by S. M. Soto
Last night, I promised Sophia I’d find a way out of this, and I meant it. There was no way in hell I was letting this bastard drag me away from my wife and my son.
Picking up the file with David’s name on it, I go over the details one last time. I didn’t necessarily overlook him, because even though he wasn’t squeaky clean, he had no ties to me, no ties to my family. No ties to anything illegal I could find. He has a family. Three daughters and a wife who dotes on him. He ran ballistics for Quantico and for the bureau, he was more of an analyst and a paper-pusher, not a criminal mastermind hiding behind his colleagues. He was just a simple field agent. No one on the streets or in the underworld had ever heard of him. But I’m starting to think that isn’t the case at all.
It’s the perfect cover. Being a paper-pusher and an analyzer for the FBI. No one would ever suspect him. No one would ever think he’s capable of running drugs or any other crimes. When they want everyone to believe they’re getting rid of the evil in the world, it’s men like him that want to keep it here—to profit off it. And it would be so easy to do if you could take on a persona. Just like I was the ghost, there’s a face behind every man and I think I’m finally understanding who the Sinner man really is.
Everything suddenly starts clicking into place. He was there with proof for his colleagues each time I got rid of something or someone evil in the world. It was like he needed me out of the way to continue doing what he did in peace. And apparently my killing of Abdul and Finlay didn’t sit well with him.
I slam the folder shut and shoot to my feet. Heading to the hidden compartment in the coat closet, I jab my fist on the wood, grabbing my eagle and my Glock 19 with the extended mag, tucking both in my waistband.
This ends today. Family man or not, David, the sinner man, Kincaid is no longer going to walk this earth while trying to pin everything on me. Tossing open the door, I let the bloodlust swim through my veins, already thinking about the many ways I can end him. I’m snapped out of bloodied thoughts when I hear arguing in the foyer. My brows draw in and I stop short when I see Elisea arguing with Giovanni.
His hand is wrapped around her neck, but she doesn’t seem afraid. She just glares at him with a sneer on her face. A surge of anger shoots through my veins.
“How did you get on the property?” Giovanni growls.
“How else?” she chokes out from beneath the pressure of his hand. He lets go, tossing her body down to the floor in the process like she’s a rag doll. Sensing my presence, they both look toward me. I keep my eyes fixed on Elisea, my fists clenching and unclenching.
She’s not supposed to be here.
There shouldn’t have even been any way for her to get in. Unless the guards recognized her as an escort. It wouldn’t be too far off. But by the gleam in her eyes, I know there’s something more that I’m missing. I share a look with Giovanni. We’ve had our differences. The man is as vile as they come, but he’s famiglia.
Our code is what binds us, and right now, Sophia is my main concern. With a look alone, I tell him all he needs to know. He needs to warn Matteo and the others, and they need to protect Sophia and Angel. Giovanni spins on his heel, and slowly, I slip my Glock out of my waistband, holding it at my side. I drop down to my haunches in front of Elisea, who is still splayed out on the marble floor. She’s glaring up at me with daggers in her eyes.
“What did you do?” I growl. Because there would be no other reason for her to be here. It’s been months since the wedding. Whatever point she tried to make there to Sophia didn’t work according to her plan, so she’s here for something else.
As if to prove my point, there’s an explosion somewhere on the estate, somewhere on the grounds, more than likely men trying to blow through the guards surrounding the property to get inside. The pristine marble floor beneath my feet vibrates with the shock of it. The chandelier above my head rattles as does the ornate glass pieces throughout the foyer and dining room.
Her chest heaves and like gasoline on a fire, a smile spreads across her face. “I told you you’d regret it.”
In perfect time with her words, the front doors are blown open. The wood shatters from the explosives and the force of the explosion blows us both back. My body is airborne, pain slicing into my skin and a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I slam against the opposite wall, my vision bleary, trying to adjust to the pain, the high pitched shrill in my ears. I blink past the haze, urgency filling my bones as multiple sets of footsteps storm through the blown in doors. I roll onto my side and groan as pain tears across my flesh. I reach behind me to pull out my eagle. My Glock lost somewhere during the explosion.
