Chapter 6

CHAPTERSIX

“THINK THE BOSS has figured out you’ve left yet?” Chef cut the engine of his car and grinned at Dom. In the dark, he could only see a flash of teeth. His friend was a little too excited about this act of rebellion.

Dom checked his phone before putting it on silent. “Doesn’t look like it. But I doubt we have long.”

For about the hundredth time during the ride to Long Island, the thought that this was crazy crossed Dom’s mind, but he was too stubborn to turn back now. There was no telling what was happening in the Fiore place, what lies they were filling Luca’s head with. And that was if they hadn’t done worse.

“So the plan—”

“Get in, get out, don’t get killed,” Chef said.

They’d been out here before to spy on the fuckers, but that was a bit different to the breaking and entering that was about to happen. No doubt the place was crawling with people, not to mention cameras and whatever security measures they’d put up to keep the likes of Dom out.

Somehow, he just didn’t give a shit.

He got out of the car and began to unbutton his shirt. It would’ve been a little suspicious if Dom had put on a bulletproof vest at his father’s house, but it was necessary before attempting what they were about to. Hopefully they didn’t decide to shoot at his head.

Chef, on the other hand, rarely took his off. Hell, he probably slept in it.

Dom adjusted the vest and then pulled his shirt back on, and as he buttoned it up, Chef opened his arsenal of weapons.

“What are you feeling tonight?”

Dom eyed the semiautomatic rifles and pistols, along with the knives and what looked like a grenade. “You just keep these in the back of your car?”

“I mean, you never know the kind of situation you might find yourself in.”

“What if the situation is being pulled over by a cop?”

“Why do you think it’s in the hidden compartment?”

Dom frowned as he again eyed the goods, trying to decide what would be the easiest and most discreet. Then Chef hit a button on his phone, and the side panels of the trunk opened up to reveal several saws and wicked-looking blades.

“I’ve also got these, if none of the guns suit. The hacksaw’s mine, though. So don’t even think about it.”

Dom grimaced as he looked at the tool under discussion. It had a gold-plated handle and razor-sharp teeth that gleamed. He didn’t even want to think about what that thing had cut through in the past. But as Chef pulled it out of its holder and gripped the handle lovingly, Dom knew his friend would wield it better than he could anyway.

“Not sure we’ll have time to saw off any appendages tonight,” Dom said, tucking one of the guns into the back of his pants before reaching for another.

“Hey, there’s always time for fucking up a Fiore. I was thinking more getting past any window bars. It’s also good for the back of a knee or throat.”

The casual way Chef talked about his pastimes would’ve made most people squeamish, but Dom could only chuckle. Let his friend get his kicks on assholes however he saw fit. Especially if that asshole belonged to the family they were about to take down.

They finished loading themselves up, adding a suppressor to one of the guns, and Chef shut the trunk. “Time to rain hell on these bastards.”

Dom nodded, and they took off through the woods by where they’d parked, far enough away from the Fiore house not to attract notice, but close enough they could get Luca back to the car relatively easily if he was injured.

Just the thought of someone touching Luca had Dom’s blood boiling. He told himself constantly that he didn’t care, but he was proving that to be false right now. Going against his father’s orders…that wasn’t Dom. But he couldn’t leave Luca in the hands of these motherfuckers.

The woods backed up to each of the mansions in the neighborhood the Fiores had chosen to hide away in—a million fucking miles from the city, the cowards. Dom led the way through the woods, staying alert for anyone patrolling the area.

“That’s it,” Chef whispered, pointing to a house lit up like the fucking Fourth of July. Lights blazed in almost every window despite the late hour, and the backyard had what looked like spotlights facing every direction. Nowhere to hide.

“I’m almost flattered they aren’t making this easy,” Dom said as he scanned the house’s exterior, looking for any blind spots.

“Please. They don’t even have a bloodthirsty guard dog or ten. It’s like they’re asking for it.”

Dom counted the cameras he could see mounted along the corners of the roof. “Clocked five cameras. You?”

