Bratva Sinner (A Possessive Mafia Romance)

“I’m hearing rumors, is all. Lots of people are talking about that dossier and I want to make sure you’re not fucking with me.” An edge to his tone. Franklin’s smile faded.

“Why would I bother coming all the way out here just to fuck with you?” Luke sounded like he was barely holding back his rage, although I knew better. “You really think you’re worth my time?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.” Franklin stared at Luke, not smiling, not laughing anymore. “I’ve been thinking about it. There are a lot of guys in this city you could sell that folder to and probably get more money. Why would you want to sell it to me?”

“Because you’re stupid enough to buy it.” Luke took a step closer. “We gonna make this deal or what?”

“I’m trying to figure that out. I think there are lots of guys stupider than me and much richer. So why am I here?”

Luke stared at him for a long moment then nodded at Franklin’s truck. “Get the money, Franklin,” he said softly, almost pleading. “Go get your fucking cash. Don’t make this difficult.”

Franklin’s face fell. “What are you planning?”

“Just go to your truck.”

Franklin took a step back, looking around. “All right, man, okay. I’ll get the cash, okay? I’ll give you the cash then you toss me over that bag and we’re good, right?” He sounded afraid now, almost desperate, and I didn’t know what he thought was happening here, but it wasn’t good.

“That’s right, go get the money. Bring it out as slow as you can, you understand me?” Luke was back in control then, his tone forceful. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Franklin groaned and ducked back into the truck. Luke gripped the pistol slid into his waistband and I tensed for Franklin to turn around shooting, but he only emerged with his own duffel, blue and beat up with a big Phillies logo in the center. He looked around then tossed it over at Luke’s feet.

Luke bent over and picked it up. He opened the bag and showed me the contents: small bundles of fresh-looking cash.

“I hope you’re not fucking with me,” Franklin said. “It’s not too late to say so, yeah? You can take the money if you let me walk away.”

Luke grunted and gestured at me. I did my job and threw the duffel at Franklin. He caught it and grimaced as he opened it up like there might be poisonous snakes inside.

He hesitated when he saw the folder.

“Is this for real?” He looked up, stared at me, then over at Luke. “Is this the dossier?”

For one long second Franklin’s eyes shone with a desperate internal light like maybe, just maybe, this deal was what it seemed on the face of things—until a car came tearing around the corner nearby, screeching like the devil himself was chasing, and Franklin stepped back until he butted up against his truck.

Luke sighed and ran a hand through his hair as another car joined the first. They flew up over the curb and smashed into the parking lot, sparks flying up. Franklin cursed and threw the duffel into the bed of his truck, then wrestled with the door, panicking so much he could barely get it open. By the time he started to climb in, Maher stepped out of the closest car, followed by more of his guys, and all of them armed.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Maher said, grinning, then opened fire.

They killed Franklin first. Luke moved as they shot, grabbed me by the wrist, and yanked me to the side. We sprinted as the world exploded all around us, flashes of muzzles and bullets pinging off the sidewalk, and screams of pain, so many screams of pain, not just Franklin but others, too. Luke shoved me back behind our car and I hit the ground breathing hard, touching myself to make sure I didn’t get shot.

Luke peered up over the hood and started shooting.

I covered my ears at first, until the noise got so bad that I couldn’t hear it anymore. There was only ringing, a steady buzz of nothing, and I managed to look through the windows and over at the scene unfolding in the middle of the lot.

Franklin was dead. His blood was splattered all over his truck’s windshield. Poor bastard, he wasn’t necessarily supposed to die, but Luke had a feeling Maher would come for him, too. The dossier in the bed was a fake, of course, and if Franklin looked through it he would’ve found a bunch of blank printer paper stapled together.

A few feet from the truck were bodies. Most of them were on the ground, bleeding heavily and moaning. Bullets still scattered all around them, coming from the school roof and from a few nearby buildings, rifle shots echoing into the night. Luke had his men up there waiting for the moment Maher decided to show up. Maher himself was in the midst of all those bleeding bodies, at least eight of them, maybe more, crawling back toward the cars. One of his men, still somehow up on his feet, grabbed Maher and dragged him away, but a bullet took the guy in the chest.