Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DARIO

A llessio, Paolo, and I sit in the car across the street from Vincenzo’s hideout. He moved from his girlfriend’s place to a bar on the outskirts of the city, most likely to plan his counterattack on the Family. As I sit here, my gun in my hand, I try not to think about my woman in the safe house. I try not to think about the softness growing in my heart, this warm feeling flowing through me. I try not to think that it could all end here.

“Are you good, Dario?” Paolo asks.

“Of course, he is,” Allessio grunts. “You never have to ask him that.”

“Just waiting for the gunfire to start,” I grunt.

“Your old man has given the okay on this?” Paolo asks.

“What’s with you?” Allessio asks Paolo.

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Paolo’s being prudent. He’s never seen me like this before. He probably didn’t know I was human before Elena came along.”

“I wouldn’t put it in those words,” Paolo says, “but we need you sharp. Or we can send the troops in, and you can lead from the rear. No shame in that, boss.”

I tighten the straps of my Kevlar vest, shaking my head. “Salvatore Moretti isn’t happy about this situation, but he agrees the Romanos must go. As for leading from behind? Fuck that.”

I remember how tragically desperate and beautiful Elena looked when she suggested the same. I almost agreed with her momentarily and told her I should stay with her. I could be holding her right now, gently trailing my hands through her hair, feeling her heartbeat against mine as we wait for news of the Romanos.

Dammit, I shouldn’t even be thinking of her. I should be focused because this could end badly for me. I feel my usual cold-blooded confidence. For the first time in my life, I’m riding out with something to lose. Even the farmhouse didn’t feel like this; I fought to save Elena. Now, I’m risking my relationship with her.

“What’re you thinking, Dario?” Allessio asks.

“I’m wondering what my father will say when he learns who Elena really is and that I still want to marry her.”

“Damn,” Allessio says with a grin. “You move fast.”

“It doesn’t feel fast. A minute with her feels like an hour, in a good way. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

“I never took you for a romantic.”

“Neither did I until recently.” I check my pistol, my teeth gritted as I drag my focus back to the present. “Maybe it was some lowlife who was going to drag my Elena into that cellar, but we all know that none of the men at the farmhouse were responsible. They deserved what they got because of what they were willing to do, but they didn’t order it.”

“No,” Allessio growls, sensing I’m hyping myself up. He knows me well. “That was Vincenzo. He put the hit out on your lady. He was willing to let those men?—”

“Motherfucker,” I snarl. “How long until the rear unit blasts the doors?”

Paolo, in his deliberate way, checks his watch. “Any second now?—”

Bang . Right on cue, the C4 explosives pierce the night with their noise. We’ve spent all day planning and following. Truthfully, I didn’t want to spring the trap until I’d gotten word that Elena was safely outside the city. Now, I shouldn’t be thinking about anything other than the mission.

Yet, as I run from the car across the street, I realize something. I can’t put her out of my head. I can use her as fuel, though. I can think about what Vincenzo would’ve done to her if he’d had the chance—the same shit he did to that poor woman whose photo I showed to Elena.

I’m the first through the door, ramming it open with my shoulder, pistol raised. A man at the end of the hallway fires a shot at me. I grunt as it slams into my Kevlar, but I’ve been hit before. My ribs will hurt for a few days. It’s a small price to pay. He drops like a sack of shit when I place a bullet between his eyes.

Inside the bar, men are yelling. There are more gunshots. My ears ring as I turn the corner, firing two more shots as a man runs toward me, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. I move into the central area of the bar, peaking around. Five men lie in pools of blood all over the floor. I nod to the Moretti men standing opposite, then scan the corpses.

“Where’s Vincenzo?” I snarl.

“He ran into the back.”

“Is the rear entrance covered?”

“Yes, Mr. Moretti.”

“Paolo, Allessio, with me.”

I walk to the rear of the room, aiming down the sights of my gun, my adrenaline pumping. In the back of my head, somehow, a warm scene plays. I see Elena, a halo of sunlight behind her, the most alluring, most perfect, most Elena smile on her face, with just the right hint of sass. It’s wild the things that come to a man during a gunfight.

“Fuck,” Vincenzo gasps from inside the bar’s kitchen.

I round the corner into the kitchen, ducking behind the island in the middle. I can hear him clattering around in the industrial-sized refrigerator.

“I’ve-I’ve got a hostage!” he yelps. “I’ll kill the bitch.”

“Is that true?” I ask my men.

“We’ve been watching this place for hours. No women entered.”

“Show us,” I call across the kitchen, keeping behind cover.

“Come any closer, and she’s dead.”

“Beat her like you beat your girlfriend, will you, tough guy?” I snap, then lower my voice. “Give me the flashbang.”

Allessio hands it to me. I pull the pin, aim, and then toss it against the wall. It bounces off the wall and into the refrigerator. Then I stalk along the wall, waiting for the bang . As soon as I hear it, I’m in, pistol raised. Vincenzo has dropped his gun, gasping as he brings his hands to his ears. There’s no hostage.

“Please,” he moans, peeling his eyes open and looking up at me, his eyes filling with tears.

“Is that what your lady said?” I snap. “Because it’s what mine probably said when you dragged her to that fucking farmhouse, you rat.”

“That wasn’t me. I swear, man. I had nothing to do?—”

“Your Family. Your orders. If you want your last words to be a lie, that’s on you.”

“Fine, fine.” He’s panicking, dribbling. “I ordered them to take her, but I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

“You’ve already hurt her.”

He’s about to protest some more, but it’s hard to do that with a bullet in his head. He slumps back; smoke coils from the wound.

I turn away. “Clean this place up. I’ve got somewhere to be.”