Scarface’s POV
“f**k—MOVE!” I yelled, slamming my palm on the dashboard.
I was watching everything from the black van, parked a block and a half from Don Luca’s filthy little pleasure pit. Tinted windows. Engine running. My heart was pounding, jaw clenched. I had one goddamn job for that i***t. One.
“Get the girl to the back gate,” I growled, mimicking his voice. “Slip her out quietly. I’ll grab her from the alley. Clean and Done.”
But what do I see now?
One of mine. My boy. Being DRAGGED out the back like garbage. Blood on his face. His Pants were ripped. And Screaming like a b***h.
I slammed my fist against the steering wheel again.
“f**k!”
The van shook from the impact.
I peeled out of the spot fast, my tires screeching. I couldn’t risk anyone seeing me. Not now. Not when the
