Not Mine to Keep (The Costa Family)

“I’m not a fan of bringing my brother in on this, but I’d like to have someone else on the inside before the party starts.” Sean McGregor looked up from the laptop where the architectural blueprints for tonight’s venue were displayed. We’d be going into an underground club with too many tunnels for our liking. “You won’t have a chance to meet Ethan before we head out, though.”

“Do you not trust me?” Enzo rounded the table in the living room to face off with the Irishman.

The blond stared right back at my brother without batting a fucking eyelash. Guess he could hold his own or else Emilia Calibrisi wouldn’t have married him.

“I’ll be there as part of the catering staff,” Enzo added, as if Sean had forgotten the alias he’d provided my chef brother.

Sean smirked, letting my brother know he didn’t intimidate him with those dark eyes and the marks of death tattooed all over his arms. “If we didn’t trust you, we wouldn’t be in this bloody room with you now.” He angled his head to his “teammate,” if that’s what they called each other. He was probably the only man who could ever give Enzo pause.

There were “dark vibes,” and then there was Sebastian Renaud. The man was the walking epitome of “don’t fuck with me, or else.” I couldn’t help but admire that, though.

Sebastian looked around the living room at all of us and casually scratched his bearded jawline. “Sean’s brother’s not League, but Ethan’s agreed to help, and you should be thankful for any help we’re offering.” His tone was void of emotion. Just laying out the facts.

“And what’s his cover story? Why him?” Of course Izzy wasn’t intimidated by the man. That worried me, actually. It may have also explained her poor choice in men.

“Musician on the side,” Sean said. “Ethan’s already rehearsing with the band playing in the main room of the club tonight.”

Sebastian peered at my sister and explained, “We arranged for one of their band members, along with their backup, to fall ill.”

“I don’t even want to know how you did that.” Izzy waved her hand his way. She really was like my brothers and me—the backbone, right along with being too brave for her own good. (It had gotten us into trouble here and there over the years, like with Rocco Barone.)

“I’m still not a fan of Izzy’s alias.” Especially the fact she had one at all. Normally, she sat a safe distance away from our missions. She was never directly involved.

“You mean her being Hudson’s girlfriend tonight?” Enzo asked. “Or her going into the club at all?”

“Both,” Constantine and I said at the same time.

“Bella will be at my side the whole night. I won’t let anything happen to her,” Hudson said, his tone deep and meant to reassure us, but there was something in his eyes when he looked at her—worry?—that did nothing to dispel my unease.

“She’s your tech person on the security cams. Our eyes and ears tonight,” Sebastian pointed out, his Irish brogue cutting through more than Sean’s had. “With the club being underground beneath archeological ruins, it’s too great of a risk we’ll lose her on comms, and then we’ll be moving around in the dark.”

“As much as I don’t want to agree with the decision to have her undercover at Esposito’s party, Renaud is right,” Constantine said, the concern etched into his voice not doing wonders for that backbone of mine right now.

“I’ll be fine. Relax.” Izzy unfolded her arms and went over to Hudson, nudging him in the side. “This guy won’t let anything happen to me.”

“Not if he wants to live to see another day.” Doubtful Enzo was joking, either, with that comment.This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

Before I could interject my two cents, my phone vibrated in my pocket, alerting me to a text. After I read it, I rushed out, “Excuse me for a moment,” already on my way to the bedroom.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey: The son of a bitch had me tested.

I closed the bedroom door and dropped down on the bed. We hadn’t talked much since our last exchange yesterday. I’d done my best to keep my distance and only sent quick messages to ensure she was okay, so I didn’t blow a gasket while worrying. This was her first time initiating contact.

Me: What do you mean?

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my legs as I waited for her to respond, anger barreling through me with worry about what the “son of a bitch” had done. What kind of test? I tried to calm myself down by the fact a call would’ve signaled a more urgent and pressing matter than a text. So she had to be okay.

