Page 69 of Heaven Help Me

Fazio snorts. “Absolutely not.”

Deuce continues calmly. “You let them go and take me instead.”

“Deuce, no!” Bettina wails.

Deuce nods at the phone. “She’ll let them both burn, but she won’t let you kill me. I can get you what you want.”

He’s completely right, but damn him for spelling it out so clearly. Fazio is thinking it over. I scoot closer to the middle of the wall, still in reaching distance of the pickax. It might be my only weapon.

Emotions bleed through the militaristic mindset I’ve worked from my whole life. I see Marcel bravely facing his end, giving up his life if only it will save his son’s. I see Deuce putting himself in Fazio’s crosshairs just to save me and his father. And I hear Bettina, unwilling to give up her power, her heritage, her reputation, no matter what.

They say life-and-death situations put things in perspective, and for once, “they” are right. All those beliefs I told Deuce about on top of the jungle gym at the park fall away. I see them for what they are: a system of control. A belief system a broken woman instilled in me. Did those beliefs save my life? Yes, most definitely. But in trying to save my life, I missed out on living.

And I refuse to miss out on any of that ever again.

I refuse to let a sweet old man die because of mafia business that has no place here. I won’t let Deuce lose the one good parent who has tried to shield him from this life. I won’t let Bettina’s bullshit affect anyone any further here in Heaven, this small town that holds people I care about.

Everything happens at once, an explosion of sound and violence and mayhem. Fazio hangs up the phone, swings the butt of his gun at Deuce’s head, and Deuce ducks, cat quick. I spring to my feet and grab the pickax, already winding up my swing, Fazio’s head my only focus. The door behind me bursts open and the loudest gunshot I’ve ever experienced echoes through the room. I swing, unable to stop the momentum, and wind up connecting with Fazio’s face as he falls to the ground. Teeth fly, but it’s the gaping gunshot wound in his torso that ultimately takes him down. The clack of Fazio’s gun hitting the floor punctuates the moment.

All heads turn to the doorway in the sudden silence. Rhett stands there like a cowboy out on the range, feet planted, shotgun in hand. Silas has a phone pressed to his ear, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. A lone siren wails in the night air somewhere outside the cabin.

My neck swivels painfully in Deuce’s direction. I feel relief flood through me that he’s relatively unharmed. He’s already leaping for me, hands unbound and bloody.

“Valentina!” he shouts from down a long tunnel.

I reach for him, but everything goes fuzzy and dark before I can shout from the top of my lungs. Not a shout of pain or fear. It’s a feeling that’s bursting out of me that I must give voice to.

I love you.

Thank you for choosing me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Deuce

Tired but wired is less a catchy internet phrase from well-meaning health professionals and more of a state of being right now. It’s been twelve hours since the police arrived on the scene and barked orders at all of us like we hadn’t taken care of business for them. Fazio and his goons were already neutralized.

I despise that word.

It’s mafia speak designed to separate feelings from the actual action of taking a life. It’s part of the whole culture of kill or be killed.

And I want nothing to do with it.

Carrying her in my arms, I wouldn’t let them separate me from Valentina when all the sirens and cops and nosy citizens arrived on the scene. Not in the back of the ambulance and not when we got to the emergency room. They had to put us in exam beds next to each other, sewing up the cut on my temple while another doctor worked on Valentina while I kept a close eye on her. She hasn’t woken up since she collapsed in that dirty cabin.

I left her hospital room momentarily to make sure Papa was picked up by his neighbor. He was no worse for wear after the kidnapping, which is more than I could have hoped for. One minute I was bargaining for his life, the next he’s clapping me on the shoulder with a wink, headed for home so he can heat up a chicken casserole to share with Tommy.

“She’s waking, Deuce,” says the nurse that just came on day shift as she sticks her head out of Valentina’s room. Normally I’d know the woman’s name by now, along with where she grew up and how many siblings she has, but I haven’t been able to clear my mind enough to engage in charming the pants off her. There’s only one woman’s pants I want off and she’s currently nursing a concussion and some dehydration.

I rush over and thank the woman, not stopping until I’m half sitting on the bed, Valentina’s hands encased in mine. Her dark hair is a matted mess under multiple pristine white bandages. Jesus, how many times did he hit her? Rage makes my hands tighten on hers.

God, I want to kill him all over again.

Valentina whimpers and I clear my head of all stupid vengeful thoughts. That’s Bettina’s way of life. Not mine. All that matters now is making sure Valentina recovers fully from this ordeal.

“Valentina?” Her eyelids flutter again, along with another moan dropping from her lips. “Wake up, baby. The doctors want to see if you’re okay.”

I need to see that you’re okay.