Page 75 of Stolen Sin

I can hear it through the phone. Sharp cracks, loud as hell. Before last night I might not have recognized them, but now they’re obvious.

Gunfire. Lots and lots of gunfire.

Davide’s shouting over the noise and I lean in close to hear him. Simon’s too distracted to pull away.

“They’re fucking here,” Davide yells as more booms sound. “They’re here, Simon, and you gotta come. Bring fucking everyone.” More gunfire and the line goes dead.

Simon gets to his feet. He should be freaking out. My heart’s racing into my throat and I’m so scared I could cry, but he only pulls me up, hugs me tight, kisses me hard, and makes me swear I won’t do something stupid. “Help Tanya in the kitchen,” he says.

“Come back.” I grab his shirt and hold it tight, burying his mouth with mine, tasting his sweetness and feeling my whole body dizzy with him. “Please, come back to me.”

“I love you.” He tears himself away, the phone to his ear, and runs out the door. I watch it slam shut behind him as I collapse onto the couch, crying so hard I feel like my stomach muscles might split wide open.

Chapter 46

Simon

It’s half an hour past sunset as I speed to the oasis. I make a few calls on the way, driving like an absolute maniac, first to Vito then to a few more Capos I can trust. The word spreads, and soon the full weight of the Bianco Famiglia will descend onto my home.

I don’t know what’s happening over there.

It could be Dad trying to end the stalemate, or it could be Santoro making his move. Either one is terrible, and I don’t know how this is going to go if there are Bianco guys at the other end of my gun barrel.

I’m fucking terrified. I want to pretend like I feel absolutely nothing, like I’m some broken, fucked-up psychopath killer, but I’m goddamn terrified that this is going to be the end of my family. If it’s my brother killing my father’s soldiers then there’s no way we’ll ever recover from an internal fight like that, at least not the same as we were before. And if it’s Santoro?—

I don’t even want to imagine what might happen if Santoro takes control of the oasis.

My sisters are both there. My mother, my injured father, my brother, his wife, and all the guards I grew up with, my people are all in that little slice of heaven we carved out of the heart of the city.

I don’t know if they’re alive or dead.

I hear the crack of gunfire as I get closer. It’s a constant, staccato sound, almost like fireworks. Hell, half the people I pass act like nothing’s going down, like this is just some early evening celebration and everyone should go about their business.

But it’s what I don’t hear that really bothers me.

There’s a lot of shooting, which means there’s a lot of fighting—but there aren’t any fucking sirens.

This is Chicago. Yeah, there are a lot of murders in Chicago, but that doesn’t mean the CPD would ignore a goddamn full-on shootout.

Which means someone on the inside of the department is holding them back.

I should be more cautious. I’m dimly aware of that as I hit the crossroad that leads to the oasis entrance.

But the second I spot bodies lying on the sidewalk, my mind goes blank, and all I can do is push down the gas and whip my truck right onto the block.

There are corpses where the usual guards would be. Their bodies are mangled, ripped to pieces, and it’s my first clue about what’s going on. Those are my father’s boys and they died trying to hold the line, which means this is most likely an attack from outside.

The moment I’m across the border and into the oasis, gunfire rakes across my truck, breaking the window and the windshield and pelting my face and side with glass.

I slam on the brakes and turn to the left. The front bumper rams into someone else’s truck and I’m thrown against the steering wheel, but the airbag blows, and my face is mostly cushioned as it slams me back against the seat. My ears are ringing and there’s more gunfire all around me, and I’m barely conscious enough to unlatch my seatbelt, kick open my door, and throw myself down onto the street.

My head’s a dizzy wreck. Across from me, on the other side of the cars, the houses have their doors kicked in. Those homes are usually empty—they’re for visitors and various guards and soldiers that need a break—but right now their windows are smashed in and they look like they’ve been ransacked. There’s another body lying on the sidewalk, but I can’t tell who it is.

More gunfire strafes my truck. I draw my handgun and lean against the side, hurrying back toward the bed. The moment I look out, there’s more gunfire from across the street and it nearly takes my fucking skull off. I duck back down, cursing as my truck’s lit up, the tires loudly popping. But once the shooting is over, I reach into the bed and snatch a canvas-wrapped package, narrowly pulling it out before more shooting whizzes through the air inches above my skull.

It’s fucking chaos. There’s screaming and shouting from further in the oasis, but whoever’s attacking must’ve been smart enough to leave a few guys behind to ambush anyone stupid enough to come inside.

Heart racing, I unzip the bag and slowly draw out a high-powered sniper rifle. I fit the scope, hands surprisingly steady, and load the magazine. I tuck two spares into my back pockets.

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