“All right? I…” I trailed off because I didn’t honestly know.
He dragged Gianni’s body out of the car, creating a path for me to follow. I gingerly made my way toward the open door of the limousine, blinking in the diffused winter sunlight. As I took in my surroundings, I recognized that I was on the DuSable Michigan Avenue Bridge. A frigid wind blew over the waters of the Chicago River, making me shiver in the thin satin and lace of my wedding gown.
I smelled gasoline and smoke, and when I turned, I saw that the limousine had crashed into the rust-colored outer railing of the bridge. There was a bloody bullet hole and spider web pattern of cracks on the windshield. I remembered how Gianni and I had fought for his gun before one of us had bumped the trigger. This told me all I needed to know about the driver.
Honks blared from behind me—perhaps they’d been doing that previous to now and I’d just tuned in to it—and the shrill echo of sirens warbled in the distance, getting ever nearer. Travel had slowed across the three lanes of traffic, and only then did I spot the black Cadillac Escalade that had parked behind the totaled limousine. Marcello had Gianni across his shoulders, hefting his older brother’s remains into the back of his SUV.
Shuffling toward Marcello’s Escalade, I hobbled into the passenger side, buckled on my seatbelt, and stared unfocused into oblivion. Something about the vehicle was shaking, and only once Marcello hopped behind the steering wheel did I realize it was me.
Without a word, he stomped on the accelerator, removing us from the scene before law enforcement and emergency personnel could flood the bridge. He flicked a switch which had the vents gusting heated air over my chilled skin, but after everything that had happened, I didn’t know if I’d ever feel anything but frozen ever again.
“Does anything hurt?” he asked, as he threaded through the heavy traffic congestion on a direct path to St. Clements, and I blinked at him, uncomprehending.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“There’s blood all over you. Are you injured, Lucia?”
“I don’t know.” I really didn’t. Everything was sore, battered, and possibly bruised. I glanced down at myself to see the blood spatters all over what had been my pristinely white wedding gown. I rested my hand over my navel. “I just hope none of this harmed the baby.”
His dark eyes, so similar in color and shape to Romeo’s, darted from my face to my belly. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes. I confirmed it this morning before…” I trailed off again. Everything that had transpired felt like it took place over a week, not just a few hours. “Have you heard anything further about Romeo?” Now that the immediate danger of Gianni had been removed, my worry for my groom grew exponentially.
Marcello shook his head. “The bullet didn’t appear to hit anything vital, but I didn’t get a close look. All of us have been using handguns since we were small, and we’re excellent marksmen. But Gianni hitting Romeo in the side like that… It’s almost like he missed his kill shot on purpose.”
“Why?” I asked, stymied.
“Perhaps he didn’t intend to execute Romeo outright. Or maybe…”
“Maybe?” I prompted him.
Marcello glanced at me, grimacing. “Gianni may have wanted to give him the type of wound that would take longer to kill him. Something gradual enough to allow Romeo to witness Gianni marrying you.”
It registered then that that was probably true.
I dropped my head in my hands, overwhelmed. Legally, I’d married Gianni today. But then again, since he’d died, I was technically single again. It was only mid-afternoon, and I’d had to deal with a pregnancy, the shooting of my groom, a marriage to the wrong Cavetti brother, a kidnapping, Gianni’s drug freak out and finally, his subsequent execution. I’d gone from engaged, to married, to widowed. And if whoever had stayed with the father of my child hadn’t managed to stop his bleeding…
“Is Romeo still alive?”
“He was when I left.” Then, as if this had reminded him of something, Marcello tapped on his phone where it sat attached to a holder on the dash. “Ten minutes out. Gianni has been taken care of for good. Heading back to the church with Lucia.”
“Very well,” Angelo replied out of the speaker with next to no inflection. I couldn’t tell if he felt numb, or if he simply didn’t care.
“How is Romeo?” I asked, reticent about addressing Angelo directly, yet needing to know badly enough that I risked it. Yet, the Cavetti patriarch responded as if I hadn’t spoken.
“Marcello, get her back here as soon as possible,” Angelo’s voice snapped like a whip.
“Yes, Father,” Marcello replied dutifully, but the man had already disconnected.
Briefly, we shared a look. Neither of us had missed the fact that the question about Romeo’s wellbeing had gone not just unanswered but unacknowledged. I didn’t know Marcello Cavetti all that well, but for that moment, we both seemed to understand what the other was thinking.
And none of it was optimistic.
22
Romeo
Iawoke in complete disorientation. Dizziness made the room spin, and since I didn’t recognize said room, this made the effects of the dizziness worse. All I knew was that I had no memory of arriving here.
