Gia
A nervous excitement filled my gut. I always felt this way before my family and I went into battle. I double-checked my pistol and racked it. Ro’s solemn eyes looked at me in the rearview mirror. My father’s head rested against his fist. Neither wanted to risk their lives for Enzo, yet we were all risking our lives for him, even though he might have been dead already.
We drove to a steep hill and abandoned the car. Ro popped the trunk, and we loaded ourselves up. I tucked my pistol into the holster on my hip, picked up a rifle, and tugged the charging handle. I loaded a bullet into the chamber and put the sling around me, letting it hang at my side. Ro swung his rifle over his back, but my father opted for just his pistol. We’d cover him.
“You’re sure he’s with the Irish, Gia?” Ro asked.
I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but I was sure enough. “Yes.”
“If he’s not, we are making the biggest mistakes of our lives. You know that, right? There’ll be no coming back from it.”
“I know, Ro,” I snapped. If I was wrong, if my nagging gut wasn’t correct, we’d end up dead for nothing.
The grass padded each step as we walked toward the big home in the valley between two lush hills. It made them sitting ducks. We wouldn’t walk in like the movies portrayed, though. No, this was real life, and our lives were at stake. I lay in the grass, my family keeping watch as I rested the rifle in front of me and adjusted the cool metal against my cheek. I aimed the barrel toward the house and looked through the scope. The reticle followed the motion as I scanned the home. Two guards stood at the door. I had no clue how many could be on the outskirts of the premises or how many people might pour from the house at the sound of gunfire. Even though my weapon had a silencer, they’d know.
I wasn’t a sniper, but I was fairly confident in my shot at this distance, and these men were posted, not moving as they guarded the front of the home. I placed the reticle center mass on the first man, just as my mother taught me growing up. The beat of my heart thumped in my ears, as if I were wearing headphones that drowned out everything but the sounds inside me. I inhaled, holding my breath as I curled my finger around the trigger. All it took was a small motion because the trigger was so light, and the weapon’s power exploded in front of me. The gunshot rang out, breaking apart the silence of the night, and things moved unbelievably fast after the first shot. It’s like a whirlwind, everything spinning around you while you feel stuck in time.
The man made a sound before collapsing and writhing on the ground. The other man looked in my direction, trying to draw the rifle hanging at his side. My heart hammered faster, and I sucked in air. That’s why I wasn’t a sniper. My panic could cost us our lives. I focused the reticle on the second man and finally got him in my sights before he could raise his rifle. I didn’t have time to inhale. I had to pull the trigger.
My shot was too low. It brought him down but kept him in the fight. His blood-curdling scream cut through the night more than the gunshots.
“Fuck. Fuck.” I got off the ground and we made a move before more people showed up. The second man crawled toward his rifle. I got to it before him, kicking it out of his reach as my father put a bullet in his head. The door opened and revealed another guard. He raised his rifle, and I fired into the doorway. Gunfire hailed from the balcony overlooking the hills. Ro raised his rifle and shot, and the sound of a body hitting the ground followed the ting of casings on the concrete. My heart slammed against my chest so hard, I thought it would rip through my skin.
I walked past the dead man. A river of red ran from his head. Judging by the look on his face, the first man I shot died soon after my bullet pierced his chest. He hadn’t gotten that stunned expression they get when they realize they’re dying alone, staring up at the night sky as their blood pools around them. I tried not to think of them as people once I killed them. I tried not to think about the family that would miss them.
Fuck. I was thinking about it.
Ro pushed me aside and opened the door with the barrel of his gun. I followed him, and my father kept watch behind us as we pushed through the house. An unarmed man popped out from behind a kitchen door, meeting the barrel of my rifle. His eyes widened as he threw his hands up. Words sped from his mouth in another language, and I narrowed my eyes on him before waving him off with my gun. He ran through the open door, screeching at the sight of the dead men.
“You’re getting weak,” Ro said.
“Fuck off.”
“Leaving people alive is how you end up—”
“Ro, leave your sister alone. She made her decision,” my father interrupted.
We turned the corner, coming face to face with a guard blocking a door in the long hall. He drew his weapon faster than we could react, and a searing heat tore through me. I didn’t realize I’d been shot until I couldn’t lift the rifle with my right arm. Blood poured down my white shirt and stained my skin. Fresh blood bubbled at the site of the wound. I let the rifle drop before leaning forward and cursing beneath my breath. Ro fired back, shooting the man dead. It was a rifle against a pistol, after all. My father pushed me against the wall and held his hand against the wound. I panted against the pain and kept my eyes locked on the silver chandeliers lining the hallway’s ceiling.
“You’ll be okay. You’ve had worse,” my father whispered as blood spread around his hand. “We have to get you home, though.” He tried to tug me away, but I refused to budge. I came too fucking close to stop now.
With a sharp inhale, I reached down to draw my pistol, but clenched my eyes closed as the movement made the pain course through my entire arm. I used my left hand instead. “Go, keep going,” I told them. Neither made a move. “I said go!” I screamed the words, a desperate sound that made them push forward. All I could think about was saving Enzo. If there was something to guard behind that door, it had to be him.
