“How are you doing?” he asks.
I let out a gravelly laugh. “I’ve barely slept all week.”
“I know.” He says it pointedly, but with affection in his voice.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“You don’t have to apologize. I get it. Are you gonna be good to go tonight though?”
“Absolutely.” I might be running on pure adrenaline, but I’ve never felt sharper in my life. This is the moment I’ve been fucking living for the past seven years. I’m not going to fuck it up.
It looks like we’re the last ones to the Moretti and wives committee meeting at the far end of the roof. Everyone is dressed similarly in black T-shirts and dark jeans—except Dante, who’s in a slinky black spandex bodysuit—with hard, determined expressions on their faces. Sparrow hugs me just like he always does, like he’s making up for all the years he couldn’t, and then I nod hello to everyone else gathered on the edge of the roof.
I look down at the Sleepless Reapers’ clubhouse right on the other side of the street. The lot is filled end to end withmotorcycles, and I doubt there’s much breathing room inside the building, with two hundred bikers and at least a few dozen Pass Arounds getting drunk, high, and rowdy. I’ve never been up here before, never seen the clubhouse from this angle. It looks small.
“Alright, here’s a rundown,” Xaviaro says, pulling my attention away from the building that will soon be a pile of smoking ash and cremated bodies. “I called in an anonymous gas leak, so the street is closed off and there will be a simple explanation they can put on the books when the clubhouse goes up in flames. My guess is we have about half an hour, forty-five minutes tops before the fire department clears the area and reopens the street. So, Les, where are we at with the explosives?”
“Good to go,” he says confidently. “Early this morning while the Reapers were all sleeping off their hangovers from last night, Sparrow disabled their new security cameras, and I placed half a dozen timed explosives strategically around the foundation of the clubhouse.” Alessio looks at his watch and then back at Xaviaro. “Timing should be perfect. They’re set to go off in about twenty-five minutes. All we need to do now is get over there and jam all the doors and windows so they can’t get out.”
Salvatore smirks and flashes his pistol. “And wait at a safe distance to take care of any of them who might manage it.”
It’s hard to believe that in less than an hour, the Sleepless Reapers will be gone for good. The plan is solid though, including Salvatore’s idea to pick off anyone who somehow manages to slip through the cracks.
“What about the Pass Arounds?” It’s Sal’s nephew’s husband, Anders, who asks the question, and his words are like a record scratch, all eyes going to him instantly. “They’re all in there with the Reapers,” he says. My heart starts to pound frantically as the full realization washes over me. “They didn’t do anything wrong. We can’t leave them trapped in there to die like that.”
The way everyone exchanges glances, it’s obvious I’m not the only one who was so fixated on taking out the Reapers that we missed this detail.
“He’s right,” I agree firmly and a little louder than necessary, just in case anyone is about to suggest that there isn’t time or that it’s not worth the risk to save a bunch of junkies.
Alessio checks his watch again and grimaces. “Twenty minutes.”
“Well, we better fucking hurry, then,” Orion, Elio’s husband says, cracking his knuckles like he’s squaring up for a fight. “What’s the plan?”
“We don’t have much time for finesse. Can we just go in there and start pulling out as many as we can?” Sparrow suggests, meeting my gaze. “You’ve gone into the Reaper parties, right? What’s your usual playbook?”
“I don’t really have a playbook,” I admit. “I’ve always relied on them not bothering to pay attention and it’s worked out so far. It’s risky, but I agree, we don’t have time for anything more sophisticated.”
Xaviaro scowls. “Walking right in there and hoping they won’t pay you any attention isn’t going to work when at least half the bikers in there will recognize a Moretti on sight.”
Sparrow shrugs. “Then you guys stick to the plan, stay outside, and start blocking as many windows as you can. Just leave one door open for us to use as long as possible.”
The hitman’s scowl deepens and his jaw ticks. It’s a look I imagine has sent many men running in the other direction, but my brother doesn’t so much as flinch. If anything, he stands a little taller, like he’s not five-foot-five to his husband’s six-something height.
“Do whatever you want, Killer, but I’m going in there and getting as many Pass Arounds out as I can.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, pivoting on his heel and starting back towards the stairway that will lead us off the roof and back down to the street below. I hear Xaviaro’s quiet growl and a murmur of protest from the other Morettis, but Sparrow isn’t alone. I’m right behind him when he reaches the door, with Orion, Dante, and Anders all hot on my heels.
“Like Sparrow said, we don’t have time for finesse,” I say as we hit the sidewalk and start towards the clubhouse in a small pack, keeping our eyes peeled for any stray Reapers or the fire department searching for the alleged gas leak. “You’ll be able to spot the Pass Arounds because they won’t have club patches and they’re likely to be way more fucked up than any of the Reapers. Don’t try to reason with them—most of them will be too stoned to understand anyway—just grab them when you have an opening and drag them outside as quietly as you can.”
“Then what?” Dante asks. “Are we hoping they’ll all just stay put? If they’re that high, aren’t they likely to just wander back inside as soon as we let go of them?”
“Shit,” I mutter. I hadn’t thought of that.
“The building next door is unoccupied,” Alessio says as him and the rest of the Morettis emerge from the apartment building not far behind us. He pats Luca, Anders’s husband, on the shoulder and jerks his chin towards the building he’s talking about. “You can be in charge of keeping them corralled in there until the clubhouse goes up in flames.”
He nods and jogs towards the building as soon as we’re across the street. The rest of the Morettis start to disperse to form a loose perimeter. Alessio snags my arm gently and tugs me close, letting go as soon as he has me where he wants me. It’s jarring to see a flicker of fear in his eyes, and I brace myself for him to try to talk me out of going in there. It won’t matter, but I might see him differently if he tries, if he can’t understand why I have to do this, even if it kills me.
“Be safe in there,” he says gruffly. “I know you have a hard time imagining a future beyond tonight, but I promise you there is one.”