Page 13 of Savage Enemy

Young Thug moved his hand to his gun.

“Her name is Valentina Moscatelli,” he said.

“Yes, well, my fiancée’s name is Valerie Salera. The two girls might have some similarities, but they’re not the same. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy. I have real business to tend to.”

The first order of business would be getting the truth out of that beautiful, lying mouth upstairs.

Young Thug white-knuckled his weapon.

“We’re not leaving without that traitorous bitch,” he spat.

I made a calculated move, stepping close enough to be on him before he could pull his gun on me.

“My Valerie is not your Valentina,” I snarled. “End of discussion. Now get the fuck off my property.”

He sneered. He looked forward to the challenge. And if he ever called the mother of my son a bitch again, he would get his match. I would gut the little bastard with my bare hands.

“Get the fuck out of my city, Moscatelli, now, before all hell rains down on your family.”

Then I gave them the disrespect they deserved, the kind that would trigger them. I turned my back.

A blood-curdling scream echoed through the house.

My muscles tensed. I had maybe half a second to react.

The younger Moscatelli had more balls than I’d given him credit for, and his brother didn’t have the control he should’ve had. The little thug pulled his weapon and aimed it at my back.

Bruce reacted first, always the first, always the fastest, tackling me to the ground, prepared to take a bullet meant for me.

Acidic bitterness hit the back of my throat as I lunged back onto my feet and bolted across the floor for cover.

Tony followed on my heels.

More gunshots cracked through the house.

As we crouched behind the grand piano, I took a gun from Tony’s second holster, and together we returned fire.

“Just give us our fucking sister,” the young thug yelled from behind the sofa. “Then I won’t have to fucking kill you.”

“Let’s go,” I shouted. “You came into my house making demands, you fucking arrogant little prick. You think I would let that stand? Do you know who the fuck I am?”

“Some rich dick playing at being a killer? I bet you have your men do all your dirty work.”

I bared my teeth in a malicious grin.

Tony shook his head, warning me to stay put. He knew I wouldn’t hesitate to get my hands dirty.

When I had first taken over the family, I hated it, but these days the violence excited me. An acquired taste I’d developed, intensified by my line of work.

“Just give us the girl, Vignali,” Marco Moscatelli yelled from behind one end of a bookcase, “and we’ll leave.”

“That option went out the fucking window when you opened fire in my home, Moscatelli.”

I squeezed off three more rounds, and the resulting bout of swearing told me I’d hit the mouthy, tattooed bastard.

“This doesn’t have to get any messier,” Moscatelli called out. “We only want what’s rightfully ours, same as you would.”

“My girl is not your fucking sister,” I yelled.

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