35. Matteo

35

"Where is she?" I ask the mole as I turn to him. He's already muttering something on a walkie talkie. Old school, but I'm not on home ground. I don't have my phone and feel like I've lost a limb.

We have minutes. As soon as the guards realize Randazzo is dead, the guns are going to come out blazing. Some men will do so out of loyalty, others out of fear. And then there are those who will make the most of the shift in the hierarchy.

"Follow me." The mole nods and we rush along the side of the house. The hurricane shutters are closed over every window, in lockdown.

It's only when we reach the end of the house that one shutter is halfway open, blocked by a piece of metal. From inside, men are calling. The guards have realized something's up. I become aware of the incessant beep of an alarm that indicates something's been breached.

They're already hunting us.

"Once inside, you have three minutes before I open the shutters," the mole says. "The cache with the bulletproof vests is in this room's closet. Your wife is next door on your right."

I nod. The whole business is risky. We could be stepping into a trap.

"Thank you," the mole says, and I notice the sheen of sweat gathering by his temples. This guy is risking everything too, but he has achieved his own goal today and has avenged his sister. Randazzo died in front of his own eyes, and I bet if I'd handed him a knife, he would happily have butchered along.

I've trusted him this far. "See you on the other side."

Burley is already clambering through the open window, his bulk hardly fitting through the small space. I follow suit, the only weapon on me the knife the mole handed me. Where there were voices before, everything has now gone eerily quiet. Burley opens the closet and quietly searches in the little light through blankets and old clothes. He tosses me a bulletproof vest. I signal to him that there should be more than one. I hope for three. Tasha will need one too.

Crashing sounds come from the other side of the house. Something had lured the guards in the opposite direction.

"There're only two," Burley mutters. He strips his jacket and pulls on a vest. "It's too fucking small."

"Better than nothing." For a moment we just stare at each other in the ill-lit room. Tasha wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be here. I had some other bodyguard assigned for today. But this is it. The moment where I make the choice between my bodyguard and friend of over ten years and the woman I've kidnapped.

"She'll have it," Burley says and he doesn't fasten the vest. "You look after Rosalia."

"It might not come to that."

"We walked in here knowing it was going to come to that."

True. I take the automatic gun he holds out to me, hefting it for weight and comfort. Then he hands me a revolver. I shove that in the back of my pants and pick the knife up where I put it down a second ago.

"See you on the other side, boss."

I nod as we make our way to the door. Burley opens it softly, barely an inch. Then he pushes it wider, opening to darkness. One door. We only need to move one door to the right.

Burley gives me a barely perceptible nod and we inch our way along the wall, our eyes slow to adapt. He's feeling his way and pauses when he reaches another door jamb. He reaches for the doorknob and twists. It's locked.

We don't have time to pick a lock. A female voice sounds from the other side and Burley shrugs. He knocks lightly, three short ones in quick succession, then a pause, followed by another knock. A muffled moan sounds from the room and my heart skips a beat. Tasha.

The lock twists and the door opens a bit, but Burley is already pushing his shoulder in, gun up, ready to shoot. I follow, already knowing what to expect here as I recall the room vividly from the video footage we saw earlier.

My eyes have adjusted to the dark, but it's hard to see more than shapes. The tattoo artist holds her tattoo gun as if it can save her. Burley points his gun at her temple, a finger to his lips. Tasha is still tied up and gagged and I step up to her, my heart in my throat.

I touch her cheek, which is wet with tears, as I lean into her ear. "Sshh, kitten, you're going to have to keep it together here for me, okay?"

She draws in haggard little breaths, clearly petrified. I stroke her hair, needing her to calm down. "We don't have time, Tasha," I murmur as I put my automatic gun down on her stomach. "I'm going to lift the gag and untie you, but you need to be quiet."

She nods and I have the knife ready, feeling where to cut through the cloth and the cable ties. As soon as her arms are free, she has them around me, clinging as she muffles a sob into my neck. I cup her head close, holding on to her for the merest second. "We need to get out of here."

"Yes." She lets go and reaches for the leather straps that are holding her legs in place. I help on the one side and once she's unstrapped, pick up my gun. She puts her feet down, wincing.

"Can you walk?" I whisper, trying to gauge what I can from her expression in the dark.

Tasha nods but she's in pain. I can't see where she hurts, but if I could kill Randazzo every day for the rest of my life, it would be my pleasure.

Gunfire goes off on the other side of the house. "Party's started."

"The shutters should have gone up by now," Burley hisses. "And this room has no windows."

I'd hoped to make a clean cut through the garden to the car, but now we need to go through the house. We'll be trapped if we don't leave now.

From somewhere loud banging sounds as someone hits a shutter from the outside, making it rattle, probably trying to find the breach. Shouting ensues and we don't have a second to lose. We don't even have time for Tasha to put on the bulletproof vest.

I push the knife into Tasha's hand, handing her the only weapon she'll know how to deal with. Giving her a gun would be pointless. "Don't hesitate, kitten. Whatever happens, don't hesitate."