Page 1 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

ONE

torin

IRISH FARMHOUSE, NEAR DUBLIN, TWELVE YEARS AGO

Gunfire cracks open the night, and smoke, along with the noxious scent of gasoline, hangs heavy in the air.

Adrenaline beats hard as I focus in on my surroundings. Gauging my next move.

A shout in Serbian pierces the tense silence and an answer calls from somewhere near my left.

“ Sve jasno .” All clear.

The guard didn’t see me as I crept into this spot through the shadows of trees and stone fencing.

With the lights casting a rich glow over the dark landscape, I had to make a decision—drive or creep in on foot.

I’m glad I left my car a mile or so back on the off chance someone else found the Federici family before me. Like the Rao mafia, that for reasons I don’t give a shit about, who want them dead.

But these guys aren’t Italian. They’re Serbian, and judging from the heat near the exhaust pipe of the pickup truck close to me, the thugs haven’t been here long.

The Rao mafia hired them to kill the Federici family or hold them captive.

My money’s on the latter. Right now, though, I have my own mission. Take out anyone in the way and get the Federicis the hell out of here.

But first? Time to take care of some trash.

I pull my knife out and duck around the truck and low wall. That’s where I spot the guard who answered seconds ago.

He’s looking in the wrong direction. I leap over the wall, grab him, and smash his face into the stone wall of the outer building.

He staggers. I knock out both of his legs.

He goes down and I pounce, driving my knee into his back.

I grab his thinning hair and tug his head back, pressing my blade against his throat. “How many others are here with you?”

“Fuck you.”

I push harder, breaking the skin with the steel tip, keeping the pressure even as I put more weight on his spine. “ Gobshite , listen. I’m going to ask again. How many?”

“Fuck. You.”

I don’t have time to play twenty fucking questions. So I drag the blade across his throat and shove his face in the mud. After wiping off the knife, I put it away, take his gun, and search him for anything that might give me information.

Nothing.

Not even a phone.

“Fucking Serbs,” I mutter.

It doesn’t matter. I need to take the fuckers out and get that family to safety.

These guns for hire are brutal and without morals, a perfect practice group for my already exceptional marksmanship skills.

Someone in the house screams, the shattering sound scraping along my spine, sharpening my anger, spiking the adrenaline.

If my brother Callahan knew what I did in my off time, if he knew what I’m doing now, he’d fucking kill me.

But we need the money.

And I need the kills.

To shave off some of the anger.

The house is a little farther away. Crossing open space is a risk, but one I’m itching to take. I check my gun, make sure my backup rounds are where I can reach them. Second nature, a tic. And one that could mean death if I forget to look.

Another shot explodes, this time to my right, into the night.

They’re shooting at something, but what?

“Not you, prick,” I say under my breath.

It’s the perfect time to race across the open and jump the bastards.

Something flies through the air. It hits its target and bursts into flames.

These Serb mercenaries are known for burning down the house—literally—when their job is done, but this is bad.

“Burn, fuckers!” An Irish male voice, one I recognize, comes from the right. Donal Quinn. Before I can move, soft arms wrap around me, softer lips crushing against mine. “Torin, you didn’t think I’d let you do this without me, did you?”

I look at my girl, Siobhan. I know who she mixes with, and I don’t want hardcore political homegrown guerillas on this mission. It muddies waters.

“Siobhan, take Donal and get out of here. I told you this is a one-man job.”

“Every man needs a woman, Tor. I want to fight by your side.” Siobhan Quinn presses tits into me as I angle my gun.

Part of me wants to melt into her, take her hard against a wall. With all the danger, it’d be fucking hot sex.

But the other part of me, the killer, is ice.

“I don’t need help, not from the Irish Freedom Fighters, and not you.”

Her eyes flash as more gunfire explodes in the night, as the yells in Serbian get louder and closer.

“Torin, too bad, you need me.” She kisses me hard, her pretty face lighting up with the possibility of violence. Then she steps past me into the light, right as a bullet slams into her.

My girl crashes to the ground.

“Siobhan!” My cry breaks free when she doesn’t move.

Gunfire blasts from the right. But not at Shiv, not at me. It’s between Donal and whoever shot her.

