The Paganos have been causing trouble for the Cerretis for months, and Chicago’s rulingmafiosiare ending the war tonight.
Rem Cosenza—the ruthlessly talented ’Ndrangheta fixer and newly-promoted underboss to his father-in-law andcapo, Aldo Cerreti—gave me the heads up that their attack on the Paganos was going down tonight. A gift of information in exchange for the one I gave him a month ago. An Italian and a Russian allied over their hatred of the same man.
The same man whose organization I infiltrated for reasons I’ll never share with Cosenza. The same man I want nailed to afucking cross as I torture every last piece of information I can from him.
Rocco Pagano stole something precious from me and he’s going to pay for it with his tears, his blood, and, eventually, his life.
I pick up speed as I thread through the basement passageways. Two more turns and the air gets stale, rancid. This is where Pagano does his real damage. Inflicts unimaginable pain. Breaks the women before he sells them.
I wormed my way into his organization months ago, progressing from lowly foot soldier to one of Rocco’s guards, earning trust through violent means. Pagano might be Italian, but his loyalty isn’t to country or blood; it’s to ruthlessness. He doesn’t care that I’m Russian as long as I handle the jobs his weaker soldiers can’t stomach. Beatings, maimings. Murders. All that bloodletting has granted me access to Rocco Pagano’s inner circle.
It’s taken months to get to where I am, longer than planned because I almost fucked it all up. He had a shipment of girls coming in from Italy and instead of standing guard as ordered, I caused a diversion and helped the women escape. Some things a man just can’t stand by and watch, even a man as twisted and amoral as me.
Rocco never pinned the loss of “inventory” on me, but it sure as hell didn’t fast track me to his inner circle. I had to spend months proving myself over and over again, and bury so many more bodies in the process. But I’m here now. So close to capturing Rocco Pagano that I’m giddy with excitement.
Rem Cosenza might be ending his war against his enemies tonight, but I’m the one leaving with Rocco, still breathing and begging for his life.
Rapid gunfire punctures the air several yards behind me. The fight is getting closer. I’m running out of time. I duckaround another corner and spot Rocco at the end of the hallway, gun at his side, his back to me. Slow moving prey.
Forty steps between us.
Thirty.
I’ll have him in a chokehold in seconds, unconscious in less than a minute. I’m that much closer to stringing him up and finding out what really happened to Rina. The closest I’ve been to answers since she disappeared.
Once I grab him, we’ll both be gone and I’ll never have to step foot in this foul place again.
I’ve barely finished the thought before a face fills my head. Not Rina’s, but the face of a woman I never meant to find but can’t seem to forget.
She’s somewhere down here. At least she was as of a few weeks ago.Blyad!I don’t even know if she’s still alive.
I stopped believing in any god years ago, but as I stalk through Pagano’s underground prison, I find myself whispering a prayer.Please let her be alive.
Not that prayers do any good. Coldblooded ruthlessness is the only way to survive this life. There’s no room for softhearted emotion. I learned that the hard way.
A lesson that keeps me moving toward my target.
Twenty steps, ten.
Then I hear it. Fist meeting bone. The awful snap of a head flying back. Halfway between me and Rocco is one of his torture cells, the door open.
I don’t have to look to know who is inside.
The moans tell me she’s still alive. The sound of bone slamming against flesh tells me not for long.
I don’t have time to care.
Don’t have time to focus on anyone other than Rocco.
Focus, Alik. I have one reason for being here andsheis not it.
Yet I can’t stop from detouring to the dank cell. It will onlytake a second, I tell myself. Less than that, I decide, when I see what they’ve done to her.
Rocco has strung her up like a piece of meat, still naked, bruises blooming across her stomach. I already have my knife drawn, a gloved hand yanking back the head of one of Pagano’s particularly fucked-up cousins, his neck fleshy and weak as I cut quick and deep.
He’s mid-punch when he drops to the ground, blood pooling around his lifeless body. Thesvoloch'can’t hurt her anymore.
I’m doing that thing again,praying, when I realize it might be too little, too late.