Page 119
Story: King of Power
A knock at my door. “He’s agreed,” Seb announces. “Eight o’clock, just like you said.”
I don’t turn around. “How many men?”
“Our spotters counted six vehicles leaving the Costa compound. Figure twelve to fifteen guys, tops.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “Amateur.”
Because that’s exactly what Alessandro is—an amateur playing at being Nicolo. It’s shocking that Marcus has allowed him so much leeway. That’s why he’ll pay the ultimate price for not controlling Alessandro.
“Teams in position?” I ask, finally turning to face my brother.
Seb nods. “Eli’s got the west entrance covered. Micah’s handling east. I’ve got men on every floor and the roof. No one gets in or out without us knowing.”
“Good.” I straighten my tie, check that my gun sits snug in its shoulder holster. “And the other thing?”
“Got eyes on the warehouse district. If they’re holding Leo there, we’ll know soon enough.”
Everything’s falling into place. Now comes the hard part—waiting.
I force myself to sit behind my desk, to project an air of calm control as the minutes tick by. Inside, though, my blood sings with anticipation. This is what I’m good at. What I was trained for during all those years under Nicolo’s wing.
The art of the kill.
At precisely eight o’clock,Eli’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “Target approaching. Four SUVs, heavily tinted. Coming up the west side. The other two are around front.”
“Let them through,” I order. “Pat them down thoroughly, but don’t spook them. Yet.”
I count the seconds as reports filter in. Twelve men total, all armed but surrendering their weapons at the door as expected. Alessandro in the middle of the pack, wearing an expensive suit that can’t quite hide the fact that he’s sweating.
Good. Let him sweat.
“Send him up,” I tell Eli once the security check is complete. “Two guards max. The rest stay in the main room.”
A few minutes later, footsteps approach. A knock, then Micah’s voice. “They’re here.”
I take a deep breath, settle deeper into a chair. When I speak, my voice is perfectly steady. “Send them in.”
The door opens, and Alessandro Costa steps into my domain. He’s trying for confidence, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes dart around the room looking for threats.
You should be nervous. I gesture for him to sit.You just walked into your own execution.
“Drink?” I offer, already standing to pour two drinks from the clean bottle. I’ll earn his trust, make him think everything is fine before I go in for the kill. “It’s a special occasion, after all.”
Alessandro licks his lips, eyes fixed on the amber liquid. “What’s the occasion?”
I smile, letting just a hint of teeth show. “The beginning of the end, old friend. The beginning of the end.”
The crystal tumbler scrapes against the polished wood as I slide it toward him. Then I take a sip from my own glass. By this time tomorrow, Eve will have her nephew back. And I’ll have one less enemy to worry about.
Sometimes, love means getting your hands dirty.
Alessandro takes a tentative sip, then relaxes slightly as the smooth whiskey hits his tongue. “Excellent choice. You have good taste, Ezekiel.”
I lean back in my chair, studying him over the rim of my glass. Everything about him screams old money—from his perfectly tailored suit to his manicured nails. But there’s something desperate in his eyes now, something unhinged since Gio’s death.
“Let’s cut the pleasantries,” I say. “Where’s the boy?”
He has the audacity to look confused. “Boy? What boy?”
I don’t turn around. “How many men?”
“Our spotters counted six vehicles leaving the Costa compound. Figure twelve to fifteen guys, tops.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “Amateur.”
Because that’s exactly what Alessandro is—an amateur playing at being Nicolo. It’s shocking that Marcus has allowed him so much leeway. That’s why he’ll pay the ultimate price for not controlling Alessandro.
“Teams in position?” I ask, finally turning to face my brother.
Seb nods. “Eli’s got the west entrance covered. Micah’s handling east. I’ve got men on every floor and the roof. No one gets in or out without us knowing.”
“Good.” I straighten my tie, check that my gun sits snug in its shoulder holster. “And the other thing?”
“Got eyes on the warehouse district. If they’re holding Leo there, we’ll know soon enough.”
Everything’s falling into place. Now comes the hard part—waiting.
I force myself to sit behind my desk, to project an air of calm control as the minutes tick by. Inside, though, my blood sings with anticipation. This is what I’m good at. What I was trained for during all those years under Nicolo’s wing.
The art of the kill.
At precisely eight o’clock,Eli’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “Target approaching. Four SUVs, heavily tinted. Coming up the west side. The other two are around front.”
“Let them through,” I order. “Pat them down thoroughly, but don’t spook them. Yet.”
I count the seconds as reports filter in. Twelve men total, all armed but surrendering their weapons at the door as expected. Alessandro in the middle of the pack, wearing an expensive suit that can’t quite hide the fact that he’s sweating.
Good. Let him sweat.
“Send him up,” I tell Eli once the security check is complete. “Two guards max. The rest stay in the main room.”
A few minutes later, footsteps approach. A knock, then Micah’s voice. “They’re here.”
I take a deep breath, settle deeper into a chair. When I speak, my voice is perfectly steady. “Send them in.”
The door opens, and Alessandro Costa steps into my domain. He’s trying for confidence, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes dart around the room looking for threats.
You should be nervous. I gesture for him to sit.You just walked into your own execution.
“Drink?” I offer, already standing to pour two drinks from the clean bottle. I’ll earn his trust, make him think everything is fine before I go in for the kill. “It’s a special occasion, after all.”
Alessandro licks his lips, eyes fixed on the amber liquid. “What’s the occasion?”
I smile, letting just a hint of teeth show. “The beginning of the end, old friend. The beginning of the end.”
The crystal tumbler scrapes against the polished wood as I slide it toward him. Then I take a sip from my own glass. By this time tomorrow, Eve will have her nephew back. And I’ll have one less enemy to worry about.
Sometimes, love means getting your hands dirty.
Alessandro takes a tentative sip, then relaxes slightly as the smooth whiskey hits his tongue. “Excellent choice. You have good taste, Ezekiel.”
I lean back in my chair, studying him over the rim of my glass. Everything about him screams old money—from his perfectly tailored suit to his manicured nails. But there’s something desperate in his eyes now, something unhinged since Gio’s death.
“Let’s cut the pleasantries,” I say. “Where’s the boy?”
He has the audacity to look confused. “Boy? What boy?”
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