Also, maybe now was the time to change her name in my phone to Callie? While waiting, I went ahead and did it—not exactly loving doing it, but I needed to place some distance between us somehow. This felt like a small step.

Callie: He had a gynecologist come and take blood and do a pelvic exam to make sure I’m not on birth control and I am fertile. (I had to take an hour-long bath after that to . . . not feel so . . . invaded. I know that’s the doctor’s job, but the fact I was ordered by Armani just . . . )

I reread her message, feeling my control seconds away from snapping.

Pelvic exam?

The fucker had forced her to spread open her legs and . . .

“I’m going to kill him and the doctor,” I hissed under my breath while standing, and I went out to the balcony, needing air. There didn’t seem to be any in the bedroom.

I set aside my phone, slammed my hands on the balustrade, and looked up at the sky, stars blinking overhead without a cloud in sight. Breathe, dammit. Fucking breathe.

After corralling my thoughts, only seeing carnage in my mind of all the men I was ready to destroy, I grabbed my phone to answer her, but another text came in from her first.

Callie: I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you with this right now. It happened earlier, and I told myself I would keep my mouth shut until you got back. But my anger is only getting worse the more time passes. The more I think about it I just want to . . . kill someone.

Me: How can I help?

Callie: Listening is all I needed. (Or in your case, reading my words.)

Callie: Everything set for tonight? Gabriel mentioned you have to go to some underground dance club. He said the Espositos rented the whole place out since it’s normally closed on a Tuesday.

If she needed a distraction, I supposed I’d give it to her, even though I wasn’t quite ready to drop the subject of killing Armani for this sooner rather than later.

Me: We’ll be leaving in about two hours, but my sister has to come inside with a fake identity now instead of staying outside like normal, and it’s got me nervous.

Callie: I take it you don’t normally “do” nervous.

Only since I met her.

Me: We won’t let anything happen to her. I’m just a little bit more on edge now than I was before.

Callie: Just a little bit? Well, I’m officially over that edge after today. I was managing to keep it together (kind of) until now.

Callie: These comments from me aren’t helping you. I’m sorry.

Me: You need to stop apologizing. And you’re helping me just fine.

Callie: How?

Me: Because now I’m in the mood to commit murder.

Three Hours Later

Standing by the bar, the drinks courtesy of my new enemy, the Esposito family, I waited for the bartender to pour the whiskey, catching sight of Hudson and Izzy at a booth at my three o’clock. They were focused on the band doing a cover of a U2 song, and Sean’s brother was on the keyboard behind a mic.

Ethan had come through for us, providing a heads-up on how many security guards we’d be up against.

As for Enzo, he’d discreetly smuggled me a knife ten minutes ago while refreshing the food on Level Two of the club. I’d soon be using the blade tucked at my back beneath the suit jacket to cut Esposito’s throat.

Izzy had already hacked into the security system, and she had the cameras available on her smartphone; she’d been relaying information to us over comms since we’d arrived. Everything was going as planned. Zero hiccups. And there was always at least one, and that had me nervous for when it would happen.

I brought my wrist near my mouth to talk over my comm. “This is Four. One, how are we on time?” I wasn’t accustomed to just a number as my call sign, but that’d been the agreed-upon way of referring to ourselves. Constantine also wasn’t used to being second-in-command, but we had to play nice with The League, and Sebastian was “One” tonight.

“This is One. Almost ready for the distraction to take place.”

“Roger that,” I replied before accepting the drink from the bartender. “And Six”—my sister’s number tonight—“you have eyes on you. At your six o’clock. Put down your phone for a second and look like a couple.”

There weren’t many people on the dance floor blocking my path to them, so it was easy to make out Hudson peering my way as if unsure he wanted to follow my directive.

When he didn’t make a move, my sister did it for him. She set a hand to his cheek, then decided to drive me nuts by slanting her lips over his, and the poor guy didn’t have much of a choice now. Thank God it was me in the room with them and not Constantine.

