This can't be real
Luca
I’ve lost a lot of blood. I don’t think any of the stab wounds are serious, but there’s more than a few of them, and I’ve been bleeding for hours. My face feels like ground beef, and my nose is definitely broken. A couple of ribs are, too. My skin burns where someone just put another cigarette out on me.
My heart is still telling me I’ll see my girl again, that I’m going to make it home to her. But my head is losing faith. I could have touched her, kissed her, and heard her laugh for the last time already. We might not check off anything else on our lists.
No, I can’t give up. I will believe I’ll get back to her until my dying breath. I fight to stay conscious, but my vision fades in and out as the puddle of blood at my feet grows.
Fred’s chuckle catches my attention. “They’re on their way. Take the kid down, but leave the ropes and tie his legs together again.”
“I don’t think he’s got much left in the tank,” Gino or Wade says. I can’t tell them apart just from their voices right now.
“Don’t put anything past him. Tie him up.”
They do as he says, and I’m left bleeding on the floor. Soon, I hear cars outside. Fred stands next to an open window and yells, “Stay right there DeVille, or I’ll slit his fucking throat.”
“I’m not moving. Give us Luca, and tell us where to transfer the money, and we’ll all just move on,” Marco yells back. He sounds weird. Upset.
“And the cash?”
“Here in this bag.”
“Bring it to the bottom of the stairs.”
“Not until you bring Luca to us.”
Wade and Gino pick me up under my arms and pull me toward the door. “We’re bringing him out, DeVille.”
They drag me outside and drop me to my knees. I sway but manage to stay upright. Metal presses against my temple. “I’ll shoot him if I see anyone go for their guns.”
I can barely make out Marco and my dad through my swollen eyes, as well as a few blobs I’m assuming are other men standing a few dozen yards away, but it feels like miles. I don’t see Ariana among them. Selfishly, I had hoped for one last glimpse of her, but she shouldn’t be here for this bullshit.
Everyone’s quiet.
“No princess then?” Fred asks, speaking loudly over the space between the groups. “I was hoping she would talk you into letting her come along so she could see our handiwork.”
I’ve never wanted to murder someone as much as I want to murder Fred Mitchell right now.
“Don’t you want to know how I did it? How I got men onto your sacred crew? How I got past your safety precautions? How we knew what teeth to yank out of this moron’s mouth? You don’t really think it’s just the three of us, do you? Don’t you want to know which of your enemies helped me?”
Fred chuckles, then keeps going. Keeps taunting. “She’s got a few enemies herself, you know? Pissed off more than a few people.The infamous Ariana DeVille. Did she really think she was going to live some fairy tale happily ever after?” He clicks his tongue as if he’s disappointed. “What the fuck did you teach those girls, Marco?”
“If you’re so determined to spill your guts, let’s talk. Just you and me,” Marco replies.
“I want to talk to her. See how she feels about all this. How she feels about being the reason her man isn’t so handsome now. He’ll have scars just like hers if he makes it out of here alive. Which is doubtful, given how much blood he’s lost. You might want to get a move on with all this, Marco. You don’t want to have to explain to the princess how you were too late this time.”
Marco does something I’ve never known him to do. He snaps. “Enough. Let us come get him now, Fred.”
“Fuck you, Marco. He’s not going anywhere. He’s dying here today, and I’m coming for your precious princess next.” Fred’s been waving the gun around, but now he presses it against my head again. I close my eyes and fill my mind with Ariana. The way she smiles. The way she curls up next to me. The way she smells and laughs and dances.
The way she loves me.
I almost grin, thinking about her. Everything slows around me as I breathe, expecting it to be my last lungful of air.
The sound of a motor has me blinking through swollen and wet eyes. A car comes barreling toward us from the side, driving between the two groups.
A black Maserati. I’ve lost too much blood, and now I’m hallucinating Marco’s stolen car. Is this what dying feels like?
