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"Wouldn't miss it for the world." His phone rings, and he answers it quickly, putting it on speaker phone. Marco's voice comes over the line, "Where's your phone,

Luca?"

"In my jacket on the floor. What's up?"

"Ten minutes out. We're meeting them head-on. A white

GTR, a pick-up truck, and an SUV."

Marco gives us the plates, which we don't have to write down because Viktor has a photographic memory. That's why nothing gets past the man.

The minutes tick away, and when we're bound to make visual contact at any moment, Viktor lets down his window, saying, "You know the drill. Sharp left."

"Got it."

"Get ready," he murmurs, his eyes trained on the cars up

ahead.

Everything becomes still inside me as the distance grows rapidly smaller between the Albanians and us, then Viktor snaps, "Now!"

I yank the steering wheel to the left, the tires squeal, and Viktor opens fire on the GTR. The G-Wagon comes to a sudden stop, I grab a submachine gun from Viktor and shove my door open. Climbing out, I move to the front of the vehicle and open fire, covering Viktor so he can get his ass out of the G-Wagon.

The Albanians pile out of their vehicles, then all hell breaks loose as my men join the fight.

When I first took over as head of the mafia, my heart used to hammer in my chest and I'd end up drenched in sweat, but over time it faded. Now I hardly feel anything. It's just another day at work.

The other cars on the road swerve to avoid the gunfight, and I know it's only a matter of time before the highway patrol arrives on the scene.

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