Vendetta (Blood for Blood #1)(87)

“It’s too dangerous, Sophie,” my mother whispered. “We don’t know what’s going on out there.”

The sound of another engine startled me. It was farther away, coming from the back of the warehouse. Tires squealed, and I knew it meant at least one Falcone was taking off.

“Those bastards,” I spat. “They’re leaving him here to die.”

“They probably think he’s already dead.” The way my mother said it betrayed her own grim expectations. “He very nearly is.”

The tears stung my eyes, but I blinked quickly so they would fall away from them and clear my vision. “If you hold the wound, I could try to find — ”

The front entrance was kicked in. Jack stomped into the warehouse, his shirt pooling with sweat and his face blotchy and red. He had his gun raised in front of him, his eyes darting around the warehouse for possible threats.

“You’re safe,” he said without looking at my mother and me. He was still scanning the warehouse. “We have to go.”

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Carter’s dead. They got him twice in the head. Grant’s still out there with one of them. Cain’s been shot in the arm, but he rallied and — ”

“The Falcones,” I interrupted. “Where are the Falcones?”

Jack didn’t register the urgency in my question; he probably thought it was fear. “Cain’s leading them on a wild-goose chase across the city; those dumb goombahs think they’re chasing me. They thought it would be so easy, but once again they’ve underestimated me. They have no idea what they’ve started. I’m going to pick those little shits off one by one. No one lays a hand on my niece and gets away with it.” The pride in his voice was horrifyingly misplaced; I guessed it often was in this strange underworld, where morals were warped beyond reason. “We’ve got to get you two to safety before that other Falcone comes back in here. I’ve called Hamish and he’s on his way; we’re meeting him at the edge of the lot. We’ll just have to write Grant off as an expense. He was new any — ”

Jack stopped mid-rant. For the first time, his attention focused on our little heap behind the crates. He zeroed in on Luca, his eyes growing. “Shit,” he said, grimacing. “Move aside.”

He pointed his gun at Luca’s head.

“Stop!” I screeched, shifting so I was in his firing line instead.

He came closer, stomping through Luca’s blood like it was a puddle of water. He softened his voice in an effort to comfort me. “You don’t have to look.”

“Jack!” my mother cried hysterically. “Don’t shoot the boy!”

Jack didn’t understand. Luca was just another fallen chess piece, and he was distracting me from our getaway. “Celine, if she doesn’t come now, we won’t get her to safety.”

Luca was unconscious, but I could still hear labored wheezes seeping from his chest. I pulled my body over his, bringing our foreheads together so that my hair fell around his head, shielding him. I stretched my free hand across his body, covering his heart, while keeping the other one tight against his wound. “No.”

“He has to go, Sophie. He’s the underboss.” The gentleness in my uncle’s voice was turning to frustration, his patience to urgency. “Don’t make me pry you off him.”

“Jack,” my mother tried again. “We need to help him.”

I could hear his knees crack as he hunkered down beside me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Celine.”

I held on tighter.

“Come on, Soph.” He grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me away from Luca’s body in one stiff yank. “Turn away.”

I clawed forward, but he pushed me back, sliding me across the ground until my bare legs were stained with Luca’s blood and I was too far away to stop him. I screamed as he cocked the gun at his head.

There was an almighty pop. It was louder this time, and it seemed to change the particles in the air around me, pushing them against each other in small vibrations. My mother and I screamed, but Luca, who was barely Luca now, remained intact.

Instead, the gun flew out of Jack’s hand, and skidded along the floor past me.

“Son of a bitch!” he cursed. His head was lolling, his expression dazed. The bullet had gone right through his hand, and now the tear was pumping blood down his arm. Jack shrank to the floor, gasping and clutching his crimson fingers. I kicked his gun away. It slid across the floor, coming to a stop between two bullet-riddled crates, far away from his reach.

At the back of the warehouse, Nic was sprinting toward us, his face spattered with dirt, his clothes soaked with what must have been someone else’s blood. The gun was still in his hand, half-raised at my uncle, like he was planning to shoot at him again. I guess he wasn’t kidding about that perfect aim.

“Both your friends are dead!” he shouted.

Jack started scrabbling backward toward the entrance, pulling himself across the floor with his uninjured hand. “Sophie!” he shouted, but he wasn’t focusing; he couldn’t see me. But I could see him; his pale face was awash with terror and his blood was mixing with Luca’s as he dragged himself through it.

Nic stopped running and raised his gun again. “Stop!” he commanded.

“Nic, don’t!” I yelled. “He’s not armed. Just let him go!”