“Not what I meant,” I grumbled over comms at the sight of my baby sister making out with a guy a decade older than her. When Hudson slipped a hand into her hair, further selling a kiss that no longer needed to be sold, I rasped, “Heat is gone. You’re good.” When neither backed off, and I was worried my sister was seconds away from climbing onto his lap, forgetting this was an act, I snapped out, “Six, back off.”

“Fuck,” Hudson said loud enough to be heard over comms after detaching himself from my sister.

“This is Two. Everything okay there?” Constantine cut over the line.

“Everything’s fine,” Izzy remarked, scooting back in the booth, placing a little distance between herself and Hudson now, while snatching her phone from the table.

“Status check.” I nearly forgot my alias that time, still shaken up by that fake kiss that didn’t look all that fake. Nor the near heart attack it almost gave me.

“This is Three,” Sean said. “Distraction is now in effect. We’re clearing a path for you. You can move into position now.”

“Roger that.” I set aside the drink and did my best to casually walk by my sister and Hudson’s table for the spiral staircase off to the side of the stage. Two guards rushed to the fight breaking out in one of the other rooms that Sean and Sebastian had arranged to happen.

“There are a lot of hallway-like tunnels between you and your target location. I’ll guide you to the HVT.” Izzy’s voice popped into my ear as I climbed the steps, and I had to suppress a smile at hearing my sister use military jargon. I wasn’t sure if Esposito qualified as a “high-value target,” like the kind I’d hunted for the government both during and after the army, but I supposed tonight he was our HVT if I wanted to marry Callie.

Want? More like have to marry her.

“Take a left when you’re at the top of the stairs,” Izzy directed me. “Then hang a right down the next hall.”

So far, the Espositos hadn’t shown their faces at their own party and had remained in a private room on Level Two that apparently would take me walking through a maze to locate. Thank God for something. Who the hell had designed a club like this, anyway?

“This is One. We’ve got the left side of Level Two clear for your passage.”

“Five, time to make your bathroom trip,” Constantine told Hudson.

I hated leaving Izzy alone, but we needed to quietly take down as many guards as possible before word got to Esposito that he was in danger, and we’d need Hudson’s help to do that.

“This is Five. On the move now,” Hudson confirmed.

I followed Izzy’s first set of directions, keeping myself out of sight from the cameras, then she rattled off the next set of directions.

So far, no sounds of gunfire competing with the band, which I’d take as good news in trying to keep our presence unknown until the very last minute.

I turned the next corner that led me down another barely lit hallway, and my world flipped upside down at the man standing on the other side, staring back at me. I didn’t need it to be lit up to identify him, to know who else was there with me.

“This is Four. We’re not the only ones here for the target,” I alerted the team as Rocco Barone made the first move, coming for me.

I snatched the blade from beneath my suit jacket and dropped to a knee as tonight’s “hiccup” came at me. I managed to duck and slide beneath his outstretched arm, then swivel around, getting back to my feet before he could stab me. Both of us were working with kitchen cutlery tonight. Of all the ways I’d imagined killing him over the years, and now . . .

“Been a long time, Costa.” The motherfucker smiled and beckoned me with a flick of his wrist. “What are the chances we both crashed the same party?” When I didn’t follow his request, he charged my way. The guy was bigger, but I was quicker. “Guess we’re both here for the same reason. Not sure why you want to marry into the DiMaggios,” he went on, missing each time he tried to strike.

Unlike his wasted attempts to hit me, I managed to land a gut punch and an elbow to the face. After spitting blood, he grinned, enjoying this too much, and came at me.

My teammates were in my ear, trying to figure out what was going on, but I was too wrapped up in defending myself from a psychopath to share.

At some point in the chaos, we both lost our weapons, and Rocco managed to put me up against the wall, smashing one of the few lights there. Him getting the drop on me—not one of my finer moments in life.

