Dead of Wynter: A Dark Mafia Romance (Frost Industries Book 2)
Dead of Wynter: Chapter 41

I pace the length of Storm’s office over and over again. I’ve been like this for the last half an hour, and every moment we spend in here is another moment I can’t sit still. My heart beats hard and fast in my chest as I listen to the other end of the phone line as Rayne and Tommy lead a team of our men in a raid of Russo’s warehouse. Everett is running point from behind the desk, his headset on as he guides the team with the use of security cameras and maps he shouldn’t have access to.

The fact they’re allowing me to be a part of this at all is a small miracle, so I’m trying not to alert my brother and whatever Everett is to me that I’m freaking out. While I’ve trained to take over the business in the event something terrible happens to my brother, I’ve never been a part of this side of things. There’s a file saved on my computer with the instructions of what I would do and who I would contact to help me, but Storm never wanted me to see it unless absolutely necessary.

And apparently absolutely necessary translates to if I’m almost blown up and replace myself the main target of the enemy.

Everett and my brothers came to blows over my involvement, but ultimately I had the final say, and now I’m here, I’m not totally sure I chose right, not that I’ll ever admit that to them.

“Can you stop pacing? You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.” Storm smirks from where he’s perched on the other side of the desk.

I glare at him but don’t stop my back and forth. The motion is keeping me from having a nervous breakdown because my brother is in the middle of enemy territory and his wife is none the wiser in the other room.

That used to be me. It’s always been that we didn’t know when something big was going down until afterward, and I’m starting to think I liked it that way. But I demanded to be a part of this, and so I have to stand by my choice.

“Seriously, Wyn, they’re fine. And anyone dumb enough to go after Tommy when he’s got a weapon will be dead in three seconds flat.”

Everett chuckles from behind the desk, shaking his head at the two of us but he never draws his eyes away from the three monitors in front of him. I always suspected Everett still worked for Frost, but I never had any proof. There were programs that were built that had his signature on them, even if no one ever admitted it, weapons that had a flare I recognized, and there were always a lot of mysterious phone calls. In all fairness, that last one isn’t totally unheard of anyway because of the line of work the men in my family are involved in, but I always suspected it.

“Just because Tommy is a raging lunatic doesn’t make this any less stressful,” I snap. I mean, he’s not totally wrong because that guy is an actual sociopath, and he loves it when people start shooting at him, but that doesn’t make me worry about them any less.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, dove,” Everett says softly, his eyes finally dragging away from the screens for a brief second.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I just need to keep moving.”

He watches me closely for a moment and then nods once before turning his attention back to the screens. The idea of my involvement is growing on him, but he’s not there yet, despite the fact this mission was mostly my idea.

The Russos would be expecting a personal attack like the ones they’ve administered on us. They have extra security, just like we do, and that means they have pulled people off their locations to make up for the loss when they took Emerson, and Tommy, being Tommy, got a little trigger happy. They’ve been going after our business interests for months, maybe even longer, and we haven’t hit back, always chasing our tail with personal security. So I thought it would be best to go back to basics and hit them the same way they have been us.

It’s not a full proof plan by any means, but it’s going ahead so it must have some merit. The way my brothers stared at me as I delivered the plan was equally in horror and in awe. They want me as far from this as I can be, but I was right when I said I needed to know this side of the business if there’s even the slightest chance I’m going to have to run it one day.

Sound on the other end of the line draws my attention to the desk and I stop pacing for the first time since the call started. My breath stills as I listen to the sound of gunfire, so much that my body flinches as every bullet is fired. I only drag my gaze away from the phone for long enough to look at Everett and Storm, but they both look equally relaxed, as if our family aren’t currently being fired at.

The gunfire goes on for so long I worry I’m going to pass out because I keep forgetting to breathe. The sound fills the office, and the longer I stand here staring at the phone, the more I struggle to remain on my feet. My body begs me to crumple on the ground, to fall to my knees and pray for my brother and Tommy to be okay.

Considering he is a total lunatic, Tommy and I are quite close. He’s been like a brother to me since we were teenagers when he came to work for us. I’ve never asked about his background, but I’ve seen the scars littering his pale skin that I can hazard a guess at the life he lived before he came to us. Over the years he’s covered the scars with so many tattoos I don’t think he has an inch of free skin left, but I try not to think about it too much.

