“You know my husband’s on his way, Sammy. Don’t you?” I ask, drawing his attention again. Marco has bolted out of his seat again, gun steady and his face set.
“Don’t do it, Fuscone. You’ll be dead before he hits the ground.”
“Oh, Luca will beveryupset with you, Sammy,” I go on. “You know that, right? You might as well take your shot now.”
“You shoot him, I shoot you,” Marco insists.
“Put the gun down, Marco.”
“Can’t do that, Mr. D. You know I can’t. Fuscone, your only chance right now is to run like hell. I won’t kill you if you gonow.”
Fuscone has gone gray in the face, his gun hand slowly wagging up and down.
“Kill me,” I snap. “Sack up and do it, you stupid old shit!”
“Walk away, Fuscone,” Marco says, stepping closer, his gun aimed at Fuscone’s head.
“Youknowyou want me dead.”
“Finch!” Marco shouts. “Shut up and get the fuck down!”
“I gotta give him his shot, Marco.”
Heisan old man, Sam Fuscone: he’s grizzled and grumpy and he’s had a life of being put up with rather than welcomed anywhere, I can see it in his face. He’s wavering, wondering, and then I say it.
“Kill me to avenge your nephew, Joey. You know, my husband shot his face off and I pissed on his corpse on the way out of that warehouse. We’ll do the same to you.”
Fuscone’s fear turns back to clean hatred. His hand tightens on the gun.
And at that moment, the door bangs open and Brother Frank comes bursting through like a bull in a china shop. Marco doesn’t hesitate at the interruption; he runs straight at me and dives, pushing me to the ground. He covers up my head like a bomb’s about to explode, and I only just get my hands under my face in time to save my nose splitting open on the linoleum.
I hear a gun go off, a muffled expletive, hard knuckles hitting bone. I throw Marco’s arm off to look, and I see Brother Frank clutching his chest, red blood seeping from between his fingers. Fuscone is picking himself up from the floor, holding his jaw, other hand grabbing his gun, and sees me staring at him.
He staggers, rights himself, and brings the gun around to aim at me.
But behind him, like a demon materializing from hell, Luca appears with a snarl on his face and death in his eyes. He grabs Fuscone’s head and whips it around. The snap of the man’s neck seems to reverberate through the room, and Father Benedict gives a high-pitched scream as the old mobster hits the ground.
Fuscone is staring at me still, even in death, and I swear to God I can see the life going out of him, that spark growing smaller in his eyes until it’s just…gone.
The next second, I’m hauled to my feet, and Luca is shaking me. “Are you alright? Are you alright, angel?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m—I’m fine. Marco saved me…”
Marco is dusting off his knees, and he gives me a critical glance. I give a little shake of the head.Don’t tell him I dared Fuscone to shoot me. Marco seems to agree with me that it’s better off forgotten. “He’s fine, Boss. But Frank—”
Frank lifts his eyes from Fuscone’s body on the floor to give Luca a look of despair. “Jesus, Georgie. What the hell did you do that for?”
He stumbles backwards, and Aidan darts over to catch him and help him into a chair, where Frank keeps grabbing at his chest, his face going white. Luca crosses the room like lightning, kneeling down next to him. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me, Frankie.”
Frank shakes his head. “I’ve had worse. You know that. But Georgie—Georgie—there’s no hiding what you just did.” He slumps to the side in his chair.
Aidan says briskly, “On the floor.Now. You, help me get him down,” he adds to Luca.
Father Benedict makes a start for the door, but Marco grabs his arm. “Oh, no you don’t, Father. Can’t have you squealing just yet. Hey, Boss—this priest was just fine with Fuscone there offing your husband. That other priest—”
“I’m a seminarian,” Aidan says faintly.
“The other one, he stood up for Mr. D’Amato. Literally stood there in front of him, ready to take a bullet. But notthisguy.”
