the traitorous asshole to his feet, he pissed in his pants. Good. He should be terrified of what we would do to him.

“Who the hell did this?” I growled.

He acted as if he had no clue, his face turning red.

I slammed his back against the wall with enough force to jar the fillings in his teeth.

Randall moaned, already starting to whimper like a kid. Goddamn, there was nothing worse.

“Stop fucking blubbering and talk,” Dion directed.

I was required to give Randall a savage punch in his gut for him to start talking. “I suggest you follow orders if you want to see those three bright kids of yours again.”

“Oh, please. Please don’t hurt them.”

While the three kids were college age, I had no intention of killing children. Not my thing and fortunately an act considered distasteful by the Santorelli syndicate.

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