I nodded a little and he nodded back before heading down the hall, following the others.
I sat there for another moment before getting up, walking over to the abandoned teacup, and taking it over to the sink. I rinsed it, put it into the dishwasher, then stared at my hands.
The idea that I could be worth going to war over…
It made my heart beat hard in my chest.
I didn’t want war. Nobody had to die on my account. My father already lost his life, and the idea that Dante might put himself or any of his men in danger for me made me want to vomit in my mouth. I hated the position they were putting me in, like I was some object they had to guard at all costs.
But I didn’t know what else to do. Because in the end, Dante thought I was worth it, and I didn’t think I could change his mind.
Or if I really wanted to.
11
Dante
There was a light drizzle as I leaned back into the leather seat of my SUV. Steven sat behind the wheel, his gun in his lap, frowning down the block. Ryan and Biagio sat quietly in the back seat, not speaking with each other, just staring out the window.
I watched water trickle past in the gutter, running over trash and half-chewed gum before disappearing down a storm drain. Nobody moved on the sidewalks, though the neon-colored signs of the bars on this block still glowed, despite it being past one in the morning. I could taste the storm and my blood pumped excitement with each heavy beat of my heart.
“They ready?” I asked Steven.
He nodded. “Parked a half hour ago.”
“Good.” I lifted my own weapon, a simple Glock, dependable and efficient. I checked the slide, made sure the magazine was full, and leaned against the window. “Shit night for it.”
“Or a good night, depending on how you see it.”
I grunted a little and shrugged. We were on some beat-up block in South Philly on the edge of my territory, just over the dividing line. There were crumbling, boarded-up houses on the left, brick fronts and gray concrete stoops leading to red doors. On the right were shops, some closed, but most full. There were a couple of restaurants, one Mexican place that was open late, one coffee joint that’d been closed for hours, and a few bars stretching down to the corner. Drunk college kids liked to come around here and wander from the Mexican place into one of the dives a few doors down, but it looked like nobody wanted to be out in the rain, which was a blessing in some ways.
I watched the door of our target without a word. The sign read MAXI BAR in bright red neon, though the windows were papered over with black and a lone bouncer sat out in front of the door. He looked bored and kept checking his phone, like he didn’t expect much to happen. He hadn’t noticed us, not in the hour we’d been sitting in the car, just waiting.
“Make the call,” I said.
Steven nodded, picked up his phone. He tapped the screen and the phone rang. Someone answered on the other side. “We’re going,” he said then hung up.
I watched out the window for a long moment until I saw a black truck parked at the far end of the block open up. Four men spilled out wearing dark jackets and hooded sweatshirts, their hoods pulled up. I looked at Steven and nodded.
“Come on,” I grunted, and opened the door.
The others followed. Steven first, then Ryan and Biagio. I took point, walking fast. I knew two more guys were in the alley behind the club, posted up there in case shit went bad.
I reached the bouncer first. He looked up and frowned. I caught blue eyes, blond hair, a square jaw and a nose that looked like it’d been broken and reset fifty times over his life. He grunted something and stood, but I slammed the butt of my pistol down against his shoulder. He growled in pain and Ryan shoved him down to the ground. I heard Ryan kick the man in the ribs, but I was already shoving in through the door, Steven and the others hot on my heels.
There was a short, dark hall, maybe five feet at most, that ended with a door on the left. I threw it open and music rolled out, heavy and thumping, more of a vague beat than an actual song. I stepped into the room and scanned it quickly, taking it all in like a sponge. Black lights lit a stage at the far end and a girl was dancing topless, her panties glowing that strange neon green. There was a bar on the right with some men sitting at it, and tables in the center of the room, most of which were empty. Girls lounged around, and one was giving a lap dance in a booth directly across from the door. The floor was sticky as I stepped further in, letting my crew fill up the room behind me, as every eye in the place turned to stare at us.
The bartender was a thin, older man with long graying hair, a plain black shirt, and plain black pants. He staggered backwards as I stalked over toward him, my gun out. “On the fucking floor,” I barked. “On the fucking floor now.”
One of the guys in a dark blue button-down shirt and light jeans stood up and reached behind him for something in his waistband, but I reached him before he could draw. I pounded my fist into his throat, grabbed his wrist, and spun him around. A gun clattered onto the floor and I kicked it away as I raised my weapon at the other men at the bar. One was short with a black t-shirt and khaki cargo pants, and the other
