Vendetta(99)

“No.” I pressed down harder, feeling my own ribs shriek in protest. Luca’s eyelids were fluttering and his complexion was drained. It was strange to see him so pale. “Call an ambulance.”

My mother released me and started patting her sweater frantically. “I don’t have a phone. I didn’t think,” she dithered. “Everything happened so fast, and Jack said we had to leave urgently if we were to have any chance of … Oh, and I was so worried I could barely think …” She trailed off into senseless mutterings. We were close to the front of the warehouse now. She started pulling nearby crates around us — building a makeshift barrier.

There was no sign of Nic or Jack. Before, I could hear them barking at each other, but now there was nothing. Inside, the rest of the shooting had ceased. Someone had had the sense to lure the chaos away from us, and I couldn’t be sure which side had thought to do it, and whether it was for my benefit or for Luca’s, but in that moment I was profoundly grateful.

Outside, three more shots rang out and an engine roared to life. Someone was leaving in a car at the front of the warehouse, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

“We have to get help.” I started to drag Luca toward the entrance with my free hand. He gurgled and a stream of blood bubbled from his discolored lips, staining his chalk-white skin.

“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.”