Danilo’s knife skidded toward the tarp and the Glock slipped free in the opposite direction.
Santino took a moment to kick the Glock toward the rest of the guns, then lowered a foot onto Danilo’s broken arm and let it take his weight as he bent down and curled his fingers around his cousin’s throat.
Danilo immediately tried to gasp, tried to fight, but he’d already lost his advantage. He’d lost it the moment he’d pulled his gun from his hostage.
Santino glared into Danilo’s eyes. “I would have taken a bullet for a you,” he said, spitting the words. “And when I suggested to Nonno that you might have betrayed us, that you might be working against us to turn our own established men, he refused to believe me. The same Nonno you were just badmouthing still believes in you, even now, because he’s not here to see how low you’ve fucking fallen.”
Danilo punched with his free arm at Santino’s shoulder.
A cold smile split Santino’s face and he squeezed tighter. “You’ve gotten weaker, cousin. I didn’t even feel that one.” He let his head tilt. “How about I show you how it’s done? You let me know if you feel it, hm?” He released Danilo’s throat, letting his cousin drop to the hard floor, and rolled his neck.
The sound cracked through the room to a backdrop of Danilo’s hard gasps. Open-mouthed lungfuls of air that Reiko continuedto be denied, and could not safely be allowed while the situation remained ongoing.
Anger bubbling anew, Santino curled his fingers into fists and let them fly. One punch, then two, then three and four—Danilo was limp by six. Blood smeared across Danilo’s face and Santino’s knuckles, but Danilo still drew breath. Though it was notably weaker, wheezier, than before.
Impatient and dissatisfied, Santino rose, stepped away from his disloyal cousin, and lifted the Glock. The gun Danilo had aimed at Reiko. The gun Danilo had planned to use to end their conflict. He moved over Danilo one more time, standing so he was straddling his weakly groaning cousin, and pointed the gun in the direction of the heart Danilo had obviously forsaken. “For what it’s worth, cousin,” Santino said, though he was sure his words fell on deaf ears, “I never wanted it to come to this.”
He watched Danilo’s eyelids flutter for a moment, then pulled the trigger.
With Danilo dead, and no sign of the mystery female, Santino was free—finally—to turn his attention to Reiko’s proper rescue. He tucked away the gun, scooped up the knife, and dropped to his knees on the tarp.
She let out a near-soundless whimper.
“Shh, beautiful, it’s me,” he said, his voice coming out in a pathetic, choked whisper as the emotion from earlier rushed over him again. He brushed his fingertips lightly over her upper shoulder, not wanting to add pressure when she had to be sore and cursing at how cold she was. “I’m going to take this gag out, then cut your restraints, okay?” He wanted to remove her blindfold, too, but he also didn’t want to traumatize her with a plethora of dead bodies and the carnage that came with them. “Just give me another minute.”
She made that whimpering sound again and his heart fucking broke.
He didn’t remember a time in his life when he’d truly known fear. Not before this night. But he’d learned it tonight, and he wouldn’t forget it as long as he lived.
The first thing she did when her gag was removed was suck in a desperate, in its own way choking, precious lungful of air. It burned down her throat and made her cough, which made her pains worse, but it was worth every nuance of discomfort.
The second thing she did was take in another, larger, stronger breath. That breath felt even better. Or maybe that was the gentle caress of Santino’s fingers over the side of her forearms, trying to caution her not to move while he pressed a knife near her wrists. She assumed.
The third thing she did was sob. It was uncontrollable. She was still in pain, possibly worse than before, even, and she was so damn cold. And she still had to pee. And she just wanted to curl up in Santino’s lap and never ever leave. But eventhinkingabout that movement hurt. So, when he cut the bindings at her wrists away and her arms naturally fell apart, the immediate shift was agony. It was such a small movement, but it was excruciating.
Santino pressed soft, feather light kisses across her skin, up her arm and over the side of her face. She felt his tongue glide up her cheek, catching a wave of her tears. But she noted he was careful not to force her to move her body before she was ready.Instead, he rubbed his hand down her arm one more time—his touch a bit heavier—and shifted himself, until he was positioned over her feet.
All she could do was mentally brace herself for a repeat of the same pressure-relief-turned-pain as he sliced through whatever was around her ankles. She didn’t know how much her minimal wiggling efforts had even helped and she was afraid to try and move, despite how badly she wanted to.
Santino moved, the tarp crackling beneath him, and gave her legs a similar treatment of light-to-heavier rubdowns and warming kisses. He kissed over her hip, his hands swept over her belly, then up and over her chest, and finally he was all but crushing her head between his palms as he kissed the crown of her head. “Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “That doesn’t even cover it. I need you to know that, okay?” He kissed her head again, let go, and fabric rustled.
She had about three seconds to let confusion filter in through the other, more physical, sensations. Then something soft and blessedly warm fell around her already curled form, covering practically shoulder to shin.
“It’s not perfect, and I know you’re freezing, but we’ll crank the heat up in the car as soon as we’re out of the building, I promise.” He ran his hands over her again, rubbing this time from outside the fabric. “I need to get you out of here, beautiful. Can I move you? Do you need to stretch first?”
The flicker of relief she’d felt bled into horror.
She wanted desperately to move. But she also did not.
Reiko licked at her dry lips and fought against her slowing tears. The tears weren’t helping her breathe, anyway.Santino’s here now. I can leave this place.She hadn’t exactly managed to do anything impressive, but she’d kept her sanity by some miracle. Or she thought she had.
A woman could only ask for so much.
“I”—her voice cracked at the first word, first syllable, and Santino was there, gently massaging her throat until she tried again—“I have to … pee.”
His hand stilled for a singular moment.
I swear, if he’s grinning, I will find the strength to strangle him no matter how much it hurts.
