Page 92 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
Now it’s time to cut out the cancer.
I lock eyes with Declan over my shoulder, one of the higher-ranking Irish guys I’ve been working with. His face is a mask of controlled rage that probably mirrors my own. I count to three on my fingers, then kick in the door like I’m auditioning for a fucking action movie, gun already aimed and ready.
Five targets scatter like roaches when the lights come on. Panicked movement makes them harder to hit.
Harder. Not impossible.
I fire twice in rapid succession, dropping the two closest to the door as I charge inside. Declan and three others flood in behind me, their footsteps echoing mine. More of my guys are coming through the back—I can hear gunfire in short bursts from that direction.
Declan materializes at my side, that ridiculous gold-plated pistol of his glinting under the bar lights as he puts a bullet through the gang leader’s skull. The guy had just popped up from behind the bar, sawed-off shotgun in hand. Unfortunately, he managed to get off a shot that turned one of the Irish soldiers into Swiss cheese. The poor bastard is already dead when he drops to the floor, eyes staring up at nothing.
Men are rushing in from a back room, guns blazing. I duck behind a brick column, bullets pinging off it like angry hornets. The noise is deafening. Through the chaos and shouting, I risk a glance around my cover.
Bodies everywhere.
None of them seem to be my men.
A flash of movement to my left. A tall fucker pointing a gun at my head.
I jerk sideways as he fires. The bullet passes so close I swear I feel it part my hair. A burst of adrenaline rockets through me as I return fire on pure instinct, catching him center mass.
As he crumples to the floor, I retreat behind the column again, my legs suddenly trembling like I’m a goddamn rookie. It’s not my first near-death experience, but it matters so much more now. If I’m gone, who takes care of Paige and our babies? Idoubt she’d let my family step in, and with her brother out of the picture, she’s got no one.
Bile rises in my throat, acidic and bitter. I force it down. I have someone to live for now, someone who makes me want to come home every night. But I can’t let thoughts of her invade this space. The best way to make it back to her is to keep my head in the fucking game.
When I emerge from cover again, an unarmed man is bolting for the exit. I stick out my foot as he passes, sending him sprawling across the floor. Before I can finish him, Declan strides over and puts a bullet in the back of his skull. Thank Christ he slid a good six feet when he landed—I’m not in the mood to scrape brain matter off my shoes.
The shooting stops. In the ringing silence that follows, I take inventory. The only ones left standing are on our side. My own men seem intact, except for Tommy, who’s clutching his bloody hand and swearing creatively. It’ll hurt like a motherfucker, but he’ll live.
“Good work,” Declan says, approaching me with the casual air of a man who didn’t just participate in a massacre. “I’m impressed with how fast you found this place.”
“Once we figured out some of their guys were regular customers at that brothel behind the spa, it was simply a matter of slapping a tracker on their car.”
“I guess these fuckers didn’t get the happy ending they were hoping for.” He shoots me a look, half-wink, half-smirk—he knows it’s tasteless and doesn’t care.
I laugh despite myself, a sharp release of tension that takes the edge off the horror show surrounding us.
An hour later, I’m on the road back to Vegas, putting as much distance between myself and LA as possible. I try calling Paige to let her know I’m coming home, but it goes straight to voicemail. Probably napping. With a belly swollen like she’s smuggling watermelons, I can’t blame her for needing the rest. It must take superhuman energy to carry twins.
Two months until her due date, though the doctor warned they could arrive early. Twins often do.
I’m grounding myself after this—no more traveling until after they’re born. My loyalty to the family is solid, but Paige and those babies need me more right now.
I leave her a message and settle in for the four-hour drive, which drags like a lifetime because I’m desperate to be home.
But when I finally pull into our driveway, the house is empty.
My stomach twists into a cold knot. I call her again, hanging up at the voicemail beep. No point leaving another message. I fire off a text instead:
Where are you? Why aren’t you answering your phone?
Without waiting for a reply, I call Paolo. Paige was supposed to be with Quinn today. I like that she’s made a friend, especially one connected to the family, but if she’s ignoring my calls because of their girl time, we’re going to have a conversation she won’t enjoy.
“Yeah?” Paolo answers, sounding irritated.
“I just got home. Is Paige with you?”
Silence follows, broken only by what sounds like grunts of pain. When Paolo speaks again, his voice has an edge that makes my blood run cold.
