Once the alarm has been raised and all hands are on deck at the source of the bombs, it’s a cakewalk down the hall towards the rooms with the red doors.
The whole corridor is lined with them. I have no way of knowing which contains what, so I pick the nearest one with the alabaster gold frame, send two bullets through the lock, and then kick it open.
I hear the disgruntled grunt of a man taken by surprise in a vulnerable moment. He jerks to his feet and turns to me with narrowed eyes. Familiar, but not what I’m expecting.
“Don Ricardo.” I grimace. “I should have known this was your mansion. You always did have repulsive taste.”
The Italian is wearing a white vest, black boxers, and three thick gold chains. Back when I was a boy, I used to think of him as old. Now, he looks like a f****
