Page 21 of The Mafia's Surprise Gift

Words failed me for a long moment. “I work out,” I replied lamely, and embarrassment suddenly swept through my chest. “What I mean is, it’s been a long time, but it’s good to see you. If only it were a better time.”

“Are you here for the funeral or…?”

“Oh, no. Rocco and I have been… working together,” I explained. The gears were turning in her mind, and I could see the exact moment she worked out that when Rocco had left her all those years ago, he and I had remained in contact.

“Well,” Mae said quietly. “It’s clear your father was loved. I'd better let you get back to the service.”

Rocco’s next words melted into nothing as Jian’s warning voice filled my ear. A second later, the deafening sound of motorbike engines filled the air. The six men standing around the coffin with ropes in hand, ready to lower Rocco’s father into the ground, all turned in slow motion. I spun, facing their line of sight in time to see three brightly colored motorcycles race across the graveyard without caring for the flowers or graves they were destroying.

Jian yelled my name in my ear, and an explosion of gunfire filled the air.

9

MAE

Icouldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.

The world around me was moving in slow motion. Three colorful motorcycles drove through the graveyard, and the three helmet-clad men on top of them whipped out black guns and started firing at everything and anything.

People around me started screaming and yelling. Countless men and women pulled out their own guns, but they weren’t fast enough. They exploded like red fireworks and flew backward over more people scrambling out of the way. Chairs splintered. Flowers flew upward as their petals were ripped off by passing bullets. Those with sense ducked to the ground while others tried to run away, but there was nowhere to go. The only protection was other gravestones that cracked and splintered under the hail of gunfire.

Closer and closer they drove, and then I was hit by something so solid that all remaining air in my lungs was forced out. My world tipped, and I hit the ground so hard that the taste of iron burst over the back of my tongue. Rocco was on top of me, pinning me to the grass with his entire body. Dino landed next to us, draping over Rocco while wrapping an arm around my head. The strange, low silence I’d been lost in suddenly faded and everything became instantly deafening.

The pop-pop of gunfire erupted overhead. People’s screams became piercing, and the yells of returning gunfire were so loud I couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. Dino’s recognizable tones drifted above me, but I couldn’t decipher them. It was as if everyone was speaking another language, and then, when Rocco spoke, I realized they were.

Italian. They were yelling in Italian and I didn’t understand a word of it.

Pinned to the grass, protected by Rocco and Dino, I focused on trying to breathe. Then, through splintered chair legs and clumps of kicked-up dirt, I saw death.

Bodies littered the graveside, catching people’s feet as those still upright sprinted around. I don’t know if they were going toward the shooters or away, but the deafening roar of motorcycles was quickly joined by the rumble of cars and the squeak of brakes. Then pinching hands grabbed at my arm and waist. I was hauled upward, much to my terror, and a scream escaped me as I was flung from Rocco into the waiting arms of Dino.

“Take her!” Rocco yelled, and his face swam in front of mine. I blinked, and hot tears dripped down my cheeks. Rocco’s warm hand suddenly cupped my face, and all the commotion and panic around us froze. For this moment, there was nothing but him, me, and Dino’s arms around my waist.

“Trust him,” Rocco said. “Trust Dino. I will come back for you.”

Then he was sprinting away toward a crumpled body on the ground. “Mamma!”

A cold, sick sensation flooded through my chest. Dino scooped me up fully into his arms, and I was carried swiftly away from the carnage. Within ten seconds, Dino threw me into the backseat of a car alongside another man who was stemming a sickening amount of blood flow from an open wound on his shoulder.

Dino threw himself into the driver’s seat, pulled the car into gear, and then we were leaving the graveyard behind in a squeal of tires and creaking metal.

What the ever-loving fuck was going on?

There was no time to process, no time to blink, and as I slumped back in my seat trying to catch my breath, I noticed my palms were sticky with blood.

Blood?

My blood?

Where the hell did it come from?

“Dino,” I gasped shakily, but he didn’t look at me. He was hunched over the steering wheel as we raced through the town, and a phone was glued to his ear.

Blood. There was blood.

And guns.

Rocco’s mother was on the grass.

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