Page 2 of Enemy of Ours #1

“He’s going to skin you alive. Piece by piece.

The thing about the mafia is… you do everything for the family.

You took O’Connor’s precious cargo. Like I said, you're a dead man.” I let out a sudden grunt as he swiftly steps into my space and slams my face sideways against the wooden wall with his big, dirty hand.

He raises his blade in a downward swoop, aiming right for my guts.

“What’s going on here?” Ed bursts through the cabin front door just as my left arm comes up, connecting with Mick’s forearm and stopping the blade from sinking into my stomach.

“Leave him alone!” With a sudden, battle-cry-like shout, the little girl darts out from behind me, her speed startling me.

She latches onto Mick’s arm before I can stop her, holding onto him with all her strength like a little spider monkey.

“What the hell!” Mick shouts and wiggles his arm until her feet are dangling off the floor as she opens her mouth with a warrior scream and bites his wrist.

I hear a scuffle near the front cabin door but don’t look; I can’t stop watching her hold onto him with just her teeth.

He swings his right arm again, aiming for her, and I swear my heart stops beating for a second before I spring into action.

I step into his path and stop the knife from striking the girl by throwing my hand up, causing the sharp blade to sink into the palm of my hand.

“Ah!” I bellow, blood squirting from the other side of my hand and down my palm as we grapple for the knife.

With a sickening, slick suction noise, the knife is yanked out of my hand just as a high-pitched scream comes from beside me.

Blinking back the tears and the roaring ringing in my ears, my eyes focus as Mick growls and swipes the blade at her.

I don’t remember moving or the pain in my throbbing hand, but I push her away just as the blade nips her left palm.

She cries at my feet, but at least she’s not seriously hurt.

I scream in rage and run headfirst into Mick’s stomach until he falls backwards in surprise with a humph leaving his mouth.

I hop onto his stomach and just start punching anywhere I can; fury has taken over.

My father once warned me that there's an instinct in us Messina men that takes over when we need to protect ourselves or others.

I guess seeing the blood trailing down the little girl’s wrist was my tipping point. I hardly register the arms around my stomach lifting me as I continue kicking and cursing Mick to hell.

“Romeo. Listen to me, son. You did well. Take some deep breaths. The family has you.” The sound of Father’s voice penetrates through the rampage.

I stop and slump in his arms. The moment he sees I’m done fighting for my life and hers, he loosens his hold.

“Don,” I mumble breathlessly, my chest heaving as I scan his brown eyes and look around the room with a sudden panic. “Is she okay?”

My frantic gaze stops on the tiny figure standing over the body of Mick; she’s holding her injured hand and gives him a swift kick before sensing my eyes on her.

She looks over with big, fat tears in her green eyes and walks over to me.

My father’s men lift Mick off the ground as he groans in pain and shove him to his knees next to his buddy, Ed.

I step around my father and kneel down on the dirty floor while ripping a piece of my sweater from the hem.

I don’t say anything but hold up my uninjured hand for her bleeding one.

She doesn’t cry out when I wrap the fabric around her cut, which will likely leave a ridged scar once healed.

“All better. Thanks for having my back, little one,” I mumble quietly, climbing to my feet. A large shadow of a man’s silhouette shifts behind me. I spin around with my arms out, blocking her from sight again.

“Papa!” she shrieks as she runs out from behind me before I can stop her and admittedly starts wailing the moment she jumps into the arms of none other than Danny O’Connor.

His freckled, pale face erupts in red that matches his deep red hair.

The man is known for his random bursts of anger, a temper that flips like a switch.

I heard from my second cousin twice removed, who heard from a guy in some shady pub, that Danny once cut off a man’s hand and bitch-slapped him across the face with it just for staring at him for too long.

My palms are already sweating just with the thought of making eye contact once he’s done reassuring himself that his daughter is okay.

I’ll have to look into Danny O’Connor’s icy blue eyes and try not to stare too long so I don’t lose a limb.

You don’t mess with the Irish mob unless you're a Messina, the fearless Sicilian mafia that takes no shit from anyone.

I’m a Messina; I’m not supposed to fear the man who holds his kingdom in the palm of his meaty fist, but Danny O’Connor is a fucking terrifying, beefy man, and I’m currently trying not to have a panic attack.

“I owe you one, Emilio,” O’Connor says in a gravelly voice as he squeezes his daughter in his arms.

“No. You owe Romeo,” my father replies with a hint of pride in his voice.

He places a hand on my shoulder to steer me towards Mick and Ed, who are kneeling on the dirty floor while their hands are tied behind their backs with thick rope.

“Today, you showed courage, Romeo. It’s time you became a made man in the family business. ”

I hardly react as Danny O’Connor gruffs in approval and stomps in his heavy boots out the cabin door with his daughter tucked safely in his arms. My focus switches from her watery green eyes to her injured hand held out to me in a goodbye wave.

I wave back before I realize what I’m doing and hiss in sudden pain as a small gun is placed in the palm of my bleeding hand.

“You know what to do, son,” my don commands as he moves to stand behind me while I look back at the two men who messed with the wrong families and thought they would get away with it.

“Questa nostra cosa,” my father whispers as I bring the gun up without hesitation.

I aim at Mick’s forehead dead center as my finger twitches.

“I told you, you were a dead man,” I repeat my warning from earlier, watching Mick’s eyes widen as I pull the trigger back without blinking.

Bang!

My arm jerks back with the kick of the gun, leaving behind a small haze of smoke.

“Questa nostra cosa,” I say calmly before switching my focus to Ed, the family motto that will stick with me forever after this moment, replaying over and over in my head.

This thing of ours.