Death comes for us all.
I’ve watched hundreds of men die. Some I have killed, others were killed by my enemies. Some I remembered, others I didn’t. Some deserved it, others maybe not. But this one did, many times over.
Alphonso Romano’s body laid at my feet, full of lead. Full of bullets. Some from my gun. Some from Massimo’s. And some from Alexei’s.
“You good?” Alexei’s Russian accent was thick. Needless to say, this man wasn’t his favorite. He tried to get his dirty paws on his half-sister.
Cassio and Luca still fought Alphonso’s guards and as the shots of bullets flew through the air, the fear dug its claws into my heart. For the first time, I tasted fear of death.
Fear for her.
My wife.
Grace Vitale.
It was an unfamiliar feeling but the pain was razor blade sharp. If Grace died, the death would claim me too. Because she had taken a big piece of me.
I raised my gaze off the dead body of the last Romano male and watched Cassio aim a gun execution style at the last standing guard.
I continued down the maze, my footsteps rushed and silent as I waved our way through it.
Keep Grace safe. Keep Grace safe.
The gunshots sounded off, too near, another scream. A woman’s.
“That’s Ella,” Massimo’s voice portrayed the terror I felt. Why didn’t I hear Grace’s voice?
My boots hit the ground running, our movements silent and deadly. I couldn’t run fast enough.
I’ll kill anyone who touches her. I’ll burn this world to the ground if anyone hurts her.
With my hand on the gun and my finger wrapped tightly around the trigger, I ran ahead. My wife’s name echoed in my brain with every step, with every heartbeat. As soon as we got to a clearing, my step faltered.
Sophia Romano’s body lying motionless on the dirt ground, her blood tainting the earth. Two other dead bodies spread across the small clearing.
And that’s when I saw it. My wife’s nude pump shoe. The crushing of my chest felt like a physical punch as Massimo let out a raggedy breath.
“What the fuck happened here?” Alexei and Cassio asked at the same time.
The gurgling sound came from Sophia’s mouth. Taking the two strides to her body, I bent down on my haunches.
“Where is my wife?” I watched the woman gurgle her own blood, choking on it. Let her choke on it, after I get my answers.
Her fingers reached out to me and gripped my shirt.
“Help me.”
She was fucking nuts if she thought I’d ever help her. All the pain she caused my family. And now she took my wife. Threatened my son.
But I kept my emotions in check. I needed answers.
“Where is my wife?” I repeated. “If you give me a good answer, I might spare you.”
Glancing down, I watched her desperation and the will to live move her thin lips. I never said I’d let her live, but I’d spare her choking on her own blood.
Her lips moved, her voice faint as she tried to give me the answer. I dropped down onto the dirt, my knees digging into it, my face leaning close to hers, I could smell blood on her breath.
“Where is my woman?” I snarled, shaking her. “Where is she?”
“Luciano.” Cassio kneeled down beside me, his hand on my shoulder. I turned to meet his gaze and found him holding out a needle.
The rawness… it shattered through me dragging me under, drowning me. The drawing inside my chest spreads, clawing the hole deep and burying itself into its darkness. Grace was my light.
Grace is my light. I need her.
Our son needs her.
Nonno needs her.
We need her.
“You fucking bitch,” I hissed. “Where is my wife? Or I swear to God, I’ll keep you alive so I can torture you over and over again for the rest of your miserable life.”
“She shot me.” Her voice was barely audible.
My Grace. My sweet wife. She shot her grandmother.
“I bet you deserved it, vedma,” Alexei spat out, his towering frame nudging her legs, kicking them around like the piece of trash she was. He looked like a fucking psychopath, or an angel of death, towering over her like that. He called her a witch, which she truly was.
“Where is my wife, you bitch?” I shouted into her face. She and Alphonso cost my mother’s and sister’s lives. I wouldn’t allow her to take my wife from me too. The mother of my son. “What happened to her?”
“Benito,” she rasped faintly. “Astor beach house.”
Steeling my jaw, I lifted my arm and aimed my gun at her head. “Rot in hell,” I told her coolly and pulled the trigger. Her body slumped into the dirt. “Quick death was more than you deserved.”
I slid my Glock back in its holster and turned to face the men.
“Connecticut,” I told the group. “That’s where they took her. Grace and Ella are in Connecticut.”
Hold on Grace, I’m coming.