While the shooter’s distracted, I move. I see the fucker. I aim and pull the trigger, shooting him in the throat and then through the skull as he collapses. He goes down hard, and my plan for a stealthy ambush is gone. They’ll be on alert.

More will come running. My window is about to slam shut.

The gunfire increases, farther to the right, where Donal was. There’re no answering shots. Cries rise up and commands fly. I crouch low, aware of the speeding seconds.

Shit. They’re not putting out the fire. They’re throwing things onto it, making it rage.

Shiv moans. My heart clenches as I put a hand on the wound to stop the blood flow.

“Don’t you fucking die, Shiv.”

The world stops, hangs on a thread.

The gunfire changes direction, swinging to where I am.

With a roar I aim my gun, shooting at whoever appears, hitting two men, and ducking a bullet that whizzes by my ear.

I drag Siobhan back behind the wall.

Donal comes running. “Oh God! Shiv! ”

“How many of you came?”

“Just me, her, and Gerry,” Donal says, “who’s with the car.”

She’s too pale and waxy. I grab his hand and press down on the bleeding right side of her chest. “Get her out of here, find a hospital. Now.”

“But—”

“Save her or I’ll fucking kill you myself.” My gaze cuts to him before I look back at Shiv. Her breaths are short and shallow, eyes closed. I don’t know if she’s going to live. I can hear a car engine start, but I can’t stay here with her. I have to move before I lose more ground.

I kiss her. “Hang in there, Shiv.”

With that, I turn and run, using the Serb’s gun this time to shoot out the tires of the truck behind the wall. I streak around toward the front, a wall of dancing yellow flames giving off sheets of intense heat as a pickup speeds toward me, the man in the passenger seat aiming his gun.

I stop, aim, and shoot. Right through the head. And then I shoot the driver, killing him, too.

I kick open the front door where the flames have entered the house, busily eating at the living room. Smoke curls up, choking me hard. I pull my sweater over my nose, shooting two men who are trying to get out the other way.

I see why.

Tied to a chair, feet in a bucket that looks black with blood, instruments of torture scattered around him, is the bruised, bleeding, and very dead Antonio Federici.

I swallow hard.

Fuck.

My fault, my fault. I should’ve been faster, should’ve left Siobhan. She’d have left me… I ?—

An ear-piercing scream rings out on the floor above me. Before I can move, a bullet almost hits me, but I veer and shoot, taking out the assailant. Flames lick up around him.

Don’t let it be the kid; don’t let it be the kid up there who screamed…

I have morals. I have fucking limits.

But whoever screamed hasn’t made a sound again.

So please don’t let it be the fucking kid.

I take the stairs, two at a time as the flames hiss and crackle behind me, the smoke rising fast.

“We need to go,” someone shouts in accented English.

I kick open the first door.

What I see sickens me.

On the bed are two men and a woman. Elira, Antonio’s wife. She’s naked and bleeding. And a man is fucking her hard. He pumps into her, his hand around her throat. Bile rises in my throat when I see her head is at an abnormal angle, her eyes vacant as they stare at the ceiling.

That sick fuck.

The man near her head reaches for his gun and I shoot him in the stomach, then the head. I do the same to the one fucking her. Then I pull the sheet over the woman’s body and race down the stairs, looking for the kid.

Flames climb the walls and I pull my coat close as I search for the kid.

I don’t find a single soul.

I run down the stairs, head outside, and grab the gasoline canister. I’m about to hurl the contents into the inferno when I hear something.

A whimper.

Oh fuck. Is it the kid?

I dive back in through the flames, jerking my head left and right. “Where are you?”

No answer.

“I’ll leave you to burn if you don’t answer.”

Another whimper. Muffled. I jump over the sofa and dart toward a closet that’s covered in flames. Using my thick coat, I turn the scorching metal handle.

Inside is a child, eyes silver and wide, long blond hair in pigtails.

Shit, he’s a girl. I reach for her, and she screams.

“We go, now,” I roar.

I grab her and haul her up in my arms, wrapping my coat around her as we rush out into the night, right as more Serbs show up to finish the job. I dive behind a hedge, holding the kid tight. Shouts reach my ears.

