Gabriel stepped forward. “Is that a threat?”
I threw an arm out to stop Gabriel from taking another step and Jackson snickered in response. Gabriel shot me a glare, which I answered in turn. He was my younger brother and I would always stop him from putting himself in more danger than necessary. In fact, they were all my younger brothers. I had a lot of people to stand protectively in front of, once I thought about it.
“Are we done here?” I snapped. “Is our message clear?”
Jackson pretended to frown in confusion, causing my blood to boil. I tried my best not to show how annoyed I was, maintaining the practiced, calm features of my father.
“What message is that?” he asked.
Jackson knew exactly what the message was. Stay off our turf, keep your filthy f
ingers out of our drugs, and stop intercepting our runners. But, those were the rules he’d been breaking all along. The entire point was that Jackson enjoyed breaking the rules; the Varassos simply telling him to stop certainly wouldn’t be that effective.
I’d have to kill him. Or someone close to him.
Suddenly, much to my suprise, Jackson snatched a switchblade out of his pocket and flicked it open. The blade was razor-sharp and gleamed in the light of a nearby streetlamp.
“I was kind of hoping I could bury this in one of Angelo’s sons tonight,” Jackson mused, twirling the blade in his fingers with expert precision. I could tell it was one of those things he probably practiced for hours alone at night in his bedroom, if only to look more like the scary mobster he wanted to be.
I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. My annoyance took precedence.
With a frustrated, mumbled curse, I reached behind my back and pulled my gun out of my waistband with expert flourish. I’d been holding guns for most of my life; it almost felt like another limb, just another part of my body.
Gabriel, knowing to keep his weapons hidden until it was absolutely necessary, remained standing where he was, but tensed slightly as if preparing for a fist fight.
“Whoops,” I whispered, raising my eyebrows at Jackson in mock innocence. “Did I accidentally bring a gun to a knife fight?”
I had the gun aimed perfectly at the very center of Jackson’s forehead. At this close of a range, the bullet would likely come straight out clean on the other side of his skull.
But, Jackson wasn’t acting as though he currently had a gun pointed at him. He was chuckling to himself, gaze trained on mine instead of the dark barrel glaring down at him. The engine of the Escalade revved next to us, which was Alessandro’s way of telling me to get on with it.
“Not too worried about blood on your clothes, after all?” asked Jackson, his voice light and casual. Was he on some kind of suicide mission? Had that been the point of this entire thing?
I shrugged. “Not particularly, no.”
Suddenly, a familiar click drew my attention from Jackson to his lefthand side where one of his guys had pulled out a small handgun, clearly a bit old and rusty, and probably stolen. Much to my distaste, the guy had it pointed directly at Gabriel’s chest.
Gabriel was frozen, unable to pull out his own weapon with a loaded gun pointed at him.
Everyone was still. I imagined that any idiot who happened to walk by would think we were nothing more than a particularly violent statue garden. Me, gun pointed at Jackson, who still had his knife in his fist. Jackson’s guy with a gun pointed at Gabriel, who stood with his hands slightly raised where the potential shooter could see them. Jackson’s other guy was still at the back of the Camaro, resting against the trunk as if he’d already seen enough and just wanted to go home. And, of course, Alessandro, who sat with his hands on the wheel, cursing himself for not being able to blow the Randolphs up with his eyes, or something like that.
I was the first to move.
Lightning fast, I flicked the barrel of my gun a few inches to the left and put a bullet through the stranger’s head. The silencer I’d attached to the gun muffled most of the loud bang that erupted and echoed throughout the alleyway.
Immediately, with perfect intuition, Gabriel pulled out his own gun and quickly killed the other guy at the back of the Camaro, who tried to duck behind the ugly vehicle.
But, Jackson had wanted us to be distracted by his foolish excuse for minions. He’d wanted us to think that he’d been stupid enough to bring nothing but a switchblade to protect himself in a confrontation with the Varassos. And we’d been dumb enough to believe him. Dumb enough to assume that Jackson Randolph, who was famously moronic and clumsy, would be unprepared tonight.
In front of me, only a couple yards away, Jackson pulled out a gun of his own, also hidden in his waistband. He aimed it steadily at my heart and I froze. Gabriel instantly trained his gun on Jackson and the three of us were locked in a standoff.
In normal circumstances, I’d be willing to take one for the team if it meant that me getting shot would help my brothers put down one of the most annoying gangsters on the streets. At least, at long as the bullet wound wasn’t fatal. But, I couldn’t stop my mind from flying to Alana and our baby that was, quite literally, on its way into this world.
Come home to me.
I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk leaving my son or daughter without a father.
Doing my best to keep my breathing even, I raised both of my hands in the air. The gun remained in my right hand, but my finger was clearly off the trigger. I was surrendering.