Sal's head snaps up. "Cops. Someone called it in."
"How long?"
"Minutes. If we’re lucky." He looks at my shoulder. "You're hit."
I try to help Francesca to her feet but she's not moving, just sitting on the concrete, arms wrapped around herself. The sirens are getting louder. "Francesca, we have to go. Now."
She looks up at me like she's seeing me for the first time. "There's so much..."
"I know. But the police are coming and we can't be here. Will you do that for me?"
She nods, but when I help her up, her legs barely hold her. I wrap my good arm around her waist, half-carrying her toward the exit.
"You killed them all."
"Yes."
"You strangled him." Her voice is flat, distant. "With your bare hands. I watched you do it."
"Francesca—"
"I'm an ER nurse." She's still staring at Vlad's body. "I save people. That's what I do. I save them. And you just..." She looksat her hands, at the blood on them from where I cut the zip ties. "There's so much..."
The sirens are close now. Maybe minutes out.
Sal catches my eye, jerks his head toward the exit. We're out of time.
I force her too look at me, focusing her view on me instead of the bodies. "Look at me. Francesca, look at me."
She does, slowly.
"I need you to walk with me to the car. The police are coming and we can't be here. Will you do that for me?"
"Get everyone out," I tell Sal. "Burn this place. Fast."
"Already on it."
Outside, the afternoon sun is harsh after the dimness of the warehouse. I can hear the sirens clearly now—multiple units, close. Francesca flinches at the brightness, turns her face into my shoulder. I can feel her trembling.
I get her into the back of the SUV, slide in next to her. One of our men is already behind the wheel, engine running. Other cars peel out ahead of us—my men scattering, disappearing into Brooklyn's streets like smoke.
As we pull away, I see the first police cruiser turn onto the block behind us, lights flashing.
Too close. Way too close.
The moment the door closes, Francesca pulls away from me, pressing herself against the opposite door.
"Don't," she says. "Don't touch me. Not right now."
I raise my hands, give her space. We navigate through side streets, taking a deliberately random route to lose any potential tails.
"Where to, boss?"
"Brooklyn. The family safe house on 47th." The one the Outfit keeps for situations exactly like this. "Call Doc Ricci. Tell him to meet us there."
Francesca is staring out the window, arms wrapped tight around herself. The blood from my shoulder is soaking through my shirt but I don't move. Don't try to touch her. Just sit here while she processes what she just saw.
The drive to Brooklyn takes longer than I'd like. Francesca doesn't speak. Doesn't look at me. Just stares out the window, shaking.
