Page 176 of Fallen Rook

I pulled my balaclava down, using the heel of my palm to jam the magazine into my firearm. “A’ight. Let’s get it over with. I want to cook Tom breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Strolling through tear-gas-filled spaces was just another day in the Ferrante household. My father used to lock us in tear gas chambers as a bonding experience. He’d make us recite the entire fucking Con te partirò before he’d unlock the door and let us out. If nothing else, it made us resilient to the point of delirium.

Luca brushed past me, the first to descend the murky stairwell. Achilles followed, and I went last. Tiernan hung back outside, trying to get a hold of Alex. Perish the thought that he gets a papercut helping someone else.

Three stairs before I hit the floor, three gunshots rang in the air. I lunged forward the rest of the way, just in time to find three Bratva soldiers at Luca’s and Achilles’s feet, all of them very much dead.

There were several more milling around a table with cards, beer bottles, and cigarette-filled ashtrays.

The first thing I did was aim my gun at each of the three surveillance cameras wired to the junctions between the walls and ceiling, and blow them the shit up. After that, I ripped the balaclava off. It made my hair hella oily.

“Line up against the wall.” Achilles pointed at said wall with his gun, peeling off his mask, too. “Hands in the air. Enzo, frisk them.”

“Ah, not the gay one!” Someone laughed mockingly. My stomach dropped.

Achilles turned to him, shooting him straight in the throat without so much as a blink. He gurgled one last breath, his blood cascading down his body. My brother turned to stare at the other Russian soldiers, who quickly and efficiently plastered their backs to the wall with their palms exposed. “Anyone else got something to say about my baby brother?”

They shook their heads.

“Good, because for your information, he’s got a boyfriend, and isn’t on the market for soggy Russian dicks.”

Hiding a giddy smile, I proceeded, giving each of them a pat-down and removing their firearms. I made sure not to let the homophobic remark get to me and did a thorough job. After cuffing them and emptying and tossing their guns into a pile in the corner of the room, I stood next to Luca, waiting for further instructions.

“Slide down.” Luca gestured with his firearm at them. “Asses on the floor.”

They did as they were told.

“Now I’m going to ask you one simple question. I recommend you answer truthfully, if you want to see your loved ones ever again.”

Funny, how he had looked like he was going to fling himself off the fucking plane when we were in the air, but now, when we were in the heart of Bratva territory, in a hostile environment, in a warehouse that could very well be a setup, he appeared the picture of psychotic nonchalance.

“Where is my wife?” Luca pointed his gun at the first Bratva soldier in the human line.

“Idi nahui, suka.” He spat at Luca’s shoe, snarling, “I don’t know, and even if I did—”

Luca shot him in the face. The man next to him flinched, staring up at Luca in horror.

Luca pointed the gun at his head. “I’ll ask again. Where’s my wife?”

“I swear I don’t kno—”

My brother didn’t let him finish the sentence. He hit another bull’s-eye. The soldier’s brain exploded on the wall behind him. Luca moved a step toward the third tied-up man.

“Where. Is. My. Wife?” The slow, deadly enunciation made everyone’s skin crawl.

The Bratva soldier had a piss stain on his jeans. He was shaking all over. “I–I can find out for you. P-please. If you give me—”

Luca shot him, moving to the fourth and last soldier—a young man, his teeth chattering, his body quivering like a leaf.

“Are you gonna tell me where my wife is?”

“Y-yes! Yes! Don’t shoot!” he begged. “Jeremie took her to Moscow. He has an apartment there. Th-the Rasputins own the building.”

“Address?” Luca demanded.

“Ulitsa Volkhonka 14, Moscow. Right next to the Pushkin State Museum.”

Luca nodded once, face unreadable. “Enzo?”