I jam the Beretta down his throat ’til he’s choking on it. The metal along the spine of the barrel taps against his teeth and scrapes up the roof of his mouth. His eyeballs bulge, making him resemble a toad the way they pop out.
Iftoads wore too much product in their hair and wore gaudy gold chains.
I grit my teeth, shoving more of the Beretta down his throat. His whole body shifts into fight mode, his arms and legs swinging and kicking in protest.
“Who the fuck are you and why the fuck were you shooting at me?”
I don’t recognize him—which means he’s either a new guy Pa’s hired on or one of Nero’s low-level guys. Either way, he’s going to provide me with answers. The men in the other car are dead, so he gets to be my punching bag.
Sergio and the other men I have with me know the routine. One of them helps Nevaeh up off the ground and into the limo. Sergio joins me as we throw the mystery shooter into the trunk.
A crowd of people have started to gather after the collision and shootout, but not a single one has their phones out.
They’re all ghostly pale with their mouths hanging open.
In a city like Dresden, people are more than familiar with the mafia battles that go on. The Vorones have bullied enough crime families into submission for them to be. They know what’s expected: absolute silenceor else.
Few citizens want to find out whator elseentails.
I’m fuming the entire drive back to my estate. I rage at Sergio as he clumsily drives us home. Having been grazed by a bullet, he’s bleeding in his seat, but it’s nothing life threatening. He knows not to complain.
Tulio will have to take a look at him.
Afterhe checks out Nevaeh.
I knocked her to the ground so hard, she’s banged up too. Her knee’s all skinned up, and she’s got a lump on her head. She sits tightly in the far corner away from me, nursing her left arm as if that’s paining her too.
I’d feel guilty if the rage weren’t so consuming.
These assholes thought it was acceptable to open fire on my wife on a public street.
Withthe possibility that a baby is already growing inside of her.
My fucking offspring.
It’s a fucking line that’s been crossed. In pastimes, significant others and children were off limits. Blood relatives were off limits. A man could be your worst enemy, and you’d still never lay a finger on his wife or his children.
All that’s changed.
The Ziccardis and Vorones have both decided to play dirty. I’ll play dirtier than any of them.
We burst through the double-door entrance of my manor. Ms. Poitier’s in the vicinity, spinning around startled as she watches us storm inside. We’ve clearly been through some shit judging by the blood and bruises.
“What in the world happened?” she gasps.
“Take Nevaeh to see Tulio. Then make sure she’s cleaned up and settled in her room.”
“Cael—” Nevaeh warbles out as if she can’t censor herself. She reaches a hand for me, to grab my forearm that’s as thickand hard as a block of wood, but Ms. Poitier intercepts her first. Throwing an arm around her shoulders, she begins escorting Nevi away.
Nevaeh struggles to go along at first, turning to look back at me, then realizes it’s no use. I’ve moved onto barking orders at my men.
I don’t miss the heartbreak that unfolds onto her face; she was hoping I’d stay with her as she’s patched up considering everything that’s happened.
The sudden gunfire must’ve terrified her.
But my ballerina doesn’t understand I can’t be with her right now, even if I wanted to be. Other matters must be handled first.
Vincent Rosetti kneels in the middle of my war room as my men encircle him. I walk through the door with a taste for bloodshed.
