Page 96 of The Bonventi War
Through my earpiece, I hear confirmations from my men as they get into position. The night is quiet except for the distant sound of a ship's horn.
I press my back against a container, peering around the corner. The warehouse is lit up, shadows moving behind frosted windows. Three black SUVs are parked outside, along with a sleek silver Bentley that must belong to Viktor.
They're early.
"Target vehicles confirmed," I say into my comm. "Four total. I count six men outside."
"Four inside," comes the response from Ares. "Maybe more, so eyes everywhere."
Suddenly, a man gets out of the Bentley. He's dressed in a fancy suit. That's Viktor. I recognize him from the images from the tablet Ares had.
As I watch him walk into the warehouse, my mind shifts to Marco and that horrible night. How close I came to losing him.
My anger goes cold, transforming into something more dangerous—a focused, razor-sharp intent that will not be denied. This isn't about business. This isn't about territory or respect or any of the usual bullshit.
This is about family. About love. About making sure anyone who thinks of touching my family or what's mine learns exactly what that mistake costs.
"On my command," I say, with a hand on my gun.
"Wait. Wait," Ares's voice comes through.
"What?" I ask.
"They're coming out the front, to the pier to inspect an approaching boat. They'll be in the open."
"Are both targets visible?" I ask, waiting.
A few seconds go by.
What the fuck is he doing?
"Yes," Ares finally responds. "Time to send these fuckers to Hades."
The boat docks smoothly. Two men jump out first, scanning the area. One of them is Mikhail Petrov—I recognize him from the photos Ares provided. Tall, blond, with a distinctive scar running from his right eye to his lip.
The others follow, moving toward a cargo container at the end of the pier. They're armed with automatic weapons.
They reach the boat and start talking, pointing to the container.
"Now," I say.
The night erupts in chaos. Silenced gunshots pop from multiple directions. Two men drop immediately, caught in the crossfire. A third raises his weapon but crumples as one of Ares's men takes him down with a clean shot to the head.
Mikhail dives for cover behind the container, returning fire. I signal to one of my guys, and we move forward in a flanking maneuver while Ares's men provide suppressing fire.
A bullet whizzes past my ear. Too close. I duck, steadying myself against a steel crate, then peek around the edge. Viktor and another man are trying to make a break back inside the warehouse. I aim at the other man and fire twice. Both shots find their mark—one in his back, another in his neck as he falls. His body hits the wooden dock with a dull thud.
Only Mikhail and one other man remain on the dock, Viktor disappearing inside. I signal to Ares across the pier, pointing to the far side of the container. He nods, understanding my plan.
"Two behind the container," I order into the comm. "Watch for crossfire. I'm going after Viktor."
We close in from all sides. The henchman hiding with Mikhail tries to make a stand, firing wildly. A bullet catches one of Ares's men in the shoulder. Before he can fire again, three of us put him down, his body jerking as the bullets tear through him.
Just Mikhail is left, but I'll leave Ares to deal with him.
I sprint toward the warehouse, rage burning hotter than the gunfire behind me. This is what I was born for. This is what I am—the weapon of my family, the protector of what I love.
My boots pound against the dock as Ares's voice crackles in my earpiece: "Mikhail's down. Where's Viktor?"
