They were all shocked. Every Italian in that small area including Romeo just gaped at the destruction. Al was a made man; you didn’t just blow him away without thinking about it first, but someone had, and she wasn’t nearly as surprised about it as they were. In that one-second pause of stunned disbelief, the metallic slide of a shotgun reloading was all the warning they had before she took out Frankie’s best friend, Johnny Napoli.
The destruction was gorier the second time. Jules aimed for the chest, and she didn’t miss. The shock didn’t last as long as Romeo would have liked. Covered in their friend’s blood, the rest of Frankie’s crew stormed in and took advantage of their strength in numbers.
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The entire room exploded around them. Glass shattered. Wood splintered. The first ten seconds of the attack felt slow, every instant painting an image in his mind, but now there was too much happening to process any of it. It would have been impossible for anyone, even Nova. All Romeo could focus on was firing as many times as possible, his finger pumping the trigger, his heart jolting when a cry of pain told him he hit his mark.
Despite the chaos Romeo actually saw Frankie aim for Jules, as if his inner sensors were hypersensitive to it, knowing Frankie would cut him where it hurt. Bullets started hitting that small place by the nightstand where Jules was crouched next to Romeo.
They pelted the bed, sending stuffing everywhere. He felt the first one hit her body, the impact of it forcing her into him, but she still had a hold of the shotgun. Another click and a huge hole in Rico Cagnini’s stomach told him she wasn’t dead yet.
In the next heartbeat a lamp on the nightstand exploded next to them, and Jules cried out. Romeo couldn’t stand her being a target anymore, even if she did take out half the guys attacking them. While still firing, he grabbed her arm with his left hand, using all his strength to pull her down. He heard the crack of her head hitting the nightstand, could feel the lifelessness in her body as the shotgun fell to side, and the pop, pop, pop of the bullets stopped long enough for him to look down and see Jules sprawled out on the floor. There was an obvious bullet wound in her shoulder, pumping blood over her pale skin and staining her white bra. Another pool of blood was spreading by her head too quickly to be minor. Her ponytail was soaking it up as the puddle grew, turning her hair a vibrant red, and something about that image put him over the edge.
Frankie had ruined his life for the last time.
Romeo wanted him to die.
He pushed away from the bed and scrambled to his feet. Something hit him hard in the chest, but rather than fall, he retaliated by putting a hole in Vito Sacco, who fell to his knees, his hands clutching the red stain on his side. Seeing that he and Frankie were
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the last two standing, Romeo threw his gun down. He launched himself at the man who’d made his life hell since he was six. The two of them fell against the wall before Romeo slammed his fist into Frankie’s face.
He could feel the bone breaking under his knuckles, and it felt so good he pulled his arm back, wanting to do it over and over again until nothing about him looked like Nova. Something hit him in the lower back before he could, and the pain of it made bright white spots appear in his vision. He stumbled back, reaching blindly for the wound as he fell to his knees simply because his legs couldn’t hold up against the agony.
Frankie raised his gun, pointing it at Romeo’s head, and he knew in that moment that he hadn’t jumped from behind the safety of the bed wanting Frankie to die—he’d done it knowing Jules was bleeding to death.
Romeo closed his eyes, welcoming death, wondering which of them would make it to the other side first. He hadn’t read the story since ninth grade, he’d forgotten, but it didn’t matter because the pop of a gun echoed in the room.
Romeo fell onto his back, still feeling very much alive. The pain was dazzling, blocking out every thought except needing it to end. He blinked in confusion, fighting the deafening throb of his heartbeat to see Frankie fall. The world darkened at the edges as Romeo stared at the younger, angrier version of Frankie still standing. As if he’d come back from the past, only bigger and badder than Romeo remembered him. His 9mm pointed in Romeo’s direction, another gunshot, and again nothing but the grim pain of life instead of the welcoming peace of death.
Instead Vito Sacco screamed, his yells echoing off the walls before a third shot was fired, silencing him. The agony was so intense Romeo was jealous, knowing Vito beat him to the other side.
Juliet had to have died first. That’s how the story went.
Romeo closed his eyes, his death much quieter than Vito’s. He could barely breathe past the pain, let alone cry out.