Indebted to the Mafia King

Dante

The lanky Russian advances on me, and I raise Seb's pistol because mine is pinned under his body. His fingers slip limply from the trigger, and I grimace as I land three shots in the Russian's chest. He drops like a sack of rocks. Tony skids through the haze of gun smoke to my side.

"Seb," he whispers urgently.

Seb's eyes roll aimlessly in his head. My heart hammers. Tony has no idea where his fucking gun is. It's my job, from underneath his bleeding brother, to keep all three of us alive. A much bigger Russian advances, wearing a set of brass knuckles, and I blow him away before his attention can lock on us.

"Sebastian Bellini." Tony takes his younger brother's head in his hands. "You have to fucking answer me, or I'm going to tell Nonna you've been missing her, and she should really call every day." Seb coughs. "Dick."

Tony and I exhale matching gusts of relief. It's not over yet. Tony wedges his arms under Seb, keeping him as still as possible while I slide out. The front of my suit drips with his blood, but I swallow down the metallic stench I'm all too familiar with.

A Russian looms out from behind a shelf with-

"Is that a fucking grenade?" Tony hisses.

Fucking Russians. When Tony speaks, the Russian pulls the pin from the grenade with his teeth and cocks his arm back. I abandon Seb's gun and throw myself at the man holding the grenade. He's got a few inches on me and maybe fifteen pounds, but you don't play D1 football without learning how to fucking tackle, so we both hit the ground hard.

I slam my fist into his face. When he opens his mouth to yelp in pain, I snatch the pin from his teeth and shove it back in the grenade.

"Dante!" Tony yells.

I jump to my feet, stomp on the Russian's wrist to make him release the grenade, then grab the little bomb and stuff it in my pocket before racing back. Tony has Seb draped over his shoulder, but he's staggering under his brother's weight, and he can't protect himself in the middle of this chaos.

A figure appears in the smoke. I wheel, grabbing my second pistol, but it's just fucking Mikey.

"Seb's hit," I spit. "I have to help Tony. You clear us a path."

Mikey nods without a word. He towers over me, over even Seb, and his silent bulk is as much of a comfort as I think I can get in this bullshit. I slide my second pistol back and slip under Seb's other arm. Mikey strides ahead, and gunshots ring through the bleary fog. There's nothing Tony and I can do but trudge inexorably forward, dragging the weight of a kid we've both watched grow up, and pray Mikey's actually clearing the warehouse. Inch by painful inch, we move, leaving a trail of ruby-red blood behind us.

Like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, the front door Seb and I burst through scant minutes ago appears out of the haze. Mikey stands next to it, gun in hand. I pass him my second pistol as we make it outside. He needs the bullets more than me right now.

Seb, Tony, and I crumple to the street in a pile. Tony catches Seb, cushioning his fall, and cradles his head.

"What did you do for me?" I demand. "We can fucking fix this."

Tony rips open Seb's shirt and puts out a hand. I shuck my jacket and hand it to him like we've been doing this all our lives. Haven't we? But as I look at Seb's pale chest, my stomach sinks. According to Domino, I took one bitch of a shot in the lung. These Russians don't have that dignity. It looks like they hit him with fucking buckshot, but each of the dozen holes are as deep as a usual bullet.

Seb looks like goddamn mincemeat. I can barely see his skin because of the blood. But Tony still tries to apply pressure with my jacket, rotating between the different bullet holes like he doesn't know that means he's wasting his time. "You listen to me, Sebastian," he hisses. "You're not going to fucking die like this. Do you even know you have plans next weekend? You were about to become a capo, you little shit."

Seb wheezes in a breath, and blood gouts out of him. I flinch.

"I'm going to tell everyone to call you Peaches." Tony's voice sounds ragged. "Or-or-"

"Love...you..." Seb manages. "T."

He slumps in his brother's arms. Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but as Tony bellows, a pure, animal sound of pain, my rage sings above everything else.

They can't do this to the Staten Island fucking Saints.

I yank Tony's spare gun from his waistband. He barely notices. I storm back, and Mikey silently hands me a semi-auto rifle instead of my pistol. I flick the safeties off each and wade into the horror show unfolding in the warehouse. Bullets zing. I am a one man torch, a match that will bring the whole Russian organization down before the news of Seb's death reaches them. Before it reaches his fucking nonna. Bodies fall before me like I'm Moses parting the Red Sea. Sharp pain splits my shoulder. I don't care. I can still pull the goddamn trigger, and nothing matters more to me than that right now. Sebastian is dead. I told him how to kiss a girl when he was too embarrassed to ask Tony. I drove him to his prom. I brought him in the front fucking door.

The next thing I feel is Raf's hand on my uninjured shoulder. Slowly, his voice filters into my ears.

"...all done, boss. They're dead."

I drop the guns on the floor. Along with the voice, I can now hear the most irritating song I've ever heard in my life.

"Who is playing that?" I roar.

Raf points a little shakily to my pocket, where I can see the glowing screen of my phone. It's my goddamn ringtone. I rip the device out of my pants, and it takes all my willpower to answer the call instead of shattering the whole thing. "Speak fast," I growl. "And have good news."

"Alas, I can only deliver on one front." Cal Duncan's brogue sounds a little strained. "Seems we were both hit. I've lost five men."

"For the last goddamn time," I say as calmly as I can muster, "I am not working with you, Duncan. I am never fucking going to be working with you. Call me again, and you'll lose more than five."

I hang up the phone and am about to drop it when it rings again. I slam the accept button.

"That's it, Dunca-"

"Dante?" Gianna asks breathlessly.

My heart crashes through the floor. Gianna doesn't call me unless there's a problem.

"Fuck it, I know it's you," she blurts. "The club's on fucking fire, Dino, and I don't know who's inside. I barely made it out."

My skin grows cold. Rage and panic war for supremacy. I manage one sentence.

"Where's Eleni?"