Page 81 of Clipped Wings

“Don Luca,” I clarified, recoiling at the sight of her long, dirty fingernails. “I’ll only give it to him.”

“No one sees the don without clearance. You know that.” Amara brandished the switchblade at me, her eyes black and greedy. “Time for a strip search, topolina.”

Fuck that.

Amara would find my weapon eventually, so I pulled Jack’s revolver from the waistband of my jeans. I aimed it between her thick eyebrows, clicking the hammer back twice. Amara didn’t waver under the barrel. Instead of fear, a small smile formed on her thin, dry lips.

“You don’t have it in you,” she goaded. Sofia fidgeted, but my stare was fixed on the monster in front of me. “When did you figure it out?”

“This morning,” I answered, my finger hesitant over the trigger. A thousand thoughts flew through my head—I can’t do this, I’m not a murderer—but Jack would get himself killed trying to find the Babau. And I had the bastard at gunpoint.

“It appears you’re as smart as my uncle gives you credit for,” Amara whispered, her gaze flitting to something over my shoulder.

I stiffened, aware of a demonic presence behind me.

Not a moment later, the cold steel of a gun furrowed its way through my thick ponytail. Every nerve in my body stood at attention as Don Luca’s pistol nestled against the seat of my brain. I glanced upward, knowing now was the time, if any.

“Don’t look to the heavens for an answer,” Amara teased, that sickening smile marring her chalky face.

I reached into my jacket pocket with my free arm.

“Careful, little one,” Don Luca cooed from behind me.

I grasped the flash drive and handed it back to him. His cold fingers grazed mine as he gripped the small piece of data. I glanced once more at the rafters, hoping Eoghan had done his part. Otherwise, I would have sacrificed myself for nothing.

Luca Nicoletti’s breath skated across my neck. “A flash drive?”

He exerted more pressure on the gun, forcing my head to tilt forward. My eyes watered, but I didn’t flinch. Amara’s malicious glare was fixed on me, evaluating.

“There’s a copy of Nate’s suicide note on there.” My palms began to sweat, the revolver’s handle threatening to slip from my grasp. “I’m not going to give you the real thing. It was addressed to me and I’m keeping it.”

“Fine.”

Luca’s voice was terse but compliant, revealing a weakness. Amara had said he had a soft spot for me, but his Achilles’ heel was the grandson he’d never know. Nate’s suicide was something no one, not even Don Luca, could have anticipated. He would grasp at any remnant of Nate, even something as vague as a flash drive. Anything that would give him an insider’s view into his grandson’s world which Maria Ranucci had cut him off from.

“Put the gun down, little one,” Don Luca ordered. “You’ve given me what I want.”

“Babau,” I whispered, catching Amara’s attention. She’d been looking at her uncle like she was expecting something from him—probably hoping he would shoot me now that he had his evidence. “Why Connor?”

“The eldest O’Connell was an enemy,” she answered. “The Emerald Devil is more elusive and, therefore, a greater challenge. I wanted your Irishman, but my uncle informed me he was off-limits.”

“Amara,” Don Luca warned, his weapon still pressed to my skull.

“Someone should’ve told you, topolina.” Amara tsked, unaffected by the barrel pointed between her eyes. “Children shouldn’t play with guns.”

“Who said I’m playing?” I asked, gritting my teeth as I pulled the trigger.

Before I knew it, I was on the ground. My ears were ringing, the pulse fluttering in my neck. A searing pain rocked my head. Moaning, I ran my fingers through my hair. Had I been shot? No. I would be dead. I didn’t feel dead. In fact, I felt very much alive.

A silent scream burned my throat. A pale woman lay on the ground before me. Her eyes were open and vacant, her black hair shocking against the white of her face. And in the middle of her forehead was a bullet hole.

I murdered someone. I killed Amara. The Babau is dead.

“Is that the first time you’ve shot a gun?”

Don Luca circled me, his weapon pointed down and at nothing in particular. I didn’t have the voice to answer him, so I nodded, pulling my hand away from my head to examine it. My fingers were trembling and covered in my own blood.

“No one ever told you about the recoil?” Don Luca asked with little affectation, as if this was all a joke to him, just another day in the life. He wore leather driving gloves, which peeked out beneath the stiff arms of his tailored suit jacket. He bent down, rummaging through Amara’s pockets. When he stood again, the switchblade was in his other hand.

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