“They’re heading for the private airfield.” Carlo’s following the handheld tracker intently. The miniature GPS clip in the hem of Cora’s gown is working perfectly.
“Tell the helicopter to find the jet and land in front of it if necessary to keep it from taking off,” I said. I’m past rage, and if I let the terror of what can happen to my wife dismantle me I’m useless.
Carlo looks concerned, knowing that’s a suicide mission for the pilot who is flying above us, making faster time than we are, dodging traffic on I-95. My driver’s hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
“Two minutes to the exit, Sir,” he said.
“Don’t stop for any reason,” I said calmly, “the front of this car and the tires are reinforced.”
Even Carlo looks unsettled by my tone. “How do you want to handle this, sir?”
“I will offer myself in exchange for my wife,” I said.
“Sir- Dario,” he said urgently, “let me act as the decoy, I’m wearing a tux and we look close enough in the dim light-”
“No,” I shook my head. “You will be ready to blow the head off every motherfucker there the minute you have Cora safe. But she is your first priority.”
“Boss…” I know Carlo’s struggling for something to say that will convince me otherwise.
“I promised her that I would keep her safe,” I said. “I’m a man of my word.”
Most of the sleek hangars are dark, their expensive contents secured. But one hangar is wide open, the doors spread to allow the jet inside to taxi out. “Tell the pilot to hover,” I tell Carlo. “If it looks like they’re moving the jet out, land in front of it and run like hell.”
I pull out my Ruger. “How many men do we have?”
“Fifteen within range, sir,” Carlo answers me, checking his Smith & Wesson, too. It makes me smile for a moment, remembering that Cora managed to knock him out and steal it.
I’m not sure what Santos will do as we pull up. This may be a private airfield, but there are still workers and mechanics around. If he opens fire, my SUVs can take it. But what I suspect will be his most likely option is the one he takes; protected and surrounded by his men, every gun out and facing toward us, except for the one he has pressed into Cora’s temple.
Getting out of the car, I shout, “This is a piss poor way to handle a runaway bride situation, Santos! Why don’t you make a trade; me for her? I know you hate my brother Giovanni after he cut you out of the European arms trade.” I keep my hands spread, walking slowly toward them.
Cora’s nose is bleeding and there’s a cut on her cheek, but she tries to smile at me.
Santos chuckles, “Why should I,filho da puta?I have what you want.” He squeezes her neck and rubs himself against her back and it looks like my poor Cora’s about to vomit. “You got in the way of an established business transaction!” he shouts, “A negotiation between me and Thorne alone!” He pulls the gun away from her forehead and points it at me and that is the moment everything changes.
His head explodes like a rotted watermelon and my clever bride drops and rolls - her bodyguard really did teach her well - and everyone lights up. There’s more of my men and the added advantage of sharpshooters in the helicopter, easily mowing those bastards down as I race for Cora.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one. A big, muscled piece of shit is heading for her with his gun up. Runningandhitting the target may not be everyone’s strength, but my history of gunplay always includes both. I end him with a neck shot and duck another Santos guard trying to cut me off before my shooter in the helicopter takes him down for me in an explosion of blood.
Cora is crouched behind a big steel rolling cart by the jet, clutching her left side and I scoop her up in my arms.“Bellissima,sweetheart, where are you hurt- did you get shot?” I shoot someone in a pilot’s uniform to make sure we’re not disturbed, and the gunfire outside is slowing down, so I need to get her out of here soon.
Cora shakes her head vigorously, “I’m okay, I didn’t get shot.” I’m running my fingers over the gash on her forehead and her eye, which is already swelling shut.
“Boss!” Carlo shouts, “We’re clear. Is Mrs. Toscano okay?”
“I’m fine,” she yells back, “and call me Cora, I stole your gun. We bonded!”
He moves into the hangar, gun up and searching for any threats before hurrying over to us. “And my wallet, if you remember.”
She cringes. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Now that we’ve experienced this healing moment,” I snarled, “let’s get my wife into the car. Injuries?”
“Renato and Massimo, minor gunshot wounds,” he said. “That’s it. The sharpshooters in the helicopter took down almost every one of his soldiers before they could even fire.”
“Good work. Have Gino bring the car in here,” I said. He nodded, knowing that I didn’t want her to see the blood and broken bodies covering the tarmac. “Call the Lombardi brothers and get a cleanup crew out here as quickly as possible. Tell me there are survivors.”
Carlo must really hate Santos because his grin is almost unholy. “We have his lieutenant. That bastard knows whereallthe bodies are buried.”
