Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

38 | Santo

"Sorry, boss," he calls down to Simo, "I know that was a little earlier than we planned. I just got so antsy listening to this motherfucker's voice."

Luciano's face flickers in annoyance as the blood of his men seeps across the floor towards his expensive loafers.

I briefly remind myself to be nicer to Mantus after this, at least once. Maybe I'll tell him that Nina only strongly dislikes him, but doesn't hate him. His lightness and agility allowed him to scale the outside of the building and work a way in through the rotting wood panels. He crawled quietly along the rafters, a plan we developed after thorough surveillance of this building and the surrounding area, thanks to Alberto pulling his head from Luciano's ass.

It was almost too easy.

A quick look around the room tells me the girls are unphased. There are too many of them to observe closely, but I wonder which one is Alberto's daughter. I promised I'd personally help get her home and I don't plan on going back on that. I would rather they didn't have to see all of this, but it's clear at this point that they've encountered worse than men killing each other.

Answering gunshots ring out, but Mantus has ducked behind a thick column of wood, and I know he's unharmed. Luciano's remaining men look to their leader, their guns useless by their sides.

My muscles tense, almost to the point of pain. I expected a shootout, but they're just standing there. Luciano has told them explicitly not to kill us. 

Why?

My fingers itch to take ahold of that pathetic excuse of a man and feel the life seep out of him. We've already taken out a fourth of our opposition, and we've done such a thorough sweep of this place that we know for certain Luciano doesn't have any backup. His plans consist of him conducting some mock business meeting, antagonizing us about information he dug up from a deadened past, and having a nice little laugh?

I nearly laugh out loud. Is he really this fucking stupid?

Luciano sighs. In a fluid motion, he pulls out his gun and fires it three times.

Killing three of the girls in just as many seconds.

This pulls terrified noises from some of the others, some of them starting to openly cry, others still staring vacantly.

"I just really wanted us to be able to talk," he frowns, aiming his gun at Tommaso.

Anger pulses through me, nearly blinding me, and I rush forward. Mantus pops out from behind the column, shooting the firearm out of Luciano's hand. His men wheel around, searching for our sniper, and in the distraction, we come upon them.

Tommaso and I take out the biggest guy—he's at least twice as large as me, and I'm not quite sure that a gunshot wouldn't just wedge itself harmlessly in his gut. He drops his gun in surprise as he wheels around to see the both of us, and Tommaso is punching him in the face, disorienting him, while I whip a knife from out of my sleeve and slice it across the folds of his neck.

Blood pours down the front of his body. Tommaso buries a knife in his neck, always one to enjoy the hand to hand combat more like me. Knives have always been more fun than guns. After a few teetering seconds, our victim finally falls to the ground, gurgling.

I don't know where Luciano got these men, but it's a fucking joke. Looking around I see that the rest of them have been similarly incapacitated. Angelo buries a bullet in the forehead of the last one, and a few of our men have actually been standing back, useless because of the lack of bodies to take out. We are literally untouched, none of us even injured.

We overpowered them in less than a minute.

A voice in my head is telling me I've overlooked something, and I wrack my brain for the answer. We've checked the perimeter. Someone's out there now and would report to us if there was any backup. It's just us and Luciano, the only one still standing.

Simo keeps him in a tight chokehold, his gaze already fixed on me. He tilts his head, asking me a silent question, and I smile. Stupid of me to assume my own brother doesn't know me.

I stride forward, my gun and knife put away. When I kill Luciano, it will be with my bare hands. I want to feel him die.

"Wait, wait," the fuckhead wheezes, his face horribly red from the lack of air entering his airways. "You haven't let me get to the best part—"

"You shock me with your stupidity," Simo informs him as I draw nearer. "And that is quite a feat. I am not brought to such emotion easily." His face is blank, but I know that internally, my brother is genuinely surprised at the ineptitude of the man slowly choking in his arms.

Simo is never shocked.

The voice in my head intensifies.

We have never had cause to credit Luciano with anything. He is stupid, selfish in a way that a leader can't afford to be, and wild in a way that nearly ensures he doesn't have a stable, protective network of people around him. It's a surprise he's even lived so long, but the man is like a cockroach.

I look at my brother one last time, my blood humming. My skin practically aching to feel Luciano's blood coating it.

And I think it dawns on both of us at the same time.

The impossibility of it all. Victory is so close, we can practically taste it, but we've overlooked something, haven't we?

And in the next moment, that something announces itself with the sound of an opening door. I don't breathe. It shuts again with a quiet creak, and then there's silence. Footsteps suddenly echo as they come closer and closer, and suddenly I can't breathe, and a figure stalks through the shadows of the building, anonymous until it comes to a stop in the light that's leaking through some of the missing panels in the side of this building.

The fight, the anger, the bloodlust—everything—leaves me in a silent rush. I am depleted and I have nothing to hold onto as I feel the ground rushing towards me, the room spinning in a horrifying rush of alarm and disbelief and blurred, petrified panic.

"Son, I think it would be best if you let go of him."