Pushing off the floor, I wince, trying to regain my equilibrium. I slip on something as I try to stand, and I realize it’s my blood. A look down at my body and it’s easy to see why. Wood chips from the door are embedded into my body, piercing into my skin.
Through the haze of smoke and embers that are still floating, I spot two forms, one feminine and one masculine. I raise my eagle, steadying my hand. Another explosion vibrates through the estate, knocking me off kilter.
My only thought is Sophia and Angel. I need to get to Sophia and Angel.
“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Mr. Sabella. But I can’t have you coming in, fucking up everything I worked so hard for, can I? Try not to take it personally.”
I grit my teeth at the sound of that voice. Fucking David Kincaid.
I realized it was him, that he was the sinner man much too late.
By the time I regain my balance, I spot Elisea, and at the same time I pull the trigger she does too. It gives me barely enough time to duck, but with my equilibrium off, I don’t move fast enough. A bullet tears through my shoulder, and I hiss in pain.
Her body drops to the ground, a bullet right between the eyes.
I hear David’s approaching footsteps, and I raise my gun, aiming at him. He doesn’t seem to care. He’s a man unhinged. His suit is disheveled and so is his hair. Guess the prosecutor changed her mind about indicting me after all. That’d be the only reason he’d go to these lengths. He’s out of options. Having to take things into his own hands.
“This rogue savior of the city bullshit ends now,” he growls. “I gave you a chance, I gave you all a chance to pretend like you were doing right in the world, repenting for your previous sins, getting rid of the evil. It was a big enough distraction for my guys to do what they needed to do behind the curtain,” he wheezes out, the explosion must’ve weakened him too.
“I’ll pay for my own sins when I show up at Hell’s gates,” I growl.
He laughs. The sound is dark and maniacal. “But you. You just had to turn over a new leaf, didn’t you? Getting rid of HawkFire—the organization I worked hard to put together. Eliminating all the men you all thought were evil but were really just men in business who were in the way. You showed your hand, and now, now you and your family are going to die a sad death. At least you and your wife are. I think I’ll keep the boy, I have plans for him.”
A murderous haze steals over my vision. The rage boils in my veins.
“Your family’s mafia ties caught up with you, and in a sad event, the Sabella estate went up in flames as did the family. Some rival crime family wanted to take over, so they killed you all. Or at least, that’s what will be reported after today. You think you can repent for being an evil bastard by doing good deeds now?”
He doesn’t understand. He thinks I’ve done all this to be a better man? Got rid of Finlay and Abdul and HawkFire for that? I did it for her. Because they fucked with what was mine. Tried to take her from me. Just like he is right now.
“You’re still a killer, just as bad as me. You can kill me but by the end of the day, you’ll all be dead too. My men will be sure of it. They’re getting the job done as we speak,” he laughs.
I growl, raising my eagle and aiming straight at his head. “You’re right, I am a killer.”
I pull the trigger, the vibration from the shot travels up my arm an
d lodges the bullet in my shoulder deeper. I step over both bodies, crouching through the pain and the smoke that’s hovering in the foyer. I try to listen, for Sophia, for the others, but my ears are still ringing.
Fuck!
Anger courses through my body. Adrenaline shoots through my veins at just the thought of them getting anywhere near Sophia and our son. Whatever plans David or his men have for Angel will be over my dead body.
Gripping onto the railing, I fly up the steps onto the second floor, heading left toward the south wing of the estate. Where Sophia and Angel are. The sound of popping gunfire, up ahead has me quickening my stride, running to get to them faster. The smoke isn’t bad up here, but it’s traveling, either from the explosion downstairs or a fire has been started somewhere on the property.
I spot two large forms up ahead that I don’t recognize, I raise my desert eagle, firing off a shot into the back of one’s head, causing the other to turn. He raises his pistol, but before he can fire off a shot, I put a bullet in his skull.
