Page 80 of His Assistant

“Then don’t leave me with him,” she says, looking at Tomasso’s body.

I look at Bradley. “Stay with her.”

He nods.

I move into the hall.

The front of the club is chaos. Rafe’s men have pushed through fast. Too fast for Calderone to regroup. Bodies sprawl near the bar, broken glass across the floor, smoke hanging low in the air. I hear Rafe shouting orders from somewhere ahead, alive and angry.

Then I hear Marco. A broken groan from behind a half-closed door near the back. I go toward it. Calderone comes out of the shadow with a gun in his hand and Sofia in front of him.

For one second, my mind refuses to process what I’m seeing. She was behind me. Bradley was with her.

Then I see Bradley on one knee in the hall behind them, bleeding from the side of his head, trying to lift his gun and failing.

Sofia’s face is white. Calderone has one arm around her chest and the barrel of his gun pressed under her jaw. Everything in me stops.

“Drop it,” Calderone says.

I do. The gun hits the floor. He smiles.

Sofia’s eyes lock on mine. She is terrified. She is also furious.

“Sofia,” I say quietly.

Calderone tightens his arm. “Don’t talk to her.”

I keep my eyes on hers. “You’re okay.”

She gives me the smallest look that says, No, I am obviously not okay.

Calderone shifts his weight, dragging her backward toward the hallway.

“You built an impressive machine, Vieri. I’ll give you that. But every machine has a weak point.”

Sofia’s gaze drops to her feet. Her heel is near Calderone’s instep. I see the decision before she moves.

“Do it,” I tell her.

She drives her heel down hard onto Calderone’s foot and throws her head back at the same time, hard enough to make him release her. The gun jerks away from her jaw.

Bradley’s gun is on the floor within reach. I grab it as Sofia twists sideways, making herself small and furious and impossible to hold. Calderone raises his weapon again. I shoot him once in the wrist.

He screams.

Sofia drops to the floor, covering her head with her hands.

I shoot him again in the chest. Calderone hits the floor on his back, eyes wide. A pathetic death for a pathetic man. No less than he deserved. I stand over him until he stops moving.

Sofia is on the floor, back up against the wall, shaking so hard she can barely sit upright.

I reach her and drop to my knees. “Are you hit?”

She shakes her head.

“Sofia.”

“I’m not hit,” she says, and then she breaks.