Target hit, two of them blew out. As soon as the car came to a stop, I jumped to my feet, watching the doors. Two men jumped out, and before I could take them out, the driver put a bullet in the passenger’s brain. He must’ve had orders, and those orders were to make sure that no one talked. Including the guy in the passenger seat.
This was retribution from either the Irish or the Scarpones. The Irish were at war. Cash was battling for the streets of Hell’s Kitchen after his old man had been murdered. Or Achille had somehow tracked my wife to this house. His whiz kid son probably found something that tied her friend’s car to this place. I’d been too busy fighting an internal war when I should’ve been present in the physical one.
I was about to find out who the man belonged to, but before I could, more racket came from the house, and when I turned to look, it was Harry Boy, gun in his hand, aimed at the driver’s chest. The driver was about to take off on foot, but for some reason had turned toward the house again.
Harry Boy must’ve come outside sometime during the attack, his body over my wife’s. Not going to lie. He had decent aim, but the motherfucker made a grave mistake. He killed the asshole before I had a chance to grill him.
The dog whined from inside, wanting to be let out. After Harry Boy sat up, my wife tilted from left to right for a second, blinking.
“Mariposa.” I got down on one knee next to her and touched her face. When she focused on me, I ran my hands all over her body. “You’re fine.”
She nodded but pointed to my arm. “You’ve been shot!”
“I’m all right. Get in the house.”
Harry Boy helped his sister from the ground, and after she made it up the steps, she told me she’d take Mariposa into the house.
Harry Boy followed me as I approached the car. If this was a gift from the Scarpones, there might be a camera in the mirror. The Scarpones sometimes required proof that the hit they ordered was carried out. They started this after my death. They didn’t want more than one ghost lurking around. I doubted this particular car had a camera, though. It wasn’t one of their cars—they were fond of cars with deep trunks—but then again, maybe they were trying to do something different.
Achille’s youngest son, a whiz kid, was the one who monitored the cameras. He had a twin brother who was ten minutes older than him. The whiz kid knew how to make evidence disappear after they got what they wanted.
Either way, they wouldn’t get a good look at my face. Not today.
I took out my phone and texted Harry Boy so he could get in touch. “Let me know how this plays out.”
“How’d you get my number?”
I waved him off. “Call Kelly and fill him in. He needs to know about this. There’s no telling who he fucked with and pissed off. This might be retribution in the form of a life he considers important to him.”
“How did you know about—”
“Get to work, Harry Boy. It’s not safe to chat in the street.”
Sirens grew closer. I needed to get my wife and get out.
“Mac?” Harry Boy called.
I didn’t even turn around.
“You saved my sister.”
“Make sure you tell Kelly he has a tab.”
25
Mariposa
“Capo,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Talk to me.”
He’d rushed me out of Harrison’s house, given me the keys to a truck that seemed faster than a sports car, and had told me to drive.
He gave me directions, but it was to a place I’d never been before. He called Uncle Tito and told him to meet us at the “rendezvous” spot.
After he hung up, I kept talking to him because the amount of blood he was losing scared me. He told me it was a good thing Keely had hosed him down with cold water and it was freezing outside. The cold worked like a tourniquet to slow his bleeding. I wanted to put the heater on in the car, but he refused to let me.
“You’re afraid I’m dying,” he said.
“What!Are you?” My entire body convulsed from fear. I knew I loved the ass, but I had no idea how much until I watched as he took a bullet for my friend. The woman I considered my sister. If I lost him, I lost everything.