“Make sure every one of them is dead. Search. Now!”

Thank fuck they didn’t see us…

“Listen,” I whisper against the girl’s ear. “We have to move silently or I swear to fucking God—” I stop. “Okay, now.”

I creep through the darkness, keeping the girl tight at my side, not daring to let her go as they search. Occasional shouts hit the air but nobody crosses our path.

“Stay close to the fence,” I whisper, “and me.”

My car’s hidden ahead, but the dancing flashlights in the distance tell me they’re closing in on us.

We’re going to have to run across an open field to reach my hidden car. Then I can hand the girl to Ma, who’ll know what to do.

If we make it.

“Come here.” The kid shrinks back. She’s gotta be what? Ten, maybe? “Come. Here. Harry?” I dig the name from my memory.

I was supposed to be there in time to save them all.

She nods and takes a step closer.

“I need you to hold on to me, Harry, and not let go. ”

Harry looks like I’m the monster and maybe I am. I failed my mission. The images of her mother?—

Fuck.

Not. The. Time.

“Okay.” She latches on.

I pick her up and fucking run.

“Quinn,” I say to the fifth hospital. “It’s Quinn.”

“No one by that name, sorry. If?—”

I hang up. Same fucking story, every fucking time.

I want to throw the phone against the wall of the safe house at the edge of Dublin, frustration cutting into me.

The kid won’t eat the ramen noodles I found in the pantry, and I want to yell at her. She just sits on the bed, sneakers still on, and she won’t let me touch the burn on her arm.

We were lucky we got to the car before they saw us, the explosion at the farmhouse a godsend.

But now, I need word that the Raos think the kid’s dead, too.

I shove a hand through my hair and pick up the bottle of whiskey and guzzle the amber liquid, enough to take the edge off the dread gnawing at me.

In all honesty, I’m not worried about the kid. I put the heel of my hand to my eye.

But where the fuck is Shiv?

Finally, I call Donal. “It’s me.”

“You save them?” he asks, sounding flat, like he’s in shock.

I dismiss the question, already knowing the answer.

“She didn’t make it, Torin.” He talks some more, but I tune him out.

Dead. That’s what her cousin just said. She’s dead.

I wasted precious time. For nothing. Something cold and crushing invades my heart, and the lump that formed in my throat from the news turns hard and grows spikes because it hurts to swallow.

I could have saved the father.

Maybe the mother.

Now they’re all dead.

And I have a fucking kid to get rid of.

I screwed this up. I didn’t complete the mission. I didn’t save the fucking family.

For three years, with Da in jail, I’ve been doing this, running my own side hustle. I’m cold, heartless, ruthless. I do whatever to get the job done.

This time I faltered and tried to save Siobhan instead. And I ended up losing all their lives except this scrap of a kid.

Grief starts to crush, my throat tight like it’s been lassoed with a noose.

“Go to fucking sleep,” I snap at Harry. “Eat, don’t eat. I’ll take care of you in the morning.”

I take the whiskey bottle to the rat-chewed sofa and stretch out, the stench of blood and smoke in my nose. Ignoring it, I pull out a photo of Shiv from my wallet.

She was fucking beautiful. I’d have married her. I know that.

I lie there, drifting to sleep, listening to the creaks and sighs of the building above. Waiting for those asshole thugs to blaze in and shoot the fucking place up, but nothing happens.

I’m almost asleep when a click wakes me, and the first thing I see is the shaking gun in my face. And beyond that, the trembling kid.

The gun, my gun , is pointed right at my heart.

I could snatch it from her. I could tell her to put it the fuck down .

She looks at me like I’m a monster, the devil. Is she wrong?

“Well,” I snarl, “what are you waiting for? Do it.”

Harry jerks back, eyes wide. The gun veers wildly as she pulls the trigger and stumbles at the recoil. A bullet rips into my upper arm.

“Fuck me!”

Harry screams and, with the gun still in her grip, runs.

I stagger off the couch, drunker than I thought. I run after her, up the stairs, through the door, and into the street.

I look around in the early hours of the morning. But the kid, Harry…

Is fucking gone.