Page 80 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

But this… killing those who hurt the family, this I know.

“I’ll take care of it.”

I deal with other business until it’s time for me to meet Sal at the warehouse.

This section of the city was once Bratva territory, but Marco got it after a violent dispute nearly fifteen years ago.

Another Russian group came in run by Alexi Petrov. He understood that Marco was stronger with La Corona behind him and negotiated a truce that allowed for territory use if he paid tribute.

According to Marco, someone other than Petrov is using the area and they’ve got to go.

I park the SUV in front of the warehouse, and I check my gun. Beside me, Salvatore shifts in his seat, fingers drumming against his thigh.

"You nervous?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Course not. Ready to knock some heads.”

I slide the gun into my shoulder holster and grab my bag from the back seat. I’m a sick mother fucker for looking forward to torturing these assholes. “Let’s go.”

Salvatore nods, his eyes darting to the warehouse entrance. "These Russians think they can move product in our territory without paying tribute. Fucking disrespectful."

The night air is sharp with cold when we exit the vehicle. For a moment, it makes me think of Christmas, which makes me think of Angelica and then Isabella sewing a Christmas dress.

I quickly push those images from my brain.

Roman the family man is gone.

Roman the feared enforcer walks into the warehouse.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the familiar calm settle over me. This part of me, the part that can hurt people without hesitation, is as natural as breathing.

Inside, three men are playing cards at a folding table, surrounded by crates of counterfeit designer goods. They look up as we enter, confusion quickly turning to recognition and fear.

"Gentlemen," I say, tapping the bat against my palm. "Seems we have a problem with your understanding of territorial boundaries."

The oldest one stands, hands raised placatingly. "Mr. Ginetti, there must be misunderstanding. Petrov?—"

I swing the bat in one fluid motion, connecting with his kneecap. The crack echoes through the warehouse, followed by his scream as he collapses.

"No misunderstanding," I say, my voice eerily calm even to my own ears. "Just consequences."

“But Pet?—”

“You’re not only squatters, but you’re liars too. Petrov okayed our visit. Okayed your extermination.” I glance at Sal. “Which do you want?”

Sal’s gaze goes to the largest man in the group, of course. That’s okay. Two for me.

As if they know it, one starts to run. I pull my gun and fire, hitting him square in the head. He drops into a heap.

I sigh. “It’s not as much fun that way.”

What follows is methodical. Precise. I'm very good at my job. By the time I'm finished, the message is clear. No one operates in Calabresi territory without permission and tribute.

“What do we do with them?” Sal says as we look over the results.

“Who do you think they belong to? Petrov said they’re not his.”

“Tiny said one of them was the son of Lienev wanting to take back what Don Calabresi stole.”