Page 18 of Bianchi

The block is now eerily quiet, and as I step from behind the wall, the unmistakable click of a magazine being loaded echoes around the buildings. I don’t have time to react and move before a bullet flies toward me, grazing my arm.

Cazzo!

My hand lifts to the wound, and when I pull it away, blood drips from my fingers. The deafening sound of gunshots doesn’t ease up. The plaster and brick around me splinters and sprays as the unknown attacker continues their assault.

Pulling out my phone, I open up the camera and maneuver it around the wall. The shooter is there dressed all in black, a balaclava covering his face, carrying himself with all the calmness one would expect of a hitman. If the fire wasn’t being aimed at me, I’d be in awe of his brazenness. Instead, it’s just pissing me the fuck off.

Sliding down the wall, I lie on my stomach and army-crawl across the floor toward the opening. The shards of glass slice through the fabric of my suit, painfully digging into the flesh of my forearms and knees as I go. The slicing pain is almost unbearable, but I do what I do best; block it out and focus on the task at hand. In position under the small window ledge, I send up a silent prayer that whoever is shooting at him from the other end of the block is distracting him.

It’s not ideal, being this low on the ground, but at least I’ve got a shot. When he gets within range, I aim for his head before squeezing the trigger. He drops, silence filling the air before he’s even hit the ground.

Rolling to the side, I lie on my back staring up at the destruction, counting down from ten. My chest heaves with each labored breath, and I flex my fingers on the handle of my gun, ready to attack again if needed. When the only noise is that of sirens in the distance, I stand. There’s a tightness in my chest that I force to loosen as I brush off the fragments of glass from my suit.

Holstering my weapon, I keep to the outskirts of the restaurant as I walk back to the table, calling Daniele. Who knows if they’re the last of it, but we’re sitting ducks in this restaurant. I need to get Aurora and get the hell out of here.

Daniele answers on the first ring, his worry evident when he asks, “Boss. You guys okay?”

“We’re fine.” I seethe. “How’s it looking out there?”

Daniele blows out a breath before responding. “There’s going to be a lot of heat here soon.” I hear the clunk as the car door shuts, and the engine roars to life as he continues, “I counted three. You took two out and one ran as I was pulling up. It’s best if we don’t stick around though, I’ll bring the car to the back.”

Fuck.

Without a word, I end the call, pocketing my phone as I crouch in front of our table. Using my body as a shield from the destruction behind me, I gently whisper her name. Glassy, wide gaze moves to me, bouncing around my face. “We have to go. Keep your eyes on me and do exactly as I say.”

She sits up and stumbles out of the booth, her eyes not leaving mine even when she’s safely in my arms. Blood and brain matter stain her white dress. Her body vibrates with fear, and I tighten my hold around her waist, moving us to the back of the restaurant.

We come to a stop next to the fire exit. “Wait here. If you hear any more gunfire, run for the bathroom. Lock yourself in a stall, stand on the toilet seat, and don’t make a sound until I come for you. Okay?”

Her jaw quivers before she visibly clenches it and gives me a firm nod. Pushing down on the door’s release bar, I lift my gun and ease outside. Daniele has the back door of the car open, his gun trained on the end of the alleyway.

I turn back to Aurora, ready to grab her hand and make a dash for it, but my focus lands on the masculine hand clamped over her mouth and the other holding a gun to her temple. Aurora’s eyes are squeezed shut and her nostrils flare as silent sobs wrack her body.

The valet.

I should have seen this coming.

Stepping to the side, I allow the door to close before lifting my gun and aiming it at his head. The soft glow of the emergency exit sign is the only illumination, but I see him as if we’re under a spotlight.

“There’s only one way you get to go home today.” My voice is deceptively soft as the lie falls from my lips.

We both know he won’t leave here alive.

A bead of sweat forms on his brow, and he rasps, “Drop your weapon and put your hands on the wall or… or I’ll kill her.”

Aurora’s eyes fly open, fear dilating her pupils. So she’s not as accepting of death as she’s been making out. I file away the thought before replying, “That’s not going to happen, stronzo.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his rasping breaths filling the quiet. With a jerk of my head, I indicate for Aurora to move. She pulls in his arms, moving just enough for me to take aim, and as he opens his eyes, I pull the trigger. The bullet penetrates his skull, splattering blood and fragments of bone over Aurora and the wall next to her. She flinches, her throat working as if she’s trying to suppress a scream.

Not wasting a second or giving her time to dwell on what’s just happened, I grab her hand and push through the door, urging her to get into the car. When Daniele is behind the wheel and we’re racing through the city, I rest my head on the headrest and blow out a heavy breath.

“To the helipad?”

The question is loaded with concern, and after what we’ve experienced this evening, I don’t blame him. “If you’re up for it, drive us back to Massimo’s.”

This is bigger than we could have anticipated and without knowing when the next attack could come, every step we take needs to be well thought through.

Chapter 11

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