* * *
Enzo
Gunshots. Those were definitely gunshots. My head throbbed with a pain that radiated through my entire body. Blinking hurt. The two men dropped my arms, electing to draw their pistols instead. The man in front of me did the same. Whoever it was, they were walking into a trap.
The basement door opened, and boots rushed down the steps. Bullets sprayed from every direction. My first instinct was to drop and get cover, but I couldn’t. I stared at that fucker in front of me. Smoke left his gun in slow motion as he shot toward the doorway. I leaped on him and ripped the stupid mask off his face. I knew who he was the moment I saw his arm, but seeing his face confirmed my suspicions.
“Now I know why my dog didn’t like you,” I said before punching him in the face. I ignored the pain in my stomach, ribs, and head. None of it mattered. I kept hitting him until his face became an unrecognizable mess beneath me, and I still couldn’t stop. His words about Gia replayed in my mind.
The sound of gunshots rushed around me, and I remembered that I was in the middle of a fucking shootout. The two men hid within the shadows of machinery. They had the hometown advantage and knew every inch of this basement. I snapped my attention to the doorway, squinting my eyes at the pain from moving my neck. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Was I dead? Had I already died?
Gia.
Not just Gia, but her fucking family. The people who despised me. I had to be dead, in some realm where I existed on memories and wishful thinking. My eyes followed a trail of blood running from Gia’s shoulder. She was limp-wristing her pistol, shooting with her left hand as her right hung at her side.
“Goddamn it, Giovanna!” I screamed at her. I was so fucking glad to see her, but I couldn’t handle losing her in a shootout with the Irish.
Sylvester tossed me the spare rifle in his hand. I caught it midair, despite the pain. The man beneath me gurgled on blood, and I pressed the barrel against his face as I shot. It obliterated him, spreading the blood across the floor and sending a spray onto the wall across the room. I climbed off him and raised the rifle as we pushed toward the back, where the other two men had run off. Shots erupted, muzzle blasts lighting up the darkness. I shot in that direction.
“Fuck,” came the deep voice of Gia’s father.
I spun around and saw the man with the rabbit mask. He’d flipped it upward, exposing his face to us all. His pistol barrel rested against Sylvester’s head, and his body was partially hidden behind him. A human shield. I couldn’t worry about that. He would die whether I accidentally hit him or if I missed the man entirely. I took a quick breath, stared down the barrel, and shot. Everything stopped but the motion of the bullet as it twisted down range. The man’s head snapped back as his body jerked forward, and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. The sound of a headshot.
Sylvester didn’t hesitate as he aimed his pistol at me. Would he really kill me after all that? After saving his life twice?
He pulled the trigger.
That bullet traveled at an even slower speed than the last one, crawling across the air as I stared down the blast of light at the end of Sylvester’s gun. The bullet whizzed by my head. I thought the old fuck had missed . . . until I heard the thud of another body behind me.
I turned my attention to Gia. She was pale and trembling from pain. I wound my hand through her hair and looked at her. Ain’t no way I would let her die on me. No way. Not now. I turned to Sylvester, who still looked at me like he wanted the next bullet to go through me. Her brother looked even more pissed. Fair. I had no clue what my face looked like, but by the way Gia stared at me, I knew it was rough.
“Can I have your knife real quick?” I asked her brother, motioning to the large sheath on his hip.
He tugged it out and tossed it at me. I went to the headless Irishman and pulled his hand across the concrete before cutting off his thumb. I rushed to the keypad, put his thumb to it, and the door opened. There was no way I would leave my gun there, so I snatched it off the table, threw the rogue thumb toward its owner’s body, and went back to Gia's side. I holstered my gun and brushed the sweat-soaked hair from Gia's face. She looked awful, even though she threw a comforting smile at me.
“We gotta go, Romeo and Juliet.” Ro tugged at Gia’s left arm.
Instinctively, I pushed his hand away. Her wound was still staining her perfect skin. She was so calm, though, which didn’t surprise me one bit. Giovanna Silvani belonged in this life, and I was stupid for trying to keep her out of it.
Before we headed back up the stairs, I stopped for a quick glance at the man on the ground. The one who Atheist had attacked. I reached into his pocket and took his wallet, ripping his bloody ID from it. It was their second oldest son, Patrick. Fucking Irish pricks. Realization hit me harder than a bullet. My brother met with that man before all of this happened. I didn’t want to believe it, but I had a sick feeling in my gut that he had something to do with it. Couldn’t help but wonder if he shot my damn dog, too. Maybe that’s why Atheist went all Cujo on him.
We met no opposition when we got to the main floor. We didn’t kill their don, but I was fairly certain the three from the basement were his sons. The guards had been mere soldiers. I stepped over a body in front of the basement door. My eyes followed the blood trail, which was becoming gel instead of liquid—cold and sticky instead of warm and fluid.
