Page 99 of His Passerotta

“Shit,” I cry, pulling Corey close while darting my eyes around, searching for another exit. If anyone notices me now, they don’t care. Not without Maksim here.

“I’m so sorry, B,” Corey says, dragging my eyes to him. “I love you so much, I…”

“I love you too,” I say, my heart pounding fast, as if there’s still hope for a way out. There isn’t. It’s becoming more and more clear by the second.

Tears blur my vision. “I’m sorry. You’re sorry. We’re both just a couple of fuckups.” I laugh, but it’s wet and sad. “All that matters is that we love each other.”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t fail me, B. You…” Emotion cracks his voice, and a tear slips from his eye. The gangbanger, the murderer, the person I hardly recognize fades away until finally, I see my brother again. “You’re the best sister I ever could’ve asked for.”

I bite my lip and lay my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of blood and sweat, but still, I savor it.

“It’s an honor to be your sister,” I say, feeling it in my bones.

Funny, I used to think your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but I see Corey’s.

I see him as a baby I fed in the middle of the night.

As a toddler I pushed on a swing.

As a boy I stole food for.

As a teenager I tried to tame.

And as a man I tried to protect.

All different versions of the same person. All the same love.

It’s real. It’s forever. It’s no matter what.

But, still, his face isn’t the only one I see.

I close my eyes at the thought of Anthony and try not to ask myself what if. Try not to see all the possibilities because all it causes is heartache. In the end, I’m glad for the time that we had. I’m glad he opened my eyes, let me experience the thing I’ve been missing all this time.

Love. The kind you don’t get from blood. The kind you choose, the kind that’s safe, the kind that’s vulnerable. The kind I thought was too fragile, too short-lived, too shallow. I was wrong.

It’s real. It’s forever. It’s no matter what.

Corey’s hand takes mine and squeezes like I’m the one who needs the comfort. Maybe he’s right, but even so, I squeeze back harder, trying to drown out the sound of gunfire and explosions.

But then I hear his voice.

“Where is she?” Anthony yells, snapping my eyes open just as he passes through the cellar door, holding a man by the collar.

He was the source of the gunfire in the cellar.

All around him, bullets fly, but there’s only so much attention the gang members can give. I can see the mobsters through the window, can hear their voices getting closer.

It’s almost over.

Anthony shoots at three men aiming his way, catching one who’s close enough before he falls to the ground. He uses the man as a shield, taking gunfire from just one more guy. I fumble with my gun, but get it in time to shoot, sending a bullet through the man’s chest. He drops to his knees and presses a hand to the wound, but when blood leaks from his mouth, I know he’s as good as dead.

Anthony’s gun swings my way, noticing the shots, but when our eyes lock, it nearly slips from his hand.

“Bailey,” he says with so much relief, my heart skips.

Anthony.

He rushes to me, throwing the human-shield off him, and scans up and down my body. “Are you hurt?” he asks.

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