POV: Burn
The calm didn’t last. It never did.
The sun had barely set when the call came in, shattering the quiet that had settled over the clubhouse like a warning. I grabbed my phone, my gut twisting the second I saw the number flashing on the screen. One of our lookouts, stationed at the edge of town, had eyes on a convoy of cars moving fast—too fast.
I pressed the phone to my ear, my voice sharp. “What are we looking at?”
“It’s them,” the voice crackled through the line. “La Morte Nera. They’ve got about three cars, loaded up. Headed straight for you.”
My jaw clenched, my heart pounding in my chest as I processed the information. They were coming for us. Now.
“How long do we have?” I asked, already moving toward the door, shouting orders to the guys scattered around the clubhouse.
