Chapter 2 - Blood on the Asphalt
The sound rolled toward the park like thunder wearing Italian leather. Black SUVs, at least three of them, were tearing through the park's perimeter fencing, tearing up the manicured grass as they headed straight for the confrontation.
The Bratva thugs hesitated, their eyes darting from Sienna to the approaching convoy. Yuri, the man whose wrist Sienna had just shattered, scooped up his knife with his good hand, his face twisted in a mask of pure rage. He didn't care about the SUVs yet. He only cared about the beggar who had embarrassed him.
"I'm going to carve you into pieces," Yuri hissed, stepping forward.
Sienna stood her ground. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She could feel the little girl trembling behind her, clutching her jeans. "You have to go through me," Sienna said, raising the metal rod.
Yuri lunged. He was fast, faster than a man his size had any right to be. The blade slashed out, catching Sienna’s forearm. She gasped as fire laced up her arm, blood instantly soaking into her yellow jacket. But she didn't retreat. She stepped into the attack, bringing her knee up into his stomach and bringing the heavy iron bar down on his shoulder.
He stumbled back, but the second thug moved in. A heavy boot caught Sienna in the ribs. She heard a crack, and all the air left her lungs. She hit the pavement hard, the metal rod skittering out of her grip. Her vision swam. Blood slid down her neck in a thin red line from where the knife had grazed her collarbone. Her face felt swollen where she had hit the concrete.
Through her blurring vision, she saw the little girl crying, holding her teddy bear tight.
"Leave her alone!" Sienna choked out, trying to push herself up. Her hands were slick with her own blood. She scrambled forward, her fingers brushing the rusted metal rod, but it was too far. Next to it, dropped by a fleeing teenager moments ago, lay a solid wooden baseball bat. Sienna's hand closed around the wooden grip. She hauled herself up, standing between the girl and the men once more.
"You are nothing," Yuri spat, stepping closer, his breath reeking of cheap vodka and stale tobacco. "Just street trash. Just another body no one will miss."
Sienna tightened her grip on the bat. "Maybe. But I'm the trash that's going to put you in the ground."
Before Yuri could swing again, the SUVs slammed on their brakes, boxing in the Bratva van. The doors flew open. Armed men in sharp tailored suits poured out, their weapons drawn.
But it was the man leading them who commanded the space.
He was running, sprinting across the grass with a look of pure, unadulterated terror and fury on his face. He wore a crisp white shirt, the collar undone, and a black suit jacket that flared behind him. His dark hair was slicked back, but his eyes—his eyes were wild. He looked like a king who had just watched his kingdom burn.
"Lily!" the man roared, his voice echoing off the nearby buildings.
The Bratva thugs froze. Yuri's face went completely pale. The knife trembled in his hand. He slowly turned his head to look at the man in the suit. It was in that moment that Sienna saw the exact second a man realized he was a walking corpse.
Yuri had no idea whose daughter he had tried to take. He had no idea that Lucian Moretti, the most feared mafia boss in Chicago, was coming for him. And he had no idea that the broken woman bleeding on the concrete was about to change the landscape of the city's underworld forever.
May you like
"Take them," Lucian ordered, his voice suddenly terrifyingly calm as he stopped ten feet away.
Gunfire erupted. It wasn't a firefight; it was an execution.
