Chapter 9

CHAPTERNINE

DOM FLOORED IT through an empty stretch of Brooklyn for only seconds before having to slam on his brakes as a cab pulled out in front of him. He cursed, quickly switching lanes, only to hit a red light.

The downside to living in the city was that it didn’t give his Porsche Taycan a chance to really stretch her legs, and if he wasn’t technically on lockdown, he would’ve kept driving somewhere upstate.

As it was, he wasn’t even supposed to be here. Not in his car, not in Brooklyn, and certainly not heading to his brownstone. If his father knew he was taking this risk, he’d be tempted to lock him in the casino’s basement, but Dom needed a fucking breather and to grab a few things from his place. Was it dangerous? Sure. But the Fiores were still technically in mourning, and being the old-school fuckers they were meant respecting that time before things popped off.

But in case they didn’t…

Dom glanced at Gino in the passenger seat, a gun in his lap at the ready and his eyes constantly scanning for danger. Bringing him along had been Dom’s one concession, because even as reckless as he could be, he wasn’t stupid. He’d never go out alone.

“Streets are quiet,” Gino murmured. “Doesn’t mean shit, though.”

Dom glanced at his rearview and side mirrors. “Haven’t been followed.”

“Too busy shitting themselves over the newest development.” Gino stopped his inspection of the streets long enough to grin at Dom. “Speaking of, how’s that going?”

“For him? Well enough. For me? He’s still fucking alive, isn’t he?”

“But you left him with Chef.”

“So?”

Gino chuckled and looked back out his window. “An interesting choice.”

Maybe so, but Chef was Dom’s oldest friend and most trusted confidant, even if he wasn’t technically part of the family. He’d never betray a Rossetti, and that, along with his more favorable traits, was exactly why he was the perfect person to watch Luca when Dom wasn’t around.

Dom made a right, hitting the gas again until his corner brownstone came into view. Built in 1900, with four stories including a private garage, it had always been considered by Dom a safe place in the city—once you were inside. Nothing beat the top-tier security at Midas or his father’s place, which was why he’d reluctantly agreed to stay there instead, but the penthouse didn’t exactly have all the comforts of home…or the weapons.

“Clear?” Dom asked, scanning the streets on his side.

“Clear,” Gino replied.

Dom hit the garage button, and no sooner had the door begun to lift than shots rang out. The first hit the front fender with a high-pitched zing, and both men immediately ducked.

Dom reached for the Glock strapped under his seat as Gino readied the one on his lap. Several more bullets hit the back of the car, and one shattered the rear window.

“Fuck! Where are these assholes?” Dom shouted as he tried to get a look out the window. But he didn’t risk sitting up.

Gino reached for the rearview mirror and angled it toward the back of the car. “I got eyes on two Fiore fuckers across the street, but I can’t see dick on your side.”

Dom gritted his teeth and braved a glance out the window and up the side street, but like his passenger, he couldn’t see shit. Shots rang out again; one whizzed by his window and blew off the side mirror, and that really set Dom’s blood to boiling. There weren’t too many things he cherished in this world, but his Porsche and his life were definitely in the top five.

Dom shifted into reverse, and as he flew back into the street and brought the car around, shots began to fire from behind the stone staircase leading up to his front door.

Just as his father predicted, these Fiore fuckers had been waiting for him—and wasn’t that gonna be a fun conversation when it happened. But there was no time to think about that, not when Gino was winding down the window then leaning out the car with his Glock aimed toward the stairs.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Bullets flew threw the air and lodged in the stairs as the assholes hiding behind them ducked for cover. But they wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

As Dom floored it, Gino was in prime position to—pop pop pop—

“Fuck!” someone shouted from the street as the person beside him fell. “You’ll pay for that, Rossetti!”

He fired several shots in Gino’s direction as he ran toward the car, but Dom’s foot was already glued to the floorboard. The smell of rubber filled the air as the Porsche’s tires squealed before it flew toward the end of the street. He was about to take the turn for the bridge when he caught sight of their wannabe assassin being pulled into the back of a black sedan.

Fuck it all to hell,Dom thought, shaking his head. So much for a quiet goddamn day.

Gino pulled himself inside the window just in time to miss losing his head to a nearby truck. “Boss is gonna be piiissed.”

Dom scowled before his eyes flew to the rearview mirror to see the black sedan weaving in and out of traffic, getting closer and closer. “Then how about we focus on staying alive long enough so he can kill us?”

Gino snorted, and just as he was about to respond, heavy gunfire began to pepper the back of the car.

“Motherfuckers,” Dom spat. So they were gonna play like that, were they? Take out their target with no care for anyone around them. He wasn’t sure why he was so damn surprised. The Fiores had always acted like the thugs everyone knew them to be. “They’re not backing down.”

