Page 23 of Mafia and Scars

Yuri lays down and covers me as I sprint to another container.

More gunfire. Igor curses over comms. “One of ours took a hit, but he’s okay.”

Good. We need every hand right now. I spot a third man circling behind. I fire once. He spins and crumples.

Three down.

I reload behind cover, counting the seconds as I go. “Push forward,” I bark into the comms. “Don’t let them box us in!”

We fan out again. Smoke curls around us like ghosts.

A fourth charges me, screaming like he wants to die. I oblige him. Two shots to the chest. Just to be sure.

The fifth tries to run. Smart, but not smart enough. Yuri drops him with a single shot to the back.

I catch a sixth climbing a stack of crates, trying to get to a better position to take aim from. I take him down mid-movement. He crashes hard, lifeless within a split second.

Only one left.

Silence now. My men hold position. Scanning. Waiting.

Then movement near the edge of the dock. The last one tries to blend with the shadows.

I don’t give warnings. I don’t ask questions.

My bullet finds him.

And just like that, it’s over.

I stand in the smoke, chest rising and falling, the stink of blood and salt thick in the air. I struggle with the sensory overload—but over the years, I learned how to mask and keep a lid on my stress until later when I’m alone and can decompress.

Seven bodies. None of ours. They lie at our feet as the smoke dissipates into the darkness. I bend down over them, shoving up their black sleeves and searching for clues. Nothing. Not on their necks, their backs, their faces. Nothing to tell me who ordered the hit. My eyes narrow a little more.

“Anything?” I ask my men.

“This one has a couple of tattoos. He’s ex-army by the look of it,” Yuri replies.

“This one too,” Igor adds.

I rise from the ground, keeping my weapon in my hand as I step over the dead bodies. Ex-military. Freelancers for hire.

“Get this cleaned up,” I command. “And let Gabriel Santino and the Societa know there was an incident, so we don’t step on their toes.” Peace between us and the Italian mafia is tentative at best, so I’m not about to go make a wrong move with them. “When you’re done, get back to base.”

The men nod and get straight to work.

I slide into the SUV’s driver’s seat. “Call Nikolai,” I growl.

The speakers ring through Bluetooth. “What happened?” Nikolai barks without any greeting.

“Can’t I call to say I have good news?”

“You rarely do, Viktor, especially when it’s almost midnight. What’s wrong.”

I drag a hand down my face. “Someone hit us.”

“How many of our men did we lose?”

“None. Everyone’s accounted for. But we got seven of their guys.”