I see Nikolas and the other guys heading up the stairs, so I walk into the living room. Empty food containers are scattered everywhere.
“Looks like we interrupted lunch,” I say as I kick a box of spilled fried rice out of the way.
“Shitty last meal if you ask me,” Viktor mutters.
We hear gunfire from upstairs, then bullets fly from the direction of the dining room. I shove Viktor down behind the couch, and his ass lands in the rice scattered across the floor.
“You had to fucking kick the shit this way,” he complains as a spray of bullets slam into the couch we’re taking cover behind.
“Yeah, I just knew your ass would be sitting in it a couple of seconds later.”
“Are those peas? Who the fuck eats that shit?”
“Focus,” I chuckle.
“Right.” He moves into a crouching position, then I indicate with my fingers, ‘Three. Two. One.’
We dart up and open fire on the Albanians. Side by side, we push forward as one after the other soldier tries to get in a shot at us.
The moment we enter the dining room, Viktor takes out two guys while I shoot a third in the knee, dropping his ass to the tiled floor.
I quickly step on his wrist, then crouch and yank the weapon from his hand. Tossing it to the side, I press the barrel of my gun to the fuckers junk. “Let’s try this again. Where’s Kastrati?”
“Wait! Wait!” he panics, his eyes glued to his pelvis.
Viktor keeps guard in case there’s anyone still hiding who decides to attack.
“All cleared upstairs,” I hear Nikolas say. “No woman for you to take, Viktor.”
“Fuck off,” Viktor grumbles, drawing chuckles from the other men. He takes his anger out on the Albanian, kicking the fucker’s shot-up knee. “Start talking before I decide you’re not worth keeping alive.”
Growing impatient as fuck, I shout, “Where’s Kastrati?”
“Bucharest!” The man’s breathing comes fast. “He’s in Bucharest.”
“Address,” I demand.
The fucker rambles off something I don’t understand, but Viktor seems to because he mutters, “Got it.” He crouches next to the terrified man, who can’t be much older than twenty-one. "What do we do with him?”
“Let him go,” I say.
The command has Viktor giving me an incredulous look. I gesture for him to step out of the dining room while Nikolas and the others watch the Albanian.
“Are you serious?” Viktor asks once we’re out of earshot.
“Yes. We let the fucker go and track him.”
Viktor shakes his head, then mutters, “If he slips my surveillance, it’s on you.”
I let out a burst of laughter. “Like anything ever gets past you.” There’s no way the Albanian will give Viktor the slip. The man is part bloodhound.
Walking back into the dining room, I wait as Viktor takes a couple of photos of the Albanian and checks his wallet to make tracking the fucker easier. “Kreshnik Xhelilaj. That’s a fucking mouthful,” Viktor says.
I gesture for the Albanian to get up, then nod at the doorway. “Go.”
He gives me a wary look as he slowly limps toward the exit.
“Before I fucking change my mind!” I shout, wanting him out of my sight.
He darts away like a frightened deer.
“Let’s get out of here,” Nikolas mutters.
“Are we taking a trip to Bucharest?” Liam asks as we leave the house.
“No, you’re taking your wives and going home,” I say as I open the driver’s door of the G-Wagon. “Viktor and I will handle the rest from here on out.”
“Sure?” Gabriel asks.
“Yeah. I’ll call if I need you.”
We all climb into our respective vehicles and drive back to the office.
Over the excitement of the attack, Viktor sighs, then says, “We have a shipment coming in on Friday and a new arms dealer to meet. Are we flying to Peru, or is he coming here?”
“Would be best if we went to him. I don’t think he’ll get through customs with a modified Heckler & Koch,” I mutter. “Also, I want to see his place of operation.”
Viktor glances at me. “Good idea.”
I let out a sigh. “We’ll have to take the war to Kastrati before we can deal with Tinaj.” I frown and glance at Viktor. “Honestly, I’m starting to think Tinaj doesn’t exist. There’s been no trace of him.”
“I’m not sure.” That’s a rare thing for Viktor to say. “But I’ll find out.”
Chapter 35
Mariya
Sitting in Dr. West’s office, I struggle to remain calm on the outside while I’m freaking out on the inside.
My eyes are locked on my right hand.
I can handle the scar.
Jesus.
I’ve lost the function of my pinky and ring finger, and none of the physio helped. They’re forever stuck in a slightly bent position.
“We’re lucky. At least you have eighty percent function of your hand.” Dr. West says.
I nod, the sound of drilling almost drowning out her voice. I push it to the deepest corner of my mind so I can focus as she gives me instructions on how to take care of the wound while it heals completely.