Good.A small mercy. If I overcome Gio, if I kill Gregorio, I will still have an army at my back.
And if I die? What happens then? What happens to Dani?
No. Death is not an option.
I take a breath. And I lunge.
He fires, a spray of bullets pocking the stone floor and wall behind me. I have my arms locked around Gio’s middle, and the momentum hurls him off his feet. We slam into the flagstones, rolling hard, man over man.
I land on top, wrestling the barrel of the AK out of my face. Gio roars, unleashing another bout of bullets, which rain into the vaulted stone ceiling. I grip the rifle and slam it into his chest, gunfire exploding, wayward and dangerous, across the hall. I peel his finger off the trigger, twist it hard. He screams as the bone snaps viciously.
I have him pinned, but it’s not enough; he’s strong, he’s in pain, he’s terrified. He knows that if he loses this fight, he loses the war. He loses his life.
All I know is that for Dani to be safe, I can’t lose mine.
I release the AK and Gio hurls me off of him. In the same instant, I yank the pistol from his belt, my back slamming into the flagstones. He swings the rifle toward me, eyes wide and face lit with rage.
Pop pop pop!
His head snaps back, AK useless in jerking limbs. Blood arcs across the wall behind him, and Gio staggers back, dead before his body is crumpled on the ground.
A pang of grief, angered and vivid, tears through me as I rip the AK from his limp arms.Bastard.But I don’t have time, not now. I turn and break for the library, as fast as my feet will carry me.
Chapter 17
Dani
Fear.
Animal and hot, pounding through my veins.
The library is absolutely sprawling, dark and ambient, towering, overfull shelves shown in stark relief with every blast of lightning. With shaking hands, I tear off a corner of my sweater, binding it tight above the bullet hole in my arm.
The pain is dizzying. I stagger back, sagging against a stone wall, sinking to the floor. How long before Gregorio finds me? No doubt I left a trail of blood. Is there another way out of this room? A hiding place? A secret passage?
How long can I realistically keep this up?
My head is light, my heart pounding sluggishly. Cold sweat sticks my hair to the back of my neck, cuts between my shoulder blades. The pain in my arm is unbelievable. Throbbing viscerally, blood straining against the swelling flesh. My hands and knees are shaking so hard I can barely stand.
But I have to, so I do. I ball my sleeve in my hand, even though my fingers are as heavy and immovable as jelly. I have to stop the bleeding. I have to keep from leading Gregorio right to me.
For how long?
I can’t give that fear a voice. Santowillcome for me. I know he will. I just have to stay alive long enough.
I thrust my arm above my head, hoping it will slow the bleeding. Just then, I hear it—Gregorio’s voice, a sharp bellow, echoing through the hall. Then footsteps.
He’s coming.
I search the library, but unlike Vittorio’s wing, there are no obvious places to hide. There are only shelves, rows and rows of them, and occasional chairs and desks and lamps. It’s cold, my bare feet practically frozen solid as I limp across the flagstones.
A low, long creak as the door to the library opens.
My blood runs like ice through my veins, and I press my free hand to my mouth to stifle the ragged, pained sound of my fear.
“I know you’re in here, love,” coos Gregorio from beyond the shelves. “You led me right to you.”
Fuck!The blood. I search the darkened shelves for something, anything to defend myself. Why didn’t I think to keep the dagger? A shiver courses down my spine. At least he’s wounded. At least I got him once. If I die here, if he kills me, at least Santo will know I fought back. And maybe, just maybe, my wounding Gregorio will give Santo and his men a better chance.
