Page 100 of His Passerotta

I shake my head. “My brother…”

Anthony moves to Corey, lifting his shirt to see the bandage. He turns to the thinned army Oakland had in the kitchen. Oakland himself seems to have disappeared, and I can only guess that he’s tried to run.

Anthony lifts his gun, and I try to stop him for the same reason I stopped Maksim, but he shakes me off, and it’s only a second before I learn why.

Bleached-hair stands at the window, grenade in hand, and when he pulls the pin, Anthony shoots before he can throw it.

“Get down,” he says to me, dragging the body on top of us when I take Corey and pull him to the floor with me.

“Throw it!” I hear someone shout just before the room shakes with an explosion.

All the noise quiets, leaving only a ringing in my ears as I open my eyes and see a cloud of smoke and dust. The smell of gunpowder hangs heavy in the air and mixes with something too gory to want to put a name to.

The weight of the dead body leaves me, and I blink to see a guy with his legs blown off thrashing on the floor.

Anthony’s lips move, but I hear no words. He seems to realize this, his eyes squinting as he studies me, so he gives up on talking and grabs my brother’s arm. He pulls Corey onto his shoulders, and cringes as he lifts.

When Anthony’s hand outstretches for me, I take it, letting him help me up. He urges me down the steps, and I walk, sort of out-of-it, until Anthony nudges me to move faster.

All of the gang members are dead. If there are any living, they’re either missing a limb or they weren’t in the kitchen. If there are more, they won’t be going to where the grenade was fired.

So, we aren’t running from the gang…

We’re running from the mobs.

Fuck.

I shake my head to snap myself out of this wobbly state, and the sound of yelling enters my consciousness. The ringing in my ears quiets enough to hear the commotion upstairs, the men entering the house.

I run across the cellar and climb the steps for the outside door, one side covered in bullet holes, while the other is opened with morning light bathing the musty place. When I climb out, the gunfire has mostly ceased, only a few shots here and there, and I’m guessing it’s from the mob men killing off the wounded.

My chest aches for Bleached-hair, but there isn’t enough room to fully mourn him. He helped my brother. Maybe even saved his life. But right now, all my mind can handle is the present and getting Corey out of here.

Lorenzo is outside, appearing to be waiting for us, and when Anthony spots his brother, he sets Corey onto his feet, propping him up with Corey’s arm slung over his shoulder. “One bullet wound to the chest. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Lorenzo stabilizes Corey’s other side, and they help Corey toward the vehicles. I’m thinking they’ll stop at mine, but when they keep going, I get as close as I can to Anthony to speak, for whatever reason not wanting Lorenzo to hear.

“I have my car,” I whisper to him, hoping he’ll stop and turn around.

Anthony looks over at me. “We have a doctor. We’ll get you both taken care of before you go.”

Before you go.

Before I go.

I swallow and walk with them to an SUV with the hatch open, passing Oakland’s execution taking place in the yard. There’s a man sitting inside the vehicle with his arm in a sling, but he climbs out when he sees us coming.

Anthony and Lorenzo help Corey into the SUV, and a man with gray hair, the doctor I presume, lays him on his back.

“Single gunshot wound to the chest.” Anthony looks to me to confirm. “That’s it, right?”

“I, um…” My brain is so foggy, it’s hard to think straight. “Yes, I think so.”

The doctor goes about tearing off Corey’s shirt with a pair of scissors, and I watch, leaned that way hoping there’s something I can do. Corey is at least awake, his eyelids clenching shut with every movement the doctor makes.

I jump when Anthony touches my arm.

“Are you okay?” he asks, frowning.

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