Suddenly, there’s something wrapped around my neck from behind. The cord tugs at my neck, as the person tries to cut off my air supply. Instead of fighting it like most people’s first reaction is, I relax, closing my eyes, and swing the butt of the eagle back against the person’s face. His hold loosens just enough that I reach back, gripping on to his shirt and I yank, swinging his body forward. He goes sailing over me, his back slamming onto the floor, but his hold on the cord is still firmly in his grip. He tugs down on the cord, yanking me down and as I sail toward the ground, I throw a right hook. My fist crunches against his face, and I manage to unwrap the cord from my neck. I raise my desert eagle, about to fire off a shot into his face, when a booted foot kicks into my line of sight, knocking the gun away from me. Reeling my arm back, I slam my fist into the guys face and rock to my feet, squaring off with the other man who appeared out of nowhere. The eagle lays right between us. It seems he lost his gun somewhere during the fight, but he eyes the weapon, just like I am.
I don’t have time for a fight. I need to kill them both and find Sophia.
He charges me, his body slamming into mine. His shoulder digs into my bullet wound and I growl, jabbing my elbow down on his face, busting his nose. I swing while he’s down, landing a solid blow to the side of his face. Yanking the hunting knife from my back pocket, I swing, lodging it into the side of his neck. As soon as his body drops, someone else is on me. The person is trying to wrap their arm around me to snap my neck.
I rear my head back, both of our skulls colliding.
We both stumble, reaching for the eagle. My palm closes around the handle and I tighten, swinging up, but at the same time, he does too. We fight to overpower the other on where the barrel will point. I start to get the upper hand, twisting the barrel underneath his neck, when one of his hands finds my flesh wound, and his finger digs through the bullet hole. I let out a strangled growl of pain. I can feel the blood gushing as he jams his finger in. My roar splits my head in half as we fight to overpower each other. I feel the wood chips digging deeper into my flesh, the blood soaking my clothes.
My grip on the gun weakens through the pain, and he uses it to his advantage, twisting the barrel back toward me. Images of Sophia flicker through my head like photos on a pin-wheel as the pain splits me in half.
The very first time I kissed her.
The first time she said she loved me.
Her giving birth to Angel.
Her on our wedding day.
Her with the red rose in her hair on the beach, the warm air blowing her chocolatey strands across her face.
Her glistening green eyes as she looks up at me and tells me she loves me.
I think of my son and how he fits perfectly in my arms.
The way he looks up at me like I’m his protector.
The fierce love in my chest when I look down at him.
With a growl, my lips curl over my teeth, and I grit through the pain, putting all my strength into forcing the barrel of the eagle his way. Once it’s beneath his chin, I pull the trigger, half of his face and brains spraying me in the process. He thumps back onto the floor in a lifeless heap and I roll onto my side. Nausea slams into me from the pain of him digging through the bullet hole. It’s a flesh wound, but fuck me, it still hurts like a son of a bitch.
I stagger to my feet, following the sound of popping gunfire. One hand gliding across the wall for support, the other secured on my desert eagle, ready to fire into anyone who gets in my way.
Once I turn the corner, the smell of fire and gunpowder is stronger than ever. Through the billows of smoke, I see why. There’s a fire, already burning through half the wall and in front of the flames are both Jose and Kam fighting Kincaid’s men while simultaneously popping off shots. I raise my eagle, aiming at each of their heads and fire. Three bodies drop to the floor only leaving two more. The distraction is perfect. Kam takes advantage when Kincaid’s men pause to see who fired at them and he puts a bullet in each of them.
“Where is she?”
“Garrett and Matteo ran for her first. We said we’d stay on this level until we could reach them.”
A sickly sweat drips down my temple and glides down my back as I nod. I need to get to them.
“Go! Find them. We’re good here.”
I walk past the flames. The heat is intense, practically melting my skin and licking my flesh as I walk past it to get to the other side of the estate. Once I pass through the fire and turn the corner, a shot rings out and a bullet sails through the air, straight through my extended arm, flying out of the other side. I jolt back, clutching my arm against my chest and growl. My back crashes into the wall behind me, out of the line of fire and sight. I look down at the blood staining my clothes. I look like a fucking nightmare.