The moment the line goes quiet I squeeze my eyes shut as my breath stutters in my chest. It’s almost too quiet, and the thought that my brother isn’t going to walk through the front door, the thought of consoling his wife and attending his funeral like we did our parents, it’s enough to have nausea rolling over me.

For the first time since he sat down, Storm seems something other than relaxed, his jaw is tight as his eyes remain locked on the phone on the desk. Everett is in full work mode, his fingers flying across the keyboard in rapid motions with his brow furrowed.

I’m about to ask what the fuck is going on when a voice fills the line and my lungs can finally drag in a breath. “Motherfuckers,” Rayne roars.

“What’s going on?” Storm asks, standing from his seat to round the desk.

“It’s empty. The motherfuckers moved their shit,” Rayne growls and I sink to my knees on the plush carpet. This is my fault. We’ve no doubt lost men today, and it’s all because I thought we should hit them where it hurt, where the money was.

“How many men did we lose?” I ask from my place on the floor. I think about trying to stand, but my legs aren’t capable of holding me right now.

Silence greets me on the other end of the phone, and I’m back to holding my breath as I await a response. “Tommy is doing the count now, but we’ve lost at least three men,” Rayne tells me solemnly.

I close my eyes to hold back the tears. They’re dead because of me, because of my choices. None of them would have been in that building if it weren’t for me.

“And on their side?” Storm asks.

“At first glance about twenty, but we haven’t done the count.”

Everett blows out a breath and leans back in his chair. “That’s a big hit for them, especially after we took out so many of their men at the club.”

“Any idea what level the guys are?” Storm pipes up.

“That’s the thing, these guys seem to be hired help, they’re not their usual guys, so they must be keeping them close to the family.”

“It was a trap?” The words filling the room sound like mine, but I don’t remember saying, or even thinking, the words.

“It looks that way. They definitely knew we were coming. The team we took out are professionals,” Tommy tells us.

My belly clenches painfully and the need to vomit gurgles in the pit of my stomach.

“More proof we have a rat,” Storm muses. “Get home as soon as you can. We need to decide on our next move. Clean up should be there any minute.”

“You got it,” Rayne fires back.

“You need me too, boss?” Tommy asks.

“Just the two of you. We need to clean house and I don’t know who we can trust right now.”

“Got it.”

The line goes dead and I allow my body to sink farther into the carpet as I bring my knees to my chest. Is this how Storm feels every time one of his decisions ends someone’s life? The overarching sense of dread and guilt mingling together catches me off guard and I can barely breathe through the cocktail of toxic emotions.

“Fuck!” Storm roars, a loud crash fills the office but I don’t bother opening my eyes. If smashing shit is how he deals with emotions, who am I to argue?

Movement beside me startles my shaking body, and a moment later I’m being scooped up and held against a hard chest.

“It’s okay, little dove,” Everett whispers into my hair as he lowers us into the soft leather couch.

“What about any of this is okay? There are men who won’t return to their families tonight because of a call I made.” My voice breaks as I say the words aloud for the first time.

Another crash on the other side of the room causes me to flinch and burrow my face into Everett’s chest. “Storm, will you stop that?” he growls.

“Wynter wanted to be a part of this. She wanted to prove she could run things if something happens to me, so that’s what we’re doing,” Storm shouts.

Everett’s arms tighten around me protectively and I sink into the feeling. “Don’t you remember the first time your call resulted in someone dying?” he snaps. “Because I fucking do. You went on a three-day bender and Rayne and I had to fly to fucking Vegas to bail your ass out of jail. I think Wynter’s reaction is more than justified.”

“Of course you do,” Storm mutters as he leaves the room, slamming the door so hard behind him the walls shake with the force.

Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe they were right to keep this part of our business away from us for all these years.

I allow myself to bask in the comfort Everett offers, to breathe in his warmth and settle against his hard body. He always seems to know what I need. He always knows how to make everything better even as the world crumbles around us.

The door swings open and this time I do open my eyes to replace Storm in the doorway with a box in his hands and his face pale.

“What is that?” I ask quietly.

“It’s addressed to you.”