Drawn To Darkness (Kings Of Mafia)

I’ve just picked up the drugs from Frankie, and driving up a street in Brownsville, I recognize an SUV parked outside of a diner.

I slow down, and when I park behind the vehicle, I see Eden and Tyrone sitting in a booth. It looks like they’re eating pie.

I push the R8’s door open to get out, but an alarm on my phone has me digging the device out.

Seeing an alert regarding Miguel, I quickly go into the app. He’s been spotted in Miami.

Christ. We have to move fast.

I shut the door again, and starting the engine, I pull away from the curb while dialing Damiano’s number.

“You better have good news for me. My men killed the fucking uncle,” he mutters.

“Miguel’s in Miami,” I say, feeling good that I finally get to give him solid information.

“Wheels up in thirty minutes,” he grumbles. “Let the others know we’re meeting at the airfield.”

“On it.”

The call ends and when I stop at a traffic light, I quickly send a group text out.

Miguel spotted in Miami. Meet at the airfield stat. Wheels up in 30.

The light turns green as I dial Eden’s number, and driving out of Brownsville, I listen to the call ring.

“Hey,” she answers.

“I’m heading out of town for business. I don’t know how long it will take.”

“What kind of business?” she asks.

“Cosa Nostra. We’re going after Miguel,” I answer honestly, not wanting to keep her in the dark regarding this side of my life.

Her tone is tense with worry when she asks, “Will it be dangerous?”

“I’ll be fine, Tesoro. You don’t have to worry when I’m taking care of mafia business.”

“Easier said than done,” she mutters. “Will you be able to call me while you’re working?”

“Yes. I’ll check in on you every couple of hours. Don’t worry, and enjoy your pie.”

“Pie?” she mumbles, then her voice pitches as she exclaims, “How did you know I’m having pie?!”

“I’m always watching you,” I chuckle.

“Hmm…I like knowing I have a hot stalker,” she teases me.

Another call beeps, and it has me saying, “I have to go. Love you, Tesoro.”

“Love you too, baby.”

Hearing those words from her has a wide smile stretching over my face.

I end the call and answer the other one. “Dario.”

“Where are you?” Franco asks.

“On my way to the airfield.”

“I can’t join you on this trip, and Damiano’s not answering his goddamn phone. The triplets have the shits. Sam and I are running on zero sleep.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks. Be careful out there.”

“Okay. Good luck, and I hope the babies feel better soon.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” he mutters before hanging up.

I try Damiano’s number but it’s engaged.

At another set of traffic lights, I send Esmerelda a text.

Going to Miami for work. Take care of Eden and Bella for me.

The lights change to green, and it takes me another twenty minutes to get to the airfield.

“Thirty minutes, my fucking ass,” I mumble as I stop the R8 near the private jet.

I’m first, and that’s only because I was already driving.

I don’t have to wait long, though. Renzo arrives second with Vincenzo and Fabrizio, then Angelo and Big Ricky.

We all stand near the plane when three SUVs come driving toward us before stopping with screeching tires.

Damiano climbs out, muttering something under his breath while looking like he’s about to rip someone’s head off.

“It’s a good day,” I say. “We know where Miguel is. Why aren’t you happy?”

“I am.”

“Sure as fuck doesn’t look like it.”

“Dario, I’m not in the mood for your shit today. Let’s get this over with so I can take some time off to deal with–”

He stops talking which has all of us raising eyebrows at him.

“Get on the fucking plane,” he shouts.

Curious as fuck, I bite my tongue and board the private jet.

As the pilots prepare for take-off, I grab a seat next to Renzo while Angelo takes the one beside Damiano. The rest of the men grab an open seat and wisely keep the noise level down, seeing as Damiano is in one hell of a mood.

“Franco’s babies are sick,” I tell our boss. “They all have the shits.”

“Christ, poor man,” Angelo mutters. “I’d rather go to war than deal with three babies who all have diarrhea.”

“Can we not talk about shit,” Damiano growls.

“Seriously, who pissed you off?” Angelo asks him.

“Just focus on the mission,” he snaps.

As soon as we’re in the air, I get up and retrieve the bag of weapons we keep on board from the compartment.

I check my rifle and scope while the others do the same with their weapons. When I’m satisfied that the rifle is ready, I place it back in the shoulder bag.

Settling into my seat again, I pull out my phone and go into my app so I can check whether Miguel’s been spotted anywhere else.

An hour later, I let out a sigh because there’s been no other sightings of the man.

“What?” Renzo asks.

“Miguel hasn’t been spotted again.”

“Where was he last seen?” Damiano asks, his eyes trained on the oval window beside him.

“A set of traffic lights near one of his clubs,” I answer.

“He’ll probably be there until late,” Renzo mutters. “Which means we’ll have to wait him out.”

“Or we go in.” Damiano turns his gaze to us. “I want this done as quickly as possible. We’ve wasted enough time on this fucker.”

I agree.

“How do you want to do this, Damiano?” Angelo asks.

He thinks for a moment, then says, “We’ll all go into the club. Our men, as well.” Pausing, he rubs his fingers over the scruff on his jaw. “We’ll walk up to the fucker as a family, and I’ll kill him in front of everyone. It will send a message not to fuck with us.”

“And the witnesses?” Renzo asks.

“Let them talk.”

I let out a sigh because that means we’re going to have to call in favors and bribe lots of officials to keep Damiano’s ass out of prison.

But what he wants, he gets, so none of us argue.

When the convoy of SUVs pulls up to the club, I glance around the area.

It’s quiet outside the club because it’s early and the place isn’t open yet.

“What do you want to do?” Renzo asks Damiano.

“Let’s go knock on the door,” he mutters, shoving the car door open.

“You think they’re just going to open for us?” Renzo asks as we all climb out of the SUV.

“Of course not,” Damiano growls, giving Renzo a what the fuck look. “I’m not fucking stupid.” Lifting his arm, he signals for his men to come.

When I see the grenade launcher, I shake my head. Everyone’s going to hear the explosion.

Angelo and I glance at each other, and I can see he’s worried about Damiano. Even for our boss, who’s done some crazy shit, this is a little reckless.

“Blow the door,” Damiano orders.

Leaving my rifle in the car because I sure as shit won’t need it in a club, I pull one of my Heckler & Kochs from behind my back, where it’s tucked into my waistband.

Renzo and Angelo also hold their guns ready.

The grenade blows a hole in the front of the club, and I suck in a deep breath of air before I follow my friends over the rubble and into a dark hallway.

Smoke hangs in the air, and I duck my head low, trying to avoid inhaling it.

As soon as we reach an open space with a dance floor and bars, the fuckers open fire on us.

Renzo and I duck to the side and run toward a bar, where we take cover. I have no idea where Angelo and Damiano went.

Renzo shakes his head and mutters, “Damiano seriously needs to get laid. It will do wonders for his temper.” He darts up, takes a quick look, then crouches in front of me again. “Cover me. I’m going to make a run for the DJ’s booth.”

He darts out from behind the bar, and I shoot up and open fire on the fuckers that are on the second floor while mumbling, “Who the fuck’s going to cover me?”

I watch as a bullet clips Renzo’s arm just as he ducks behind the booth and take out the fucker who shot my friend before I make a run for it.

Don’t get yourself killed today, Dario.