Page 28 of The Mafia Bloodline
Colt dove low, taking cover behind a stack of crates, returning fire with precision. The sound of bullets tore through the air.
Volken met the first Irish head-on. A knife slashed across his chest, but he didn’t even flinch, he caught the man’s wrist mid-swing and twisted until it snapped. The knife clattered to the ground. The next second, Volken buried it in the attacker’s neck.
Blood sprayed across the concrete.
“Volken!” Runa screamed as another man came from the side, swinging a pipe.
He spun, catching the blow on his forearm, then drove his elbow into the man’s face hard enough to send him crashing into the steel wall.
“Stay back!” Volken barked without looking at her. “Don’t move!”
Runa pressed against the wall, heart hammering, watching the chaos unfold. Colt had taken down two more, the echo of gunfire mixing with the wet sounds of violence as Volken tore through the last man standing.
The final Irishman tried to run. Volken caught him by the collar, dragging him backward before slamming him to the ground. His fangs flashed as he leaned over the man’s face.
“Who sent you?” he demanded.
The man’s eyes rolled in panic. “We…we just got word. Said to watch the warehouse. Said that a Dragic would come.”
“Who sent you?” Volken roared.
The man’s mouth opened to speak, but before he could, he convulsed, his body jerking violently as black smoke poured from his lips. The stench of sulphur filled the air.
Runa gasped. “What…what’s happening?”
Colt swore under his breath, kicking the corpse over as it went still. “Demon mark. Someone burned him from the inside out.”
Volken stood slowly, his breathing hard but steady, his eyes still burning faintly silver. He turned, scanning the shadows for any movement before meeting Colt’s gaze.
“Clean this up,” he said quietly, voice edged with barely contained fury. “Burn the bodies. We can’t leave traces.”
Colt nodded once. “On it.”
He crossed the distance to Runa in two strides. Her hands were trembling, her face pale, but her eyes, those wide, honey-coloured eyes met mine with something fierce.
“I told you,” he said softly, cupping her jaw. “This is what’s out there. This is what hunts in the dark.”
She swallowed hard. “And this is what you fight.”
His thumb brushed her cheek, his voice lowering to a growl. “This is what we all fight.”
She nodded slowly, her breath shuddering as the last of the gunfire echoes faded into silence.
“Your name should be Tragic instead of Dragic,” she blurted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her voice trembled only slightly, but the smirk she forced onto her lips covered the quake in her chest.
Volken’s head snapped toward Runa, those pale silver eyes glinting under the dim glow of the warehouse lights. For a second, she thought she’d pushed too far. But then the corner of his mouth twitched, just a fraction before a low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“Tragic?” he echoed, one brow lifting, amusement curling the edges of his mouth. “That’s what you’re going with?”
she shrugged. “It fits. You lot walk around all tall and broody, dressed like death, stabbing people before breakfast. It’s… kind of tragic.”
His chuckle deepened into a quiet, rasping laugh, the kind that came from a man not used to laughing at all. “You’re hiding your fear with jokes again.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Maybe I just think you’re funny.”
“Liar,” he murmured, but there was warmth in the word, not scorn.
Colt was already coordinating cleanup with the other guards, his sharp tone echoing across the warehouse floor. Volken reached out, brushing a smear of blood from my jaw with his thumb. “You’re shaking.”
