Page 110 of Heritage of Fire

Fat raindrops flood the windshield as we follow the GPS to a discreet restaurant in an upscale part of the city. From what we understand, the large buildings surrounding this specific restaurant are home to several of the Eight.

Steady rain pours around us, and the back parking area is dark and dank when we finally emerge from our vehicles. Even though there are no guards back here, we maintain position around each of the vehicles, waiting for Luka and Salvatore’s go ahead.

My fingers twitch along my AK, drumming in time with the patter of rain. Luka’s voice in my ear is quiet.

“We’re almost in position,” he says. He and Salvatore, along with a small team of security, are at the park across the street. Far enough away from the gunfire, but close enough to still lead their teams.

“On my go in three, two, one,go.”

Crouched low, I motion forward with two fingers and begin moving methodically through the rain. Two Cosa Nostra men flank the door while one of my men cuts the bolt along the side.

This building is old, and the greenish metal door is riddled with rust spots. We pull, slow and steady. The door grinds open, and we take our first EV guard by surprise as he rounds the corner.

He’s scrolling on his phone when he sees us. The cigarette in his mouth falls to the floor as he pulls his weapon, but he isn’t fast enough. Matteo takes him down, the loud bang of gunfire echoing in the steel kitchen.

The stainless-steel surfaces are tarnished with rust and grime. Large counters line the space, and pots and pans hang from the ceiling. The layers of paint on the walls are peeling to reveal oak paneling. I can hardly believethisis where they chose to have their meeting.

We move, picking up our pace now that our presence has been announced. In lines of four, we clear the kitchen. Almost immediately we hit another two guards, they both raise their weapons getting a couple shots off. I duck, then aim for their legs, taking both men down. A member of the Cosa Nostra ends them. Shouts from nearby swirl around us. We move toward the sound.

“Let’s move, let’s move!” I yell, picking up my stride. We push down a hallway and Igor kicks in a pair of oak doors. Inside the room, shots explode from several of the Eight’s security, and we take cover behind a bar to the left. Several men are ducking under tables. Sweat beads down my forehead, and I blink away the sting as it trickles into my eyes.

A body drops next to me just outside the protection of the bar. One of Matteo’s men groans in agony as he clutches his shoulder. Blood seeps through his fingers, staining his uniformdark red, and I yell out for cover as I snag him under his arms. As soon as I drag him behind the bar, I press a towel to his shoulder.

“Stay down!” I shift on my knees, prepared to advance. A forceful grip on my arm pulls me back.

“Please,” the man begs. “Tell my wife?—”

More blood from his wound pools around us, and I shove the last of the bar towels at him. “You’ll be okay, man. Keep pressure on it.”

But the towels soak through in seconds, and the idea this is a surface shoulder shot is quickly fading. It’s too close to his chest.

“Tell my wife I love her.” The man clings to my arm, forgoing the pressure on his chest. “I always tell her before I leave for work, and I didn’t today. Please.”

I shake my head, sweat stinging my eyes as it travels into them. Shit—how could I have done that to Luna? I told her I love her in a damnnote. I should’ve said it to her face. Should’ve told her she’s my everything, and that I don’t want to live life without her. I wanted her safe and happy. But I need?—

“Please,” the man pleads again. I’m drawn back to the present moment as more gunfire erupts around me.

“Yeah, man. I’ll tell her. But hold on,fightfor her.”

Fight for her. Fight for her.

Those words echo in my head as I pop up, scanning the chaos. Members of the Eight are armed and fighting back. Three are down, unmoving. Senator Hope meets my eyes, and I charge. He aims his gun at me, but I drop, rolling forward then springing back up again. Luka wants him alive. And I won’t deny Pakhan the revenge he deserves.

Reaching Hope, I drive the butt of my gun into his head. He staggers back, then scrambles to right himself. When he struggles to lift his weapon, I make my move. Trying not to slip on the blood spilled on the floor, I grab his arms and twist them behind his back.

I pull Senator Hope to the side behind a booth. Pain lances through my elbow when I shove it in his face, rendering him unconscious, and I grab my zip ties to bind his arms. When Hope is secure, I look around for Mr. Rose.

A moment later, I spot him, gun raised and firing off shots as he moves to an emergency exit.

“In pursuit!” I yell to my men and take off after him. I follow Rose through a side door that dumps us into the narrow alley between the restaurant and neighboring building. Instantly, the smell of rank trash invades my nose. I take a deep breath and hold it, trying not to lose my stomach. Sirens scream in the distance over the sprinkling of rain, and I know we don’t have much time.

Halfway down the alley, Rose spins back toward me and raises his gun. I jump behind the dumpster to reload my weapon.

“Ah, Mr. Balakin!” he shouts before firing a shot that hits the front of the trash bin. “So good of you to lead the charge. Don’t think I haven’t missed that little puppet of yours.”

My knuckles tighten around my gun, torn between wanting to end this pathetic little shit and desiring a lengthy interrogation with him.

“Four minutes,” Luka’s voice sounds in my earpiece. “Four minutes until law enforcement arrives.”

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