Taken By The Mafia Lord

809 Pray It Wasn’t Too Late

“We have to move! We are under too much fire! Kill the lights now, Samuel!”

Samuel turned and shot at the bulb light illuminating their position. The number of shots ceased as their enemies tried to make out their position with the light gone.

“Move! Move! Move!” Marcel whisper-yelled at them, intentionally lowering his voice in case an enemy is nearby and locates them with the sound. Even he knew their enemies were moving position.

As if to prove his point, a grunt of pain was heard and Marcel knew that a man was down. It was a good thing he came with the best of his men. They moved slowly yet vigilant in anticipation of hostile contact.

“I need a gun,” Winters whispered to him. She already released her bound hands and wanted to help. There was no way she would sit around and do nothing.

“Have you ever used one before?” Marcel asked her.

“No, but I’m a quick study.”

“The answer is no.”

“Marcel!” She said through gritted teeth, “We are under fire and under numbered.”

.....

“And I am with experienced soldiers and each move is carefully executed. You are much more dangerous to us with a gun than you are with nothing right now. Get behind me!” Marcel scolded as he shot at the figure he caught hiding from the corner of his eyes.

Although it was night, there were bulbs everywhere and they could not destroy all the lights because they too needed them to be able to see their enemies in the dark. Winters ducked and waited until the enemy fell and the exchange was over before she moved again having no idea where they were going. The container depot was too huge and it was late at night. How would they cover everything tonight?

“Shit!” Marcel cursed, narrowly dodging another bullet, “Richardo shouldn’t have this many people? Just how many freelancers did he buy? I didn’t know he had such wealth.”

“Not if he has the Bratva on his side?” Winters said.

Marcel went cold as soon as he heard that name and that distraction cost him because an idiot managed to get him in the side, knocking the breath out of his lungs but Samuel had his back, putting his attacker down with two gunfire.

“Boss,” Samuel came to his side, as Marcel leaned against the container.

“I’m fine,” He said, grunting. While the Kevlar inside his clothes offered him protection, it wasn’t hundred percent, and God, the injuries hurt like a bitch. There was only so much Marcel could do and he wasn’t superman. But at the moment, he had bigger problems.

“When is the reinforcement coming?” He asked, his chest heaving.

“They’re here. Just got confirmation of their position.” Samuel answered. As if on cue, another set of gunshots rang out and the pressure mounted on them decreased.

“Call Victor, he needs to know….” He groaned in pain, holding his side, “Richardo is working with the Bratva. He needs to be aware of that.”

“Yes boss,” Samuel answered, bringing out his phone to make the call while Winters moved to Marcel’s side.

“Are you okay?” She asked out of concern, seeing the sweat forming on his face.

“Pretty bad shape but I have survived worst,” Marcel told her while working at controlling his breathing. He didn’t feel much of the pain earlier thanks to the adrenaline, but now, his body was protesting.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, you can’t… Yes, you can. Tell him…” Marcel pointed at one of his soldiers who stalked out, protecting the boss in case an enemy snuck up on them, “I need the shot.”

Winters had no idea what the shot was but when she relayed the message, he rummaged through the small bag he carried, and the next minute, Winters returned to Marcel with an injection.

“Tell me you’re not doing drugs,”

Marcel wanted to laugh but it came out as a snort instead thanks to the pain.

“It’s called morphine, a pain reliever,” He added, “Just try not to get addicted.”

“I hope you’re not afraid of shots then?” Winters asked while trying to identify the thickest part of his deltoid muscle.

“You underestimate me this little young woman, why would I be scared of a needle…..” Winters inserted the needle at a nighty degrees angle to his skin with a quick thrust, silencing the rest of his words.

As she pushed the medicine into his muscle, Marcel drew back his head and shut his eyes, relishing the feeling of utter euphoria. Protected, warm, and safe, that was how a morphine shot felt like and it was no wonder it was so addictive.

“How do you feel?”

Marcel raised his brows at her question.

“Is the pain gone like that? You know, poof.” She snapped her fingers in a demonstration.

Marcel smiled and answered her, “It takes up to thirty minutes or sixty minutes to work but wears off after four or five hours. I should be able to get medical attention then, so you have nothing to worry about.” He assured her.

“Boss,” Samuel said, drawing Marcel’s attention and ending the conversation between him and Winter.

Marcel didn’t even need an answer, the look on Samuel’s face said it all.

“Shit!” He cursed.

“I can’t get through his line.”

And it was not surprising. While in the middle of discreet missions, all phones are turned off in order not to give their position to the enemy and avoid distraction at the same time.

“Send another team after him immediately!” Marcel ordered, getting up to his feet with no care for the pain. He was beginning to feel better even though the drug hadn’t fully kicked in. This was more important, he couldn’t lose his cousin, Victor.

Suspecting that Richardo might pull off a trick like this, he sent Victor and his team on a mission to track him down in his home and destroy him and everything precious to him – the warehouse he stored his drugs. But that was until this happened and he got news of the Bratva’s involvement. Now, Marcel could only pray that it wasn’t too late.