We walk through the house, out the front door and head over to my Mercedes. My mind is like a witch’s brew, bubbling over with nasty shit. I slip into the driver’s seat and turn on the car. Then I hit the gas and stones kick up as I peel around and down the driveway. The warehouse in the city shouldn’t take long to reach, but it gives me enough time to come up with what I want to say.
How I’m going to handle the fact that someone tried to kill the woman who I –
Who I what? Who I care about? Who I would defend to the death? Who I’m falling hard for, even though we have no hope of a future together?
If these enforcers want to see my ruthlessness, then they’re about to get their wish.
The moment we reach the warehouse, I slam the car in park and I’m more furious than I have ever been in my life. How dare any of these fuckers raise a hand against Trish. She never hurt anyone.
Marching into the warehouse, I storm into the center of the room. My dad’s men like to hang out here and I look around at the pool table, dart board, large screen TV and makeshift bar in the corner. So someone thought he could kill Trish then come back here and hang out, brag about what he did, maybe shoot some goddamn pool, and act like nothing was wrong.
A red haze colors my vision and I clench my fists, my fingernails digging into the flesh of my palms. My gaze moves over the ragtag group of men and the expressions on their faces range from curiosity to what can only be described as belligerence.
“I know my stepping in and taking over the organization hasn’t sat well with all of you. You’re used to things being handled a certain way. But, let me remind you that while my father is in a coma and out of commission, I am the one who is in charge. He may never get better or return, so I suggest every single man in this room accept that. And that means accepting me as your leader.”
A few mumbled words and some shifting of bodies reach my ears.
“I don’t know what my father used to tell you or what his expectations were, but things have changed. From this point forward, no one is to raise a hand against Matthais Volkanov or his family. Especially not his children.”
Loud grumbles and curses now fill the air.
Nearby, a big brute stands up from the stool he’s sitting on and he’s shaking his head. “That’s bullshit! Our job is to crush the Volkanovs. To hurt them any possible way we can.”
“Not anymore,” I growl.
But the idiot doesn’t sit back down and instead turns to face off with me. Legs spread, arms crossed, he sends me challenging look. “Fuck that,” he responds and others murmur their agreement.
My eyes narrow and fury flows through my veins. “Are you the one who tried to hurt Trisha Volkanov?”
He gives a defiant snort. “It wasn’t me, but I’d like to shake hands with whoever tried to shoot the bitch down.”
A few laughs echo through the warehouse and my skin crawls. This asshole is ruthless and not able to be controlled. I don’t want men like that. They’re dangerous and will influence others and potentially go rogue. He needs to be eliminated. Immediately. But do I have it in me?
“What’s your name?” I ask in a low voice.
“Mitch Donaugh. What’s it to you?”
“Your lack of respect is disturbing.” My hand slides under my jacket, itching to wrap around the gun. Not yet. Reel it in, I warn myself. “I want to know which one of you tried to kill Trisha Volkanov.”
No one says a word and my anger builds.
“WHO?” I yell.
Not far away, a muscled man with red hair steps forward. “Any of us would’ve done it. She’s a Volkanov,” he says, as if that explains it.
“Yeah,” another man adds. “And they’d do the same to us.”
“She wouldn’t hurt a fly,” I state. The men’s eyes are narrowing, and I can feel the tension in the room escalating.
“She’ll never be safe,” a big brute near me comments. “None of them will be as long as we enjoy spilling their blood.
He’s right. The thought hits me hard and I know what I have to do.
But do I have the strength to do it?
“I want everyone to line up,” I order. When I see their hesitation, I snap,
“NOW!”
With some grumbling, they assemble before me in a straight line. There are approximately 15 men of various sizes and ages, all of them united in their loyalty to my father and their hatred for the Volkanovs.
And that’s a problem for me. I move to the end of the line and look each man in the eye as I start walking past them. “I want to make it clear right now that I will not tolerate any insubordination. And that includes attacking anyone in the Volkanov family. They’re off-limits.”
“Why?” Mitch demands, challenging me. “We used to get rewarded for taking out Volkanov scum.”
I stop mid-step, yank the gun out and point it at Mitch. “Now you get a bullet in your skull.” His eyes widen in surprise. “Is that clear?”
A muscle flexes in his cheek. “You’re destroying your father’s empire.”
“No. I’m cleaning it up.” I step back and lower the gun. “You all have a choice to make, right now. Either stay here and follow my orders or leave. I’ll let you walk out that door right now with no questions asked.”
The men shift, exchanging glances and eyeing the door.
“You have exactly 30 seconds. If you remain, you’re pledging your loyalty to me and my family. You’re also promising not to attack or provoke the Volkanov family. So now is your chance. Make your decision.”
A few of the men shake their heads and step out of line. “Can’t abide by those rules,” one of them says and a couple others nod.
“Great. Goodbye,” I say with a dismissive wave of the gun. A small sense of satisfaction and relief fills me as they walk out the door. I turn my attention to Mitch Donaugh and wonder why he isn’t leaving yet. “Ten seconds.”
I’m annoyed when the ten seconds pass and he’s still standing here. And still looking as defiant as ever.
“Okay, now I’m going to – ”
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Mitch growls and steps toward me. There’s a fire in his eyes that lets me know he isn’t giving in so easily and he’s about to challenge my authority in front of everyone. “Letting good men walk away. Encouraging them to leave and telling us not to touch the Volkanovs. Having us beat up our own men. Who are you? How can you be Nolan Mennetti’s son?”
Mitch moves closer and then he’s right up in my face, practically spitting as he continues his harangue.
“You’re a poor excuse for a leader and the only reason you stumbled into it is because you’re the oldest son. Roberto should be in charge. He’s a fighter, he knows how to take down an enemy. Hell, Rylan would be better than you. Or how about Finley?” He laughs. “Even the woman wouldn’t be as big of a pussy as you.”
My finger slides over the gun’s trigger and my breathing increases. The darkness fills me, curling its black fingers around me in a chokehold and squeezing any lightness out.
“I didn’t take a shot at that Volkanov bitch, but I wish I could tell you that I did. I wish I could say I was the one who pulled the trigger and put a bullet right between her eyes. No matter what you say, I’d fucking do it. I’d lift my gun and shoot her so fast – ”
The POP of the gun echoes through the warehouse loudly and Mitch Donaugh stops mid-speech as my bullet hits him in the middle of his bulbous forehead.
Eyes wide in surprise, he slumps forward and drops to the ground.
Dead.
Lowering the weapon, I keep my finger on the trigger as I look at the other men. “Anyone else have anything to say?”
Heads shake and the men step back, raising their hands in surrender.
“Good,” I grunt then look over at Sean who looks like he just shit himself. “Get rid of the body.”
After issuing the order, I stalk out. Once I’m back outside the warehouse, I get in the Mercedes, toss the gun on the passenger seat and grip the steering wheel hard to stop my hands from shaking.
I just murdered a man in cold-blood. An atrocity I never thought I’d be capable of, much less commit.
But the way he spoke about Trish, the look in his eyes, made it clear to me that even though he wasn’t the one to take the shot earlier, he would be the one to take it next.
And I can’t fucking risk that.