Page 84 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

I force myself to leave before I do something stupid like go up to her room and beg her to stay.

I slide into my car, the confusion and vulnerability of moments ago fading as I focus on work.

The engine roars to life, and I peel out of the garage, welcoming the adrenaline of the danger I’m about to walk into.

I replay in my mind the issues we’ve had with Antonio’s assets before. Most have remained in Manhattan.

Whoever is fucking with him has decided to target his warehouse in New Jersey.

Are they making the rounds, wanting to hit Antonio from all sides to show he’s vulnerable everywhere?

Or is it because we have more resources paying attention to Antonio’s business and they thought the New Jersey warehouse would be an easier target?

I pull up to the warehouse and Roman's already there, leaning against his car talking with Frank.

A group of five men, two of mine and three of Antonio's, linger near a loading dock. I count a total of eight men including me, Roman, and Frank.

"What's the situation?" I ask.

"Security system flagged unauthorized entry through the east side," Roman explains, keeping his voice low. "Cameras went dark immediately after. Could be professionals, could be amateurs who got lucky."

I frown. “Why am I here? Surely, your men can check this,” I say to Frank.

“Don Monti asked that I loop you in on all potential issues,” Frank says with a shrug, as if he knows this is probably not something requiring my attention.

“Okay. Well, if anything, it will be good training practice. Frank, take three men and sweep the north section. I want a team checking the offices on the second floor. Roman and I will take the main storage area."

"I was thinking we should check the south loading docks. That's where the high-value merchandise is,” Frank says.

"Fine. Take your three men to check it out. Roman and I will check the storage and my other two will go up to the offices.”

“Sounds good,” Frank says and then nods to his men.

“Stay on comms,” I say as we move out. I draw my gun, checking the magazine more from habit than necessity.

Roman does the same beside me, our movements synchronized from years of working together.

The area is quiet. Almost too quiet. “It feels off, doesn’t it?”

Roman nods almost imperceptibly.

We enter through a side door, moving silently across the concrete floor.

The warehouse is a cavernous space filled with shipping containers and pallets stacked with goods.

We weave our way through various rows. All I hear is the sound of my own breath. I’m about ready to suggest whoever triggered the alarm isn’t here when a shot rings out, hitting a crate just by my left ear.

I dive behind a crate as more bullets pepper the spot where I was standing.

Roman rolls in the opposite direction, returning fire. “Where the fuck is he?”

“How many are there?” I ask as the warehouse erupts into chaos. Shouting, gunfire, pinging of bullets hitting wood, metal, and concrete.

"We're pinned down!" Roman shouts over the comms. "East and west positions!"

I peek around my cover, catching a glimpse of movement on the catwalk above.

I fire twice, hearing a grunt as at least one bullet finds its mark.