He chuckles. Like my pain is fucking entertainment to him. “You’ll find out soon, sweetheart.”
Without thinking, I move, swinging my knee up hard, exactly where Izzy once told me to aim.
He grunts, sharp and surprised, doubling over.
I take that as my cue to run.
My shoes slap against pavement as I bolt toward the alley, lungs burning, heart hammering so hard it hurts. Fear strips everything down to instinct. Left. Right. Don’t trip.
“Bitch!” he snarls behind me.
He’s fast.
Too fast.
I make it halfway down the alley before his hand snags my jacket and yanks me back. I twist, elbow flying, nails raking across his cheek. He hisses, shoves me hard into the brick wall.
Pain blooms along my shoulder.
“This could have been easy,” he says, breath hot in my face. “Your sister begged. Did you know that? Cried. Said you were all she had.”
My vision blurs with rage. “Don’t talk about her.”
“She should’ve taught you better,” he sneers. “When men tell you to stop looking, you stop.”
He steps back and pulls out a gun.
The alley narrows. The world sharpens.
I think of Coral. Of Rose. Of Giovanni’s hand at my back. Of every night I told myself I wasn’t afraid.
The gun lifts.
A click echoes.
Then another sound cuts through it.
A heavier click.
From the mouth of the alley.
“Drop it,” Giovanni says.
He stands there like he owns the darkness, gun already cocked, eyes locked on the man in red.
Everything freezes.
My breath catches.
The red-shirted man laughs once, low and ugly. “Too late.”
Giovanni’s gaze flicks to me for half a second. Steady. Grounding.
Then back to the man with the gun.
“Touch her,” Giovanni says quietly, “and you die.”
22