My forearm is a mangled mess, the bullet going in one side and exiting out the other. My eyes slam shut as I try to focus, pushing past the pain. It works for a little bit until the waves of dizziness and nausea slam into me. My hearing keeps going in and out. The gunshots are there and so is the yelling, but it’s faint. The only thing my ears seem to be picking up on is the roaring of the flames licking at the wooden columns of the estate and the ringing that is still there from earlier.
The pain starts to blend together and even though I try to stay focused, my mind keeps trying to pull me back into memories. The first time I was shot.
The pain. The fear. The anger.
The bullet sails through the air, I hear the whizz of it by my head, but I dodge it just in time, or at least I think so. Until another shot is fired off and it embeds itself straight into my bicep. The force of it jolts me back, slamming me into the wall. With my hand still gripping the pistol, I fire off blindly in the direction of whoever shot me, hearing a grunt of pain and I keep going until the body drops. I slide down the wall onto the floor. The burning radiating from the wound a pain in the fucking ass. I’d been stabbed for kicks by Giovanni, fought to the death to prove to Matteo I was strong. To prove I was worthy. But I’d never been shot. I’d done the shooting. Killed more people than I could count on my hands, but I’d never been shot until now.
I can still hear the shots being fired off somewhere in the distance. Dropping my pistol into my lap, I slap my hand over the wound, applying pressure.
Most eighteen-year-olds are out partying, getting ready for college. Not me, I’m here attending to fucking bullet wounds. My eyes scan the ground around me, taking in the bullet shell casings, looking for something I can use to tighten over the flesh wound. When I don’t find anything, I drop my gaze down to my shirt that’s already torn toward the bottom. I had a knife fight earlier. It was a battle of wit, strength, and footwork. Luckily, I had all three on my side.
Lifting the bottom edge of my shirt, I place it in my mouth, between my teeth and with my free hand I find the rip, and pull. The seam tears, the material ripping straight across, giving me enough fabric I can use to stop the bleeding before someone finds me. I fum
ble, my hands slipping along the blood, the stinging pain burning throughout my arm. I manage to wrap the cloth around my bicep, using my teeth and free hand to pull it tight, adding just the right amount of pressure to control the bleeding.
It’s throbbing like hell, with what feels like a heartbeat of its own, but I push to my feet, staggering up as I go, and finish this. Finish the job my father gave me. I’ve survived much worse than a simple gunshot wound to the arm. I survived years of abuse and torture during my childhood. Watching my mother die.
I can survive anything.
And I do.
I push off the wall, raising my gun with my good arm as I dart head first into the violence, firing off round after round.
I blink past the memory, feeling the same anger, the same indignation, the same need to survive boiling in my veins. Though this time, it’s tenfold, because I have my wife and my son to protect.
Blood from the wound on my forearm leaks like a fucking faucet. The pain is worse than the wound on my shoulder since it’s ripped through the tendons and bones. I try to open and close my left fist, but the nerves and receptors aren’t working. My fingers and hand don’t move an inch.
Hugging my forearm to my chest, I grip my desert eagle with one hand, pushing off the floor. I peek around the edge of the corner, seeing the men who shot me earlier in a fist fight with Giovanni and what looks like Lorenzo and Vincenzo.
Raising the eagle, I fire off a single bullet into one of them. A body suddenly collides with mine from the side, causing us to smack the ground. He tries to use that to his advantage, getting the upper hand by trying to overpower me, but before he can, I swing the butt of the eagle down on his face over and over, until his skull is bashed in and a puddle of blood is pooling beneath him. My vision splits when I glance up, two of everyone fighting. I spot Lorenzo get slammed to the floor, and I aim at the fucker standing over him, pounding his fists into him, I fire off a shot, moving onto the next and pull the trigger but all I get is that dreaded fucking click.