I felt his breath in my ear as he leaned in and hissed loud enough to ensure my team could hear his voice. “Is Constantine here? He is, isn’t he? How’s he doing? Can he hear me now?”

“He’s mine,” Constantine ordered, and yup, he’d heard the fucker, loud and clear. “I’m on my way.”

I couldn’t let that showdown happen. Not tonight, anyway. I also couldn’t end his life now without jeopardizing the plan to use him to get to his father.

Anger and adrenaline allowed me to break free, and I managed to take a knee to secure my knife from the floor. Back on my feet in one fast movement, I set the blade against his throat. “Neither of us will get to Esposito if we exchange blows all night.” I hated myself for that, and for what I did next. Let him go and backed up.

Breathing hard, Rocco stared at me as if worried I was setting him up for a trap.

“What’s it going to be?” I lowered the knife to my side, needing to end this confrontation before Constantine arrived and killed him.

“I guess . . . may the best man, or in our case, groom win.” Rocco grabbed his knife and rolled back his shoulders, as if ready to throw down again with me anyway. But then he turned and went the way he’d come, which meant he had another route to get to the mark.

“I can see you on camera,” Izzy alerted over my earpiece. “Which means so can security. Get out of there.”

Shit. “I need a new way to him. A quicker route before Rocco gets to him first.”

“I’ll handle Rocco. Go after the target,” Constantine snapped out.

“This is One. Do not fucking pursue. This is not time for your revenge.” Sebastian paused before ordering, “Five, can you slow down Rocco instead?”

“This is Five. I’m on it,” Hudson said, and from the sound of it, he was on the move. Now Izzy had to direct the two of us to our marks before it was too late.

“This is Six,” Izzy said a few seconds later. “The HVT is barricaded in a room with two armed guards, his wife, and Target Two. There are two more armed guards in front of the door now as well.”

So much for the knife.

“You need to stand down,” Izzy suggested, and that’s all it was, because like hell would I back off.

“I can’t.” Or Armani picks Rocco, and I may not be allowed back at his house to get to Callie without fast-roping in from a helo while being shot at. I also had no clue whether Constantine was obeying Sebastian’s orders, because he’d been eerily quiet.

“Fine,” Izzy whispered. “But you can’t avoid the cameras with the only other route I can find to get you to the HVT.”

“It’s safe to say that no longer matters,” I answered as a guard rounded the next hall.

Sean appeared behind the guard, swiftly wrapping an arm around his neck. He slowly dropped him to the ground, then motioned for me to advance.

I nodded my thanks, then followed Izzy’s new instructions, taking off down another tunnel-like hallway, stacked rocks for the walls and concrete beneath my shoes.

“Stop,” Izzy abruptly shouted into my ear just before I went down the next hall. “You’re there. The target room is around that corner.”

I set my back to the wall, trying to come up with a plan armed with only a knife to go up against—how many men again?

My free hand curled into a fist as I tried to steady my breathing. At least I’d made it there before Rocco, which meant Hudson, instead of Constantine, was hopefully stalling him.

At the sound of someone at my six o’clock, I turned and nearly flung my knife. I’d never been so happy to see Constantine, especially carrying two 9mms.

“Revenge can wait,” he said, once closer. “You need me.”

I tucked the knife at my back and accepted the 9mm, then spied Enzo coming from the same direction. Clearly, he’d been following Izzy’s directions as well.

“Can’t let you do this without us,” Enzo said, holding two huge-ass kitchen knives.

I looked back and forth between my brothers, and Hudson popped over comms, letting us know he was doing his best to distract Rocco without killing him.

Constantine closed his eyes for a moment, and I knew it killed him not to be the one fighting Rocco, but he chose me. Family over revenge. The man was the best of all of us.

“Let’s do this,” Constantine said while opening his eyes, and without hesitating, he stepped around the hall and took the first shot.