<b>98 </b>
When I try to send a text in response, it goes undelivered. The numberes up as ID Blocked. No surprise.
“I’m wondering if we should have brought more men,” he grunts, swerving around a slow–moving minivan. A glimpse at the passenger side mirror reveals the car behind us, matching our speed, following Roger’s every move.
“Between the five of us, if we can’t handle it, then we have bigger problems.”
“What if this is all a way of drawing us out? Whoever is behind this would know I’de on the run.”
“Do you want to take that chance?” He nces away from the road to stare at me for a moment. “We can always <b>call </b>for more backup.”
“By the time they get there, what point would it make?” We’re already halfway there as it is. “I don’t want to wait for them.”
Besides, this doesn’t feel like an attack is imminent. It feels more like the attack has already taken ce<b>, </b>I’m afraid. I don’t want to think about what we might discover when we arrive. Don’t let it be Caterina. Don’t let it be Tatiana. Please, God, I know <b>I </b>haven’t had much use for you in the past, but don’t take out my wrongdoings on them. Don’t take <b>it </b>out on my children<b>, </b>my love.
Instead of calling for backup, Roger hands me his phone. “There’s a contact in there for the warehouse. Call it. We always have guys guarding the doors.” Of course. I’m so fucking beside myself I can’t think straight.
The constriction in my chest only worsens with every ring that goes unanswered. Something is very wrong; I can feel it deep in my bones.
A handful of cars are parked outside the warehouse, and as we roll through the open gate, I recognize a few belonging to the men assigned to guard this warehouse. The others must belong to the guys who work down here.
He parks our car yards away, and we both arm ourselves, the second car full of my guys pulling in behind us. Roger steps out, standing behind his door for cover, gesturing for the men to check out the situation. All I can do is stare at the door leading into the warehouse while my heart pounds hard enough to drown out every other sound. I have to go in there, I can’t wait, but I need to be smart, too. What if Caterina is in there? But what if she isn’t<b>, </b>and she’s left raising a child alone because I walked into a trap? Think smart Gianni.
The men pass our car, their guns drawn<b>, </b>as two of them survey the area while the third steps up to the driver’s side. He looks inside, then back at Roger. A slight shake of his head is all it takes to know he’s dead.
“Fuck it. I’m going in.” Roger calls out to the men to cover our backs while we approach the warehouse. With my Glock drawn, <b>I </b>kick the door open, Roger glued to my side.
There’s a body at my feet, nearly blocking the door from being opened. Blood pools over the floorboards before congealing
around him.
“Son of a bitch,” Roger mutters, whistling for the men to follow us as we head further inside. The lights are on, revealing the grim scene in the warehouse. I count at least six bodies scattered across the floor, blood staining the walls, and the lingering smell of gunpowder in the air as we carefully navigate the aftermath. Some of the men had clearly attempted to draw their weapons<b>, </b>but they were too slow.
But the <b>crate </b>at the center of the room<b>, </b>illuminated by the overhead light, is what truly catches my attention. The pool of blood in front of it seems to have no clear origin<b>, </b>suggesting that a body was moved<i>. </i>My chest tightens, and I <b>can’t </b>shake the feeling that what’s inside will be horrifying. The crate’s lid lies beside it.
I <b>need </b>to know what’s inside. Each step I take brings me closer to confronting the reality of my world–a world where actions Have <b>severe </b>consequences. I’ve spent <b>years </b>fighting for what’s mine and defending it <b>fiercely</b>.
Now<b>, </b><b>I </b><b>face </b><b>the </b>price of that fight.
Holding my breath, I <b>step </b><b>next </b>to <b>the </b><b>open crate</b><b>, </b>forcing myself to look <b>inside</b>. I’ve seen my share of brutality and have been <b>its </b><b>cause</b><b>. </b><b>The </b><b>sight </b>of blood has lost its impact on <b>me</b><b>. </b>
But what I find in <b>the </b><b>crate </b>leaves my <b>mind </b>nk and empty. <b>There’s </b><b>a </b>moment <b>of </b><b>total </b>darkness, where no <b>thoughts </b><b>or </b>
emotions can prate the void.