Page 139 of The Best of Us

“No, just me.”

“We’re going to breach with an explosive device,” I warned as Alessandro prepped the doors to be blown off. “Get to the very back. You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Colin hollered as a shot pinged off the container, inches over my shoulder.

“Tango down. Clear again,” Foxtrot One announced over comms.

“Shit,” Hudson cursed. “Two more SUVs just came through security.”

They must’ve called in reinforcements.

“And Izzy texted. We’re three minutes from the police arriving. Shots have been reported.”

No time left. “Blowing the doors now!” I yelled, and then we took cover.

A deafening explosion ripped through the air as metal shrieked and twisted, and the doors blasted off their hinges.

We rushed inside. Through the thick dust, I spotted Colin against the back wall, his arm shielding his face.

“Dad?” He slowly lowered his arm, but he couldn’t see me in the pitch black.

“It’s me.” Holstering my Glock, I knocked up my NVGs and lunged for him. I had to hold him. Confirm that he was real. “We have to go.” I pulled back, but Colin didn’t budge.

“Not without Lennon.” His voice was firm. Determined. “I’m sorry I ran, but they took her. I’m not leaving without her.”

“More boots are en route to us now,” Alessandro called out.

I flipped my night vision back in place. “This was a trap for you,” I told him. “She’s not here.”Hell, she could be in on this.Not that I’d devastate him with that possibility.

“I have to be sure. I can’t lose her,” he pleaded, still not moving.

“I’ll find her,” I promised, gripping his arm to guide him out. “But I have to get you out of here now.”

He finally moved, but the moment we stepped into the alley, gunfire erupted.

I shoved Colin back into the container, shielding him with my body as I scanned for the new sniper.

“Clear,” Hudson snapped over comms. “You’ve got more incoming.”

The SUVs.I swapped my Glock for my rifle, and my brothers lined up beside me, blocking the entrance to the container.

The SEALs slipped back into the shadows, preparing for the next wave.

I held steady, even as a wildfire coursed through my veins with my son trapped behind us in the middle of a war.

Just before I was about to shoot, someone yelled out, “We’re friendlies!”

I hesitated, not ready to believe anything from a voice I didn’t recognize.

“Giuseppe Messina sent us.” He repeated his words in Italian.

“What are we doing?” Alessandro asked me.

I scanned the alley, the shadows shifting as movement cut between stacked containers. “Hold your fire until we get a better look.”

A man stepped forward, hands raised.

“It’s me, Tommaso,” he said, his voice tense. “Don’t fire. We were sent to help get you out of here.” He came closer. “And Giuseppe said to tell you, consider the debt he owes your family paid in return for our assistance.”

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