Below, the tide was shifting.
Giorlando backup had started to arrive—men in darker suits and heavier coats slipping in through side doors, guns already up and shooting toward the front doors. The cartel boys hadn’t expected that kind of response this fast. A couple of Vincino soldiers went down with neat holes in their chests. A Serpentcaught a bullet through the thigh and started crawling for the exit, leaving a smear.
I could see the SUVs through the front windows. Blacked-out shapes in the street beyond the chaos of the entrance. Doors still open on a couple. Muzzle flashes from inside the cabins as they fired in. Engines revving.
One engine roared higher. An SUV peeled away from the curb, tires screeching. Another followed. Men dove in through open doors even as the vehicles started moving.
“Cowards!” Dante spat, firing one last shot at a fleeing shadow. The round shattered a headlight. Useless but satisfying.
The remaining shooters were cut down fast. Giorlando security didn’t play fair. Bodies hit the floor. Groans. Cries. Then, slowly, the gunfire faded to isolated pops to finish off stragglers and then nothing.
The silence that followed after wasn’t really silent. It was people sobbing. Glass settling. Sirens faint in the distance.
My world had shrunk to the boy bleeding out under my hands.
Raptor’s breath had gone ragged. Wet. Every inhale a gurgle. Blood bubbled between my fingers no matter how hard I pressed. It coated my palms, my wrists, my sleeves, his chest.
“Stay with me,” I ordered. “You hear me? That shit outside is over. You did good.”
He tried to say something.It came out as a choke.
Jersey slid in beside me. His hands joined mine for a second, adding pressure that we both knew wasn’t going to fix anything. His face was too calm. I knew that calm. It was the one you put on when you smelled death and didn’t want to show your teeth chattering.
Raptor’s eyes found his.
“Jersey…?” he rasped, voice shredded.
“Hey,” Jersey said gently. “I’m here.”
Raptor’s hand jerked, seeking. Jersey caught it.
“You did good,” he told him. Voice rough. No bullshit. “You hear me? You did good.”
Something in Raptor’s shoulders eased at that. Like all he’d needed was to hear it out loud from someone in his own club. From someone he looked up to.
His fingers tightened weakly around Jersey’s, then slackened.
His eyes went unfocused.
I kept pressing down for three more heartbeats, because sometimes denial is muscle memory. Then I felt it—that horrible shift from struggling body to weightlessness. From person to thing.
I let my hands stay where they were even after I knew it didn’t matter. I stared at his face and tried to memorize it in the worst possible light.
“Fuck!” Turnpike shouted behind us.
He sounded like someone had punched a hole through his own chest.
Giorlando men swept the floor below, shouting orders, finishing groaning threats that still hadweapons in their hands. The sirens outside faded as someone on the street got paid enough to tell them there was nothing to see here. One of Roman’s men appeared in the VIP doorway with blood on his cuff and a look that said he already knew how this story would be packaged for the news.
“Get your people out,” he said to us. “We’ll handle the room.”
Dante pushed to his feet, red suit torn, eyes narrowed. “My club. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Father’s orders. We’ll handle it,” the man repeated. “You, your friends here, you were never here tonight. The cameras will lose your faces. The patrons saw shadows and panic, not patches or you. Understood?”
Jersey looked at Raptor’s body. “What about…” he began to ask.
“Coroner will sweep him with the rest,” the man interrupted. “We’ll pull him when it’s quiet. Take his vest. I’ll call Roman. Leave the meat. For now.”
