Page 43 of Darkness and Duress

“No, fuck you. I ditched you because y’all were shitty fucking friends. I didn't realize you were this shit, though. I figured you were at least loyal to the man who fucking made us.” My gaze darted toward movement ahead of us and my night went from bad to worse. Men, lots of men, were pouring out of the warehouses and moving toward the car. Yup. I was the official title holder of Dumbest Dumb Fuck Alive. Not that I expected to be alive for much longer.

My slim options were becoming slimmer with every second that passed. I could fork over the cash and hope Gramps had a sliver of a heart. I could reverse into Molly’s Caddy and try to enact some retribution. Maybe a better option would be to floor it into the gang of thugs stalking across the dockyard. They were all reckless decisions. The end result was guaranteed to be the same for all three. And honestly, that was the most depressingpart. Not that I would die, but that I would die without telling Marco that I loved his sad and grumpy ass. I sagged in the seat and lifted my gaze to the ceiling.

“The cash, Henny!” Gramps invaded my space, the gun leaving my temple as his free hand began pawing at my body in search of the envelope. It was a brief, priceless moment of promise that inspired my actions as instinct took over and I moved without conscious thought.

The car was still in reverse. Gramps was right there, impossibly close with his gross hands all over my body. I knew from all of the poking and pinching and prodding that Poncho wasn't wearing his seatbelt in the back seat. With a quick jerk of my head, I smashed my forehead into Gramps’ nose as my foot smashed the pedal to the floor. The sudden acceleration backwards was enough to send both of them reeling. The impact with the fence and then the body of Red’s Caddy had them flopping in the opposite direction before they could recover their whereabouts. The first shot from the group of thugs sent a spider web of cracks splintering through the windshield. The second and third turned the glass into shards that showered down on us. I had seconds to move. Seconds between guaranteed death and an infinitesimally small chance that maybe I'd make it out alive. It was a chance I was willing to take.

I flung the driver's side door open and released the seatbelt, rolling from the vehicle to land with a grunt on the stones of the driveway. My seconds were slipping away faster than I could reach them. Cracks and pops filled the air, followed by pings and dust clouds as the bullets hit the ground around me. I was so fucked. I scrambled, flailed, tried and failed to get to my feet in my rising panic. I definitely pissed myself a little as I felt the white-hot burn of a bullet grazing my arm. I'd been shot before. I did not want to go through that bullshit again.

I hit the ground again, my arm burning like a motherfucker, and did the only logical thing I could. I rolled under the SUV and held my breath like a scared little kid hiding under the bed. It made sense in my primordial lizard brain, anyway. Closing my eyes made sense, too. Bigger, braver men could face down death with their eyes wide open. I was neither big, nor brave. Honestly, I'd never felt smaller or more scared. The worst part was being alone—my biggest fear came true. I was going to die alone.

Just as that thought flitted through my head and broke my heart, a familiar sound cut through the chaos. I knew that sound. There was only one thing that could make that sound and it was the single most beautiful thing I had ever heard—the pop of nitrous-infused fuel pushing a car well in excess of posted speed limits. I turned my head and peeked down the road from my shelter beneath the SUV to see a brilliant fucking sea of headlights with one car even closer than the rest. My only hope for salvation was arriving in a goddamn souped up Nissan street racer and I couldn't have been happier. When the car drifted before screeching to a stop, my heart grew wings. When six-foot-plus inches of Marco d’Ambrosio filled with murderous intent slid out of the passenger side with his gun already in hand, I died and woke up in Heaven.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Marco

Hell on earth was a New Jersey dockyard in the middle of a firefight. The air was rife with the smell of gunpowder and dank salt water. The convoy of vehicles racing to catch up with us flooded the street with blinding light from behind and cast long shadows on the ground, the undulating rays illuminating the worst nightmare I had yet to have. With my gun in hand, I flung myself from the car before it had completely stopped, intent on retribution and uncaring about the risk to my own life. He wouldn't die. Not on my watch. Not because of me or for me. If it was the last thing I did, I'd die a happy man. Happy for once in my miserable life.

Bullets continued to whizz through the air, the sick whistle of metal heard even above the clamor of men shouting, tires screeching, and the deafening rapport of each shot. My mission was my singular focus, and the awareness it brought had me focused in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Not since I'd had to fight for my life in scuffles and brawls in the prison yard or the back rooms no one dared explore. The flash of light reflecting offmetal caught my gaze to the left. Gramps or Grumps or whatever the fuck he called himself lifted his weapon. I aimed at the pinprick circle of the barrel and then three inches higher.

A mirror-image circle appeared in the fucker’s forehead as he went slack and tumbled from the SUV to land in a boneless heap on the ground. Another flash. Another reflection. My hand shifted to the right. Inhale. Exhale. Pull the trigger. The stupid fuck in a stupider poncho joined his partner on the gravel. I advanced, my feet gravitating toward the vehicle despite the gunfire still peppering the air with projectiles. A body appeