Mafiosa (Blood for Blood #3)(83)

Felice strode downstairs. He was dressed in a shiny silver suit, his balaclava clenched tightly in one hand. ‘Lovers’ tiff?’ he called over the banister. ‘Has she realized the error of her ways yet, Nicoli?’

Nic rolled his eyes.

Felice’s shoes tapped the stairs on the way down. ‘It was a joke,’ he said, noticing my scowl.

‘Next time you tell a joke you should try and make it funny, so there’s no confusion.’

He reached the bottom and sniffed the air. ‘It feels like a good day to kill a Marino, doesn’t it?’ he said, leering at me.

I sniffed the air, too, my fingers curling on the gun inside my jacket pocket. ‘It feels like a good day to die, doesn’t it, Felice?’

He arched one perfect silver brow. ‘I’m sure our boss would agree with you.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Your family loyalty needs a lot of work.’

His thin lips spread wide, his mouth curving into a shark’s grin. ‘Not as much as yours does, Marino.’

‘It’s Falcone,’ I corrected him.

His smile was a cruel, twisting thing. ‘For now.’

Like a swarm, the others began to assemble, until we were one big black mass, armed to the teeth, embracing in the hallway, whispering last words, offering careful smiles. And then we left, one by one, fingers unrolling balaclavas as we climbed into the fleet of cars poised to storm Donata Marino’s mansion.

Luca and I were the last ones to leave. He turned around, one full 360-degree turn as he took in the empty foyer. He stopped, and regarded me in silence for a moment. A long, lingering look.

‘What?’ I asked, feeling my throat dry up.

‘Would you stay?’ he said, taking a step towards me. ‘Would you stay here?’

I shook my head. ‘Not a chance.’

He ran his hands from my shoulders down to my arms, his fingers trailing along my sleeves. He looked away, rueful.

‘Don’t be worried,’ I said, shuffling closer. ‘We’ll go in together, we’ll come out together.’

He opened his mouth, but the words caught on his tongue. He swallowed them with a sigh and before I could utter some other empty words of encouragement, he was pulling me towards him and kissing me.

It tasted of desperation, of loss.

It tasted like goodbye.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


MILLIONAIRES’ ROW



Donata lived in a gated community made up of eleven mansions. Perched on the top of a winding hill, they formed a sprawling semi-circle. Each one looked out on to a park full of exotic-looking trees and vibrant bursts of flowers. In the middle, waterfalls tumbled into a fresh lagoon. It was like something out of a fairytale, a haven nestled away from the dusty streets of the city, far removed from the bright lights of Eden.

It was called Millionaires’ Row.

And every single house on Millionaires’ Row belonged to a member of the Marino crime family.

The sixth house – the one right in the middle of the other houses – was the largest. It was more like a museum or a parliament building than a house. It was pure white, with balconies spilling out from every angle and huge floor-to-ceiling windows sucking in every possible fleck of sunlight.

It was the house my father and my uncle grew up in.

It was the house Donata Marino now lived in.

In a convoy of three cars – all black, identical, and unplated – we pulled up to the security booth. I had to crane my neck to see all the way to the front of the line. Felice got out and shot the security man once in the head. Dom dragged his body back inside the booth. Paulie destroyed the entrance cameras, and all within the space of twenty seconds, the black gates to Millionaires’ Row swung open, and the Falcone family drove inside.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t glance at the body – the edge of a shoe, the glint of a belt buckle in my periphery.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and gripped my gun inside my jacket pocket.

There was no going back now.





CHAPTER FORTY


BUON NATALE




Luca and Paulie kicked in the front door on their third attempt. We ran in after them, double file, across a wide foyer that led to engraved wooden doors inlaid with glass panes.

Nic was out in front by then, his automatic gun nestled across his chest. He shot the glass out from the window and slammed the heel of his foot into the doors at the same time. They swung open to the sound of Donata Marino’s screams.

They were sitting around a long narrow table. My uncle still had the carving knife in his hand. The turkey, huge and crispy brown, sat undivided in the middle, a gaping bullet hole inside it. A man was slumped forwards on the table, his blood dribbling across the white tablecloth, a wound in the back of his neck where Nic had shot him through the glass pane.

There was a painful split second of nothingness where the smell of blood rose up between us all, and the horror of the moment froze everyone in place. Then Marco Marino sprung to his feet at the end of the table and stumbled in front of his mother.

Felice shouted ‘Buon Natale!’ and shot him right in the chest. By the time he fell backwards, clutching at his torso, Donata was scarpering past the pantry and out on to the patio, and the rest of the Marinos were closing rank, shooting right back at us.