White Knight (Dirty Mafia Duet, #2)(38)

The old man claps his hands more like a seven-year-old than a seventy-year-old when he realizes what he’s looking at. “That’s a 275 GTB. Holy shit.”

As Dom walks forward to run a hand along the perfectly waxed and buffed rear quarter panel, I catch a glimpse of a black Charger parked across the street, its windows tinted so dark you can’t see in them.

I’d be willing to bet that sitting inside that car, behind those tinted windows, is Clinton Cole or one of his buddies, surveilling the entire fucking party.

Welcome to the mob, where your every family, birthday, and holiday gathering is watched and photographed by the cops.

“She’s a 1964,” Logan says. “Creighton and Cav said you’d always wanted one, so we found it for you and did a little work to make her shine.”

Knowing Logan, he’s vastly understating the amount of effort it took to get the car to this condition, but Dom is too busy skimming his fingertips across the paint to care.

“Best fucking birthday I’ve ever had. Nothing after this will ever—”

Dom’s head jerks to the side, cutting off his words, as gunfire erupts.





24





Memphis





“Down!” Dom yells the word, and the entire crowd of people freezes for a second before following his instructions.

As the rat-tat-tat of automatic weapon fire fills the air and glass shatters everywhere, I throw myself at Cannon, sending us both tumbling to the ground. He tries to shield me as he moves us toward the tires of the truck, and I reach out my hand to Dom, trying to catch him and drag him closer to cover. Cannon sees what I’m trying to do and shoves me lower as he grabs his father’s arm and pulls him toward us.

Dom’s face is bleached white and he already has a gun in his hand, but he’s frozen beside us as we huddle behind the tire.

Gunfire breaks out from our side of the street, and I don’t want to move my head to see who’s shooting at who. With every explosion deafening me, I cringe into a smaller and smaller ball, thankful for the thud of Cannon’s beating heart against me.

I can’t lose him. I won’t lose him. No matter what.

Tires squeal, and the acrid scent of gunpowder mingles with the stench of burning rubber.

For a moment, all I hear is the ringing in my ears along with the whoosh of blood.

Cannon’s grip on me tightens when I try to move. “No, stay down. They could come back. Sometimes they fucking come back.”

But instead of more squealing tires, sirens wail in the distance as people begin shouting.

“Gotta. Follow. Them.”

The stilted, wheezy words come from Dom, and I shift to see the older man’s face. I’ve never seen a living person’s face turn that color gray. One of his hands clutches the lapel of his jacket . . .

Oh Jesus Christ. No.

“Cannon! Cannon! We need an ambulance. Now!”

He replies, his voice cloaked in dread, “We’re going to need more than one.”

“Dom needs one. Right now. Right now!”

Other people are yelling for help, but Cannon’s attention is on his father.

“My heart,” Dom says before letting his eyes flutter shut.

I stand up, screaming for help, but my shouts disappear in the chaos. It’s a war zone. Blood stains clothes and the sidewalk.

“I got every bus I can find coming this way.”

I look toward the voice, stunned to see Clinton Cole standing beside me.

“Help’s coming,” he says.

“Who . . .” Dom opens his eyes, and Cannon cradles him in his lap. “Did you see who . . .”

Benny drops to his knees beside Cannon. “It was that fucking bastard GTR. We’re gonna kill the Rossettis. Every single damn one of them. Put them in the fucking ground.”

“Damn . . . right . . . we are.” Dom meets Cannon’s gaze, and I’m terrified he won’t be able to hold on long enough for the ambulance to arrive.

“I’m gonna kill ’em all.” Enzo stumbles to a stop near Benny, his shirt stained with blood, one hand pressed to his side and the other holding a gun. “Then you’ll know I’m worthy.”

“Save your declarations of war for when you don’t have a cop standing right in front of you, assholes,” Cole says as Enzo tilts to one side and clutches at Cole to stay up.

Eden rushes toward us and throws herself into Cannon’s arms. “Greer and Crey both got hit. We need help. Now!”





25





Cannon





I hate hospitals. Everything about them. From the white walls, to the industrial floors, to the scent of disinfectant. Most of all, I hate that you walk inside with a sense of hope, only to get robbed of it later when the doctor comes out to give you the bad news.

It isn’t the same hospital I sat in, waiting for news about my mother in surgery, but it might as well be.

Dom didn’t get capped, but his heart couldn’t handle the stress. Creighton, Enzo, and four others were shot. Greer caught some flying glass, but thankfully not a bullet. How the rest of us survived unscathed while the Rossettis were shooting at us like fish in a barrel, I’ll never understand.

Grace of God, I guess.