Page 64 of Married to the Mafia

Mikey pulled the trigger, not interested in the shit coming from the man’s mouth. It wasn’t necessarily the solution his brother would have preferred, because a second after his gun went off, his men followed his lead. And where Mikey was at best an average shot, most of his men were better. This was what they did for a living.

Mikey lowered his gun as Ralph George fell to the ground, bleeding from every visible portion of his body. The sight was satisfying, even if Mikey knew the man hadn’t suffered nearly enough before he’d died. He was at least gone, where he could never terrorize Brandi again.

“Mikey!” Brandi called to him.

“Ma’am, wait—” Tony said.

Mikey turned, adjusting to balance himself on the busted-up hood of his car, and found his wife stubbornly limping toward him. “You shouldn’t be moving,” he said.

Brandi thumped the side of her fist into his chest when she was close enough, tears streaming down her face. “You idiot!” Her gaze trailed down his arm, her brow furrowing. “You got shot…”

“It’s nothing,” Mikey said. He opened his mouth to ask about her injuries, but she cut him off.

“It’s not nothing! You could have—” She clamped her lips shut and pressed her forehead to his shoulder, her fingers twisting in his shirt. “Don’t do that again. Please.”

Mikey shifted his weight to lean against the car, enabling himself to wrap his semi-protesting arms around her and pull her closer. He bent his head and pressed his lips to her hair as the first emergency responder pulled up to the scene. “I’ll always do what I have to do to protect you, kitten,” he said quietly. “But I’m all right. These wounds will heal. I promise.”

“Mr. De Salvo,” Chief Silva called, unhurried steps from the wrong side of the road assuring he was the one approaching. “What the hell is going on here?”

Brandi tensed in Mikey’s arms.

Mikey kept his hold firm and lifted his head to narrow his eyes at the other man. “Self-defense.”

Both of Silva’s dark brows jumped up his forehead. He made a point of sweeping his gaze around the veritable warzone in front of him. “You’re going to have to give me something better than that, Michele. Ten-on-one is not self-defense.”

Brandi twisted unexpectedly and Mikey swore he felt her temperature rise even as she opened her mouth. “What the hell would you know?” She straightened enough to swing an arm in the direction of George’s untouched corpse. “That monster was stalking me for weeks. He broke into my home, beat the shit out of me, threatened to rape me. This isn’t even the first time he’s come at me with a goddamn gun. He permanently disabled one of Mikey’s guards the last time he tried to shoot me. So how is it our fault that he was crazy enough to assault us in front of the office building where a bunch of armed men are known to work?” This time she indicated the car Mikey was still leaning against. “We were both in that car when he came barreling into us, from the wrong side of the road. All Mikey did was fight back to keep us alive.”

Silva frowned. “That doesn’t account for all the other bullet holes.”

Three black SUVs swung into position, mixing with the abstractly parked police cruisers. Another dozen men jumped out, Dante leading the way onto the scene.

The officers who’d been standing beside their vehicles, clearly uncertain what they should do, exchanged nervous looks.

“Rodrigo,” Dante said, “why does it look to me more like you’re trying to blame my brother for nearly dying rather than thanking him for taking a violent abuser off the streets? Have you offered my family an ambulance for their injuries?”

The chief of police turned to the side, but his frown held. “Mr. De Salvo. If you could please not further contaminate this scene—”

“There’s nothing to contaminate,” Dante replied. “All you need is to collect a corpse. I’m sure you’ll find more than enough information on him to not lose sleep over his abrupt passing.” He stepped close enough to clap a hand on Silva’s shoulder. “Do what you’re supposed to do, Rodrigo, and we won’t have any problems here.”

Silva’s eyes widened briefly at Dante’s low-spoken words.

Dante had already continued on, putting the chief behind him. He swept his critical gaze over Mikey and Brandi. “The both of you need a doctor. That’s not up for debate. Can you walk?”

Brandi drew a shuddering breath.

Mikey let his grip loosen just enough for his hands to slide down to her hips. “I’m … not so sure, actually.” He disliked admitting it, but he wasn’t going to lie in this situation, either.

Dante turned toward his men. “Help them into one of the SUVs, gently. We’re taking them to the clinic.” He faced the team from Mikey’s office. “If any of you are wounded, you’ll come, too. The rest will stay and coordinate cleanup. Someone call the fucking tow truck for Mikey’s car, salvage any personal belongings. Berto’s in charge until further notice.”

“Yes, Boss!”

Mikey allowed Brandi to slip from his arms in favor of both of them receiving help maneuvering to one of the SUVs. He noticed she at least seemed to have a little more stability than he did, and he found himself grateful. He wasn’t sure exactly how injured either of them were, but they were still on their feet, still conscious, so he knew it could be worse.

It was the idea of worse that made it hard for him to steady his breathing.

He’d been so enraged at the accident and the sight of the bastard who’d previously hurt her that he hadn’t thought about what he was feeling underneath that. He hadn’t thought about what, really, was fueling that fury. But now that the adrenaline was fading and the fight was done, his mind was racing. He couldn’t not think.

If they’d spun just a little differently, it could have been Brandi’s side that hit that post and caved in. If he’d stood just an inch more to one side, one of the bullets he was sure had gotten past the windshield might have hit her—might have done real damage to her. It felt like they’d survived this assault as much by luck as by any skill or pre-preparedness. He hated that. He hated it because it terrified him.

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