“Yep, I got five too. Gonna be hard to get in there without causing a ruckus if we shoot ’em out.”

Dom agreed. The second the cameras went down, all hell would break loose. They needed a different way in. He crouched beside Chef and again took in the scene. There might not be any bloodthirsty guard dogs, but there were a few of Fiore’s muscle men guarding the main house—though “guarding it” might be giving them a little too much credit.

One was lounging on one of the patio chairs while another was smoking a cigarette, and the third seemed a lot more interested in his phone than he was in the gun he carried over his shoulder.

Fucking morons. Dom had always said the Fiores’ biggest problem was that they surrounded themselves with minions that were dumb as a box of rocks. But that was what happened when you groomed men you plucked off the street. There was no intelligence to back up the firepower, and if you didn’t get to the gun first—which he was counting on—you were dead.

“The guards,” Dom said, gesturing with a tilt of his head. “They’ll be over here soon enough. We take them out, grab their clothes and weapons, and act the part. When we get to the fool on the patio chair, we can help him relax for good.”

Chef screwed his nose up. “You want me to wear their clothes?”

“You think I’m happy about this either?”

Chef eyed Dom’s designer shirt. “No, but come on, I have so many things to switch out of my pockets. And you know those fuckers don’t bathe.”

Dom didn’t want to think about that right now. All he was focused on was getting inside with his head still on his shoulders. “Just try not to get blood all over them.”

Chef looked at the saw in his hand. “You might be better at that than me.”

Dom looked back to see the men approaching and knew he and Chef needed to get over the fence, and soon, or this little plan of theirs would be shot to shit. He gestured for Chef to go first.

Chef scaled the fence like the professional criminal he was, and as his feet hit the ground with a soft thump, the Fiore poisoning his lungs looked up. Chef froze behind a hedge, and when no other noise came, the idiot went right back to smoking.

No investigating. No readying his weapon. Really, his incompetence was unbelievable—and tonight, for him, it would be deadly.

Dom climbed down the other side of the fence rather than jumping so his landing was soft and undetected. He moved in close beside Chef and watched as the smoking man got closer. Dom immediately recognized the ugly fucker as one of the assholes who had taken Luca.

He was always up for a one-on-one with a Fiore, but to be able to stick it to the prick who’d taken what was his? Revenge was going to be really fucking sweet.

He and Chef crouched there, holding their breath to not make a sound, and waited for the smoker to cross their path. Dom figured the best shot he had here was to come from behind, and that was where he performed best.

His adrenaline pumped through his veins as he watched and waited, and when the dumb fucker walked right by, Dom moved to strike. Stealthy as a tiger he stalked his prey, and just when the moment was right, he pounced.

Dom clamped a hand down over the man’s mouth and put a gun to his temple. “You should’ve killed me in the parking garage, asshole.”

One shot later, the man fell limp and Dom dragged him behind the hedge. “Strip him.”

Chef screwed his nose up as he took in the tattered jeans and raggedy shirt. “Are you sure?”

Dom eyed his friend, then looked back to check on what the other two “guards” were up to. Thanks to the suppressed gun, they were none the wiser to their buddy’s misfortune, but Dom wasn’t sure they would’ve put two and two together anyway. They’d probably think it was fireworks.

Dom spotted his next victim coming their way, and couldn’t help but think how grateful he was that cell phones were such addictive little devices. For example, this idiot had an AK-47 strapped to his shoulder, but he was so invested in what he was reading on his phone that—pop—he didn’t even hear the bullet that hit him between the eyes.

Unfortunate, really. For him, anyway.

As he pitched forward to the ground, Dom raced out, grabbed him around the shoulders and hauled him back to their hiding spot. He and Chef made quick work of the clothes, guns, and…vices the two men had been packing, and when they were suited up and ready to go, they slipped out from behind the hedges.

Careful to play their part, they mimicked the other men’s moves as they meandered back to where the last of their obstacles sat. Honestly, Dom might have to send Fiore a thank-you letter for hiring such incompetent imbeciles. He’d thought the spotlights and guards were going to make this difficult, but so far this had been a walk in the park.

