Indebted to the Mafia King

*Cal*

Leaving the basement and making sure at least one of my men stays behind to watch the cartel assholes we have tied inside, I rush upstairs with Tony, Sam, and Hunter with the rest of my men on my tail.

Even though the noises upstairs are muffed by closed doors and thick walls, I don't like what I hear as I approach the bar. Frantic screams and intermittent gunfire can never be a good thing.

"Fuck," I hiss to myself. "They seem to be heavily armed," I inform my men over my shoulder. "Are you guys loaded?"noveldrama

"I have a couple of guns with me. Armando is outside with my men," Tony informs me.

I don't want to think about the possible scenarios we're about to encounter. The rest

of my men are also upstairs, but if they were caught off guard-even though I had them keeping a close eye out for any strange movement-things might be ugly.

"I'll grab a shotgun from the safe," Hunter tells me. "Do you need me to get you anything, Boss?"

"No, I have my pistol on me," I reply through gritted teeth.

I hate being trapped like this, taken off guard for the second time. But the only good news I can think of right now is that they arrived after Heidi left. It gives me immense relief to know she's out of harm's way. At least for now.

"Gotcha," Hunter murmurs before disappearing to our right to get to the deposit.

Pulling my gun out of its holster, I prepare myself to open the door that leads to the main salon of the bar. I cock the pistol, hearing the others do the same behind me, I give myself a split second to take a deep breath, I pull the door open and rush outside.

The bar is in complete chaos. Tables are turned, chairs tossed to the side, walls covered with bullet holes, and several men are engaged in battle.

I drop behind a broken chair, noticing Tony and Sam heading the other way. Then I turn my attention back to what's happening around me, trying to make sense of what's going on without putting myself in the line of fire.

Within a few seconds, I notice that most of my men are inside the bar, hidden behind the counter or anything they could find to protect themselves, and the cartel men are at the entrance, protecting themselves behind the door.

Some managed to get inside, but they are now lying on the floor, motionless.

I hope they are dead.

Anger rises within me, and my vision turns red. I clench my jaw so hard it cracks. I get on my knees, and pop my head around the chair, aiming for the first guy I see that I don't recognize. He's definitely not one of mine, so I shoot him, watching him fall to the ground. The noises around me are so loud that my ears are ringing, making it hard for me to orient myself.

"On your left, Boss!" someone yells, and I only have the time to snap my head to the side and dart out of the way of a bullet that passes so close to my ear that I can feel a rush of wind. The guy who shot at me is dead before I have the chance to react.

Bodies begin to clog the doorway, and I start aiming at whoever I can spot within this small enclosure. I hate feeling cornered like a fucking rat.

More men manage to come inside, and now the cartel is closing the circle on us, keeping the entrance blocked so none of us can leave. We could all escape through the back door, but to hell with it if they think we're such cowards. I will leave here either dead or with their boss's head in a duffelbag.

If he's even brave enough to be here, that is. So far, I haven't spotted anyone that closely resembles Mateo or that carries himself with the aura of a leader.

I decide to move from my hiding place. I'm too exposed now. I also realize I haven't put on a bulletproof vest. When there's a break in gunfire, I jump to the side, rolling on the floor until I get behind the counter.

Several of my men are here already, using it as a barricade. They rise to their feet in sync, quick enough to shoot at our enemies then squat to protect themselves again. The entire situation has me fucking pissed. They shouldn't have been able to attack us in our own business. For weeks, I've had my men on the lookout, watching our street and surroundings 24/7 to make sure we couldn't be taken by surprise again. What the hell went wrong? What did we miss? How did they manage to get here without being noticed?

Maybe I underestimated Milo and his leadership. Until an hour ago, I thought the cartel was running wild, aimless without a new leader. But I was fucking wrong. Someone screams loudly close to me, and I snap my head in their direction. Ian is on the floor, one hand holding a gun and the other applying pressure on a wound in his upper arm. It doesn't seem to be something grave, but I hate the fact that he is hurt at all.

"Are you all right?" I yell to him over the noise.

He nods sharply in response, allowing Sam to rip a sleeve off his own shirt and wrap it around his arm to stop the bleeding. Then, he's back on his feet, checking his gun to see if it's still loaded.

I'm getting tired of this fucking nonsense.

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Moving to the side, I find a blind spot. I can see the enemies through a small gap, but they can't really see me from their current positions. I place the muzzle of my gun in the gap between the bar and a fallen table and aim for an exposed leg.

The bastard screams in pain and falls to the floor, holding his shin and letting go of his weapon. Another shot and I knock him out completely, watching his body go limp and lifeless.

That's when something else or better yet, someone else-catches my attention. The man is hiding in the shadows, but just a glimpse of his outfit, and I just know who he

is.

He clearly has poor taste in fashion, that much I can say.

"Milo is right behind that column, at ten o'clock," I inform Hunter, who is squatting beside me.

His eyes dart in the direction I pointed, and he nods sharply at me, understanding the silent message I'm conveying.

"Cover me," I request, and in the blink of an eye, I move out from behind the counter, my gun pointing straight at Milo's face.

He seems genuinely surprised, seeing me walking toward him. I have a shit-ton of comments I'd like to shout at him, but right now, nothing seems to be enough. All I need is to put a bullet in his head. That will be the only thing that will satisfy me.

Everything happens so fast that it takes my brain a moment to understand.

One minute, I'm pulling the trigger, watching Milo's eyes widen with terror. Then, I'm on the floor, a sharp pain in my abdomen threatening to knock me unconscious. My vision darkens, and I gasp for air.

"The boss was hit!" someone yells from a distance.

Footsteps around me feel like needles piercing my brain, but I can't move or make them stop.

"I got him. Follow them and make sure to end them," another voice orders, this time closer to me.

Someone grabs me, trying to pull me from the floor, and even though I know it would probably be best for me to cooperate at this point, I can't force my body or my brain to obey me.

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All I can think about is that, if I die, I'll never see Heidi again.

I'll die right here, and she won't even come to my funeral because we fucking broke

up.

She might not even know I'm dead. For all I know, she left my office with the idea of never wanting to see or hear about me again.

I pass out, going in and out of consciousness, between dreams and nightmares. In all of them, I get to see Heidi's face, and that's the only reason why I don't seem to care about what is happening to me.

I feel nauseated. It's like I'm being transported somewhere, but I can't force my eyes to open and see what's going on. For all I care, God can take me now.

That would be so much easier.

Not that I'm looking forward to going to Hell, which is probably where I'm headed. I was never religious, so right now, I'm starting to wonder if it wouldn't have been better to have some sort of faith. Maybe God would allow me to beg for forgiveness. A familiar voice is talking to someone beside me, and even in my state, I know that it's Tony. The lad has been so loyal, such a good friend to me. I never told him how grateful I am for everything he's done for me and my syndicate.

"Make sure he really died," he tells someone. His tone is angry and demanding, exactly what the head of the Saints should sound like. "We can't afford a fucking mistake this time. I want this over with for good."

Who is he talking about?

Why isn't my brain cooperating with me anymore?

I black out again, and the next time I come back to my senses-sort of-Tony is still speaking, but this time his voice is lower and softer.

"There's been a fight, and Cal was shot," he's saying. "I need you not to panic. We're taking him to a doctor at a safe house. Hopefully, he'll make it." Silence follows his statement, and for a second, I wonder if I've died. But then he continues. "I can't make you that promise, but we'll do our best to save him," he informs whoever it is he is talking to.

I try to open my mouth so I can communicate with him and tell him that I'm okay, but

the pain in my stomach comes back so strong that I pass out immediately.

If this is what death feels like, it fucking sucks.