“Wait,” Gia said as we crossed the open doorway that led to a foyer. Jackets hung on hooks, and shoes dotted the room. Ro and I kept our guns raised and ready as Gia reached for her pocket. She winced as the pain seared through her arm.
I got behind her, reached into her right pocket, and pulled out a cellphone. Bullseye’s phone. She holstered her pistol and snatched the phone from my hand. She stepped into the foyer and looked around, her eyes scanning the walls. There was a desk in the darkened corner, a set of keys sitting on top of it. She opened a drawer, turned the phone on, and slipped it inside. The welcome chime rang out, and she closed the drawer as if she’d never been there.
“There,” she said with pride beaming off her. “The Irish killed Bullseye.”
Fuck, that was smart. Why the hell had I never thought of it? And why was I so fucking turned on by her? It was not the time to look at her the way I was. Everything in me hurt, and she was injured. But those brains of hers? I shook away the thoughts racing through my mind. We had to go.
In the car, I sat in the back with Gia, despite her father’s protest. I ripped off my shirt and held it to her wound. She didn’t cry out in pain, but the sharp inhale showed me she was hurting.
“There’s a home between here and the city. He’s our veterinarian, and he can get her patched up.”
“We have our own doctors, and they ain’t for animals,” Ro said.
“She’s lost a lot of blood. Don’t be stupid.” I pushed my weight into her shoulder. Her blood soaked through my shirt and stained my hands. It was warm and wet and made me angrier with every drop. I was so fucking mad at her for putting herself at risk to save me, but I was also so goddamn in love with her for it.
I gave directions to the home of our vet. He was an animal doctor, but he was the best at mending those who couldn’t—or shouldn’t—go to the hospital. He also had the utmost discretion when it involved his human patients. No one would ever know we had gone to him, and we needed that certainty right now.
“Why’d you kill Ugo?” Sylvester turned and looked back at me.
“For her,” I said as I brushed the wet hair from her cheek.
“Well, thank you, regardless,” Sylvester said with a pinched smile.
“Don’t do such stupid shit next time, old man,” I said. I didn’t want or need his gratitude. I didn’t do it for him. I snaked my hand around the back of Gia’s neck and drew her closer to me. “Why, Gia?” I whispered into her ear as I pulled her into me.
“Because you’d do it for me,” she said as she dropped her head back.
“Can you go a little faster?” I said to Ro. She was fading. I knew she would the moment the adrenaline wore off, and I couldn’t lose her. I refused to let her go.
We pulled into the driveway, and I got out of the car before Ro brought the car to a complete stop. I banged on the door. It felt like the night with Atheist, when I had knocked on the same door with someone else I loved bleeding in the backseat.
The doc opened the door, his white hair exploding in all directions from his head. He looked like he had been electrified. We’d probably woken him up.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?” he asked as his eyes moved down my body, hovering for much too long at my face.
“It doesn’t matter. I need help.”
“You gotta tell me more than that, Enzo,” he said as he shrugged a robe on by the door, as if he kept it there just for these occasions. He wrapped it around himself and tied it off.
“Gunshot to the right shoulder.” The words raced past my lips as he followed me out.
“Human or animal?” He tugged on gloves stashed in the robe pocket, probably also for these occasions.
“Human, and the most important one in the world to me.” Desperation furrowed my brows and twisted my features.
The doctor opened the car door and looked at Gia. His lips pursed. She was no longer conscious. Sylvester awkwardly leaned between the front and back seat, trying to keep pressure on her shoulder. He looked at me with a hatred I deserved. I slipped past him and scooped her up in my arms.
“Wait here,” I told Ro and Sylvester.
“I’m her father,” Sylvester said, raising his tone sharply.
“Doc doesn’t know you, so stay here. Let him work his magic,” I told them before carrying her inside. The doc followed me, looking around frantically, as out of control as his hair.
“She needs a real hospital, Enzo,” he said as he cleared his table with a brush of his arm, pushing everything to the floor. He tipped his head toward the table, and I laid her down. I kept my hand on her cheek as the doc checked her out. He lifted my shirt away from her wound, and the blood resumed its flow the moment it felt the air again. The doc put it back and lifted her to look at the back of her shoulder. “It’s through and through, so you got that going for you,” he said as he put her back down. She whimpered, and I rubbed her cheek.
The doc disappeared, coming back with sticks that looked like matches. “What’s that?” I asked.
“Silver Nitrate. I need to cauterize so I can stitch her up.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he talked to himself, working through his game plan. I didn’t care what he did, I just needed him to fix her. “She’s not going to survive without a blood transfusion,” he said as he felt the pulse in her wrist.
“Can you do one here?”
The doc looked around frantically. He gathered supplies, laying them down on the table. “I can work with this. What’s your blood type?” he asked me.
I raced through my memories of incidents that caused me to need blood of my own. “O negative.”
“You sure? How sure are you?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Hopefully you’re right,” he said, “because if you’re wrong, you’ll kill her.”