As they approached their final target, Dom, who was imitating the smoking man, moved around their lazy companion, who was thumbing through a porno that looked about three years old and just as worn. Disgusting fucking Fiores.

Chef, who was a couple steps behind, had his phone out pretending to be invested in whatever bullshit text fest had been taking place earlier, and luckily for them, the slug in the chair was riveted by two enormous titties.

Dom was tempted to say something, give the asshole a second to realize those were the final set of breasts he’d ever see, but in the end he decided even that was too nice for a Fiore. He took the shot through the back of the guy’s head without a second thought, and what do you know, the fucker ended up kissing his final set of breasts too.

“Perfect,” Chef said as he moved in behind the guy and pulled the chair free of the patio table. As he dumped their deadweight off to the side in one of the garden beds where he wouldn’t be detected, Dom glanced up at the windows of the second floor.

It was handy that they were so well lit, but at the same time, he was starting to wonder how in the hell they would work out where—

“This one,” Chef whispered, and picked the chair up to move around the side of the house. They kept close to the brick façade, out of camera range, and when Dom stopped beside his friend and looked up, he saw bars on the window.

Chef whipped out his hacksaw and grinned. “I told you this would come in handy.”

Dom looked to the window, the brick wall, then the downspout. “Are you about to tell me you have a ladder in the back of your pants too? Because otherwise, I’m not impressed.”

“Oh, so you like ’em big and long, huh?”

Dom arched a brow. “Really? Now is the time for jokes?”

“No, now is the time that I climb up there using this.” Chef pulled out some rope and pointed to the downspout.

“You’re kidding, right?” Dom looked at the pipe again. Narrow, old, and flimsy. He had serious doubts whether that thing would hold his weight.

“Nope. Trust me. I’ve scaled much worse than this to get my prize. I’ll go up, cut through the bars, you keep watch.”

“Who’s the boss of this operation?”

“I mean, if you think you’re faster with a saw than I am…” Dom narrowed his eyes, and Chef’s lips twitched. “Don’t worry, Prince Charming. I’ll let you save him from the tower.”

“Fuck off and get up there.”

Chef chuckled as he went to work scaling the wall, making the impossible seem possible, and Dom stood guard. In the dead of night, the push and pull of the saw through the metal sounded like nails on a chalkboard. But with Chef being the expert he was with the tool, he tossed bar after bar to the garden in no time.

Once he was back on the ground, he turned to Dom and pulled a flat file from his pants pocket. Jesus, the guy was a walking toolbox.

“The window is glued or nailed shut. You’re going to need to wedge this under the frame and—”

“Yeah, I got it.” Dom took the file and looked up the wall and pipe. “I’m more worried about getting up there.”

“You’ll be fine. The house is old, and there are grooves in the mortar. Use this rope for leverage.” Chef handed over the end of the rope dangling from the only bar he’d left attached to the window. “I secured it at the top so you don’t need to worry about the pipe. Then use your fingers in the gaps of the mortar to help pull with the rope and your feet to push.”

Dom eyed the rope and shook his head.

“Don’t worry—if you fall, I’ll be right down here to catch you.”

Dom shot him the finger then went to work, and found the instructions Chef had given were helpful. Clearly all those years of breaking, entering, and catching his victims unawares had taught him a whole skill set Dom didn’t possess, because when he reached the top, he was positive he’d die from the effort.

Not yet,he told himself as he peered inside and saw Luca sitting up in bed staring at the window, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. He’s right there. There’s just one more thing you need to do.

Dom took the file from his pocket and jammed it under one end of the window frame, then, with as much force as he could, he pushed down on it, and the frame creaked and split. Luca stood up, his eyes narrowing, as Dom moved the file to the opposite end and did it again, and this time it groaned a little louder. As the wood started to splinter, he moved it to the center of the frame and repeated the move one last time, and finally it came unstuck from the sill.

As the window gave way, he pocketed the file and shoved the frame up. Then he hauled himself inside the bedroom.

A smile of triumph slowly curved his lips. “Did you miss me?”