Then he's gone, the door closing softly behind him, and I'm alone in the kitchen with cold coffee and a heart that's beating too fast.
Chapter 27: Lupo
The barn is dark and cold when I return. I stand just inside the door for a moment, letting my eyes adjust, feeling the weight of the conversation still pressing on my chest.
I told her everything. And she didn't run.
She should have.
I move through the darkness to the back corner of the workshop, to where I hid the gun. My hands find it without hesitation, unwrapping it from the old rag like I've done this a thousand times before.
Because I have.
The Beretta feels alive in my hand. Warm, despite the cold metal. Like it recognizes me. Like it's been waiting. I check the magazine again. Fifteen rounds. I chamber one, the mechanical sound sharp in the quiet. Safety on. Safety off. The movements are automatic, effortless.
And with each motion, the memories come faster now. Stronger.
A car. Night. Rain streaking the windshield. I'm in the passenger seat, the Beretta in my lap. Ciro is driving, his eyes on the rearview mirror.
"Two cars," he says. "They've been following us since we left the warehouse."
"Florence family?"
"Has to be." He takes a sharp turn, tires squealing. "They knew we'd be there."
I twist in my seat, looking back. Two sets of headlights, closing fast. "Someone talked."
"We'll deal with that later. Right now we need to lose them."
But we can't lose them. The streets are too narrow, too winding. They're gaining.
"There." Ciro points to an alley ahead. "We make a stand."
He whips the car into the alley, kills the lights. We're out before the engine stops, taking positions behind the car. I check my weapon. Ciro does the same.
"How many?" I ask.
"Four. Maybe six."
"Odds could be better."
"Could be worse." He grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Remember Milano? We were outnumbered then too."
"We barely made it out of Milano."
"But we made it."
The first car screeches to a stop at the mouth of the alley. Doors open. Four men pile out, weapons drawn.
"Don Rossi!" one of them shouts. "Come out. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Rossi. The name settles in my chest, familiar and right. That's who I am. Who I've always been.
I look at Ciro. He nods once. Then we move.
I come around the passenger side, firing as I emerge. Two shots, center mass. The man who called my name drops. I shift my aim, fire again. Another goes down.
Return fire. Muzzle flashes in the darkness. Bullets punch into the car behind me, shattering windows. I drop low, roll, come up firing.