“Fucking assholes,” Gino muttered as he looked between their seats to the back window. “You think you could move a little faster, Dom? These shitheads are gaining on us.”

Dom kept one eye on the rearview mirror and one on the bridge. It’d been an unspoken rule that none of the families warred in the streets with pedestrians in such close proximity, but apparently the Rossettis had set the Fiores off. And they deserved every bit of it and more.

He managed to pull ahead by a couple of cars and was shocked as the gunfire stopped when they crossed the East River back into Manhattan. Gino took the opportunity to reload both his and Dom’s guns, and not a second too soon, because once they hit FDR Drive, the chase was back on.

He whipped through the traffic, which was, thankfully, moving this time of day, otherwise their asses would be sitting ducks. He only saw the one car behind them, but he had no doubt there were others, maybe even waiting near Midas, though that would be a fucking stupid move. Times Square was swamped with police, cameras, all the security you could wish for, which was exactly why they’d chosen to build there. If Dom could just get to Midtown, he knew that even the Fiores didn’t have the balls to come closer.

Fuck, this was exactly why he’d wanted to get inside his place. He wasn’t loaded up with his own shit at the penthouse.

“Dom, you’ve gotta move,” Gino said, half turned toward the blown-out back window, both Glocks in his hands.

As Dom raced through the traffic, his adrenaline pumped, not so much from fear but the thrill of the chase. He wanted these fuckers to come at him. Taking down the heirs of the Fiore family meant more than a slap on the wrist, and Dom wanted them to fucking bring it.

He just wanted to be better armed and better positioned when they did.

“They’re comin’ in close,” Gino said. “Push it.”

Dom swerved lanes, only to be cut off by a black Suburban. “Fuck. I’m blocked. Is that—”

“Yeah, it is. Shit.”

He veered back into the right lane as a bullet ricocheted off the hood. One of Fiore’s men was hanging out the back window to get a good shot.

Dom held his hand out to Gino for the Glock, and with one hand on the wheel, he aimed it at the man pulling stupid moves. A cry rang out, at least one of the bullets making impact, and the guy dropped back inside the SUV.

“Nice shot,” Gino said, his attention darting between the cars. They were outnumbered with no time to call in reinforcements, but there was a reason Gino was Dom’s pick today—he was a killer shot.

“Hold on,” Dom murmured. They were almost at the turnoff, so if he could just get past this asshole—

Gino fired shots at the car behind them as it made contact with the Porsche’s rear bumper. The car veered to the left, sending Dom’s shoulder slamming hard into the paneling. He struggled to straighten out, and it was that moment of distraction that had the SUV in front in prime position.

It was a good fuckin’ thing whoever pulled the trigger had shit aim, because instead of blowing his head off, the bullet went into his left arm. He dropped his gun into Gino’s lap to take hold of the wheel with his good hand, clenching his teeth from the pain.

“I’m hit,” he managed. “Shit, Gino, take these guys out already.”

If Dom had thought his adrenaline was spiking before, it was nothing compared to what flowed through him now. The Fiores had gotten a hit on him, and that was un-fucking-acceptable.

He didn’t give a shit about road rules now. Even shot to hell, his Porsche could do laps around these assholes, pedestrians be damned.

Gino took out the front tire of the sedan behind them, which sent the car spiraling, slamming into the innocents behind him. Dom didn’t have time to think or care about that, not when he had to get them safely back to Midas without shock settling in. He could deal with that later.

“Ready,” Gino said, and Dom floored the Porsche, bringing them alongside the SUV.

Dom flattened his back against his seat, and Gino leaned across him and aimed at the open passenger window. Two well-placed shots later, the SUV disappeared out of Dom’s periphery and as he sped up the FDR toward his exit, he saw it come to a complete stop. Horns began to honk.

He glanced to Gino, who was settling back on his side of the vehicle looking smug. “Between the eyes?”

“And one through the temple. Hey, they wouldn’t back the fuck off. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to take the heat with the bossman.”

Dom wasn’t sure anything could save him from the hellfire that would rain down on him when his father heard what just happened, but he knew he had to be the one to tell him. “Get him on the phone.”

“You sure you don’t want to maybe get to Midas first?”

“I’m not going to let him hear about this from anyone else. Get him on the phone.” Dom weaved in between the daytime traffic as he made his way toward Midtown, and when the phone connected, his father’s familiar deep baritone came through the line.

“Son.”

Dom looked down to his blood-soaked shirt and then tightened his grip around the steering wheel before he said the one thing he knew his father would understand without question.

“The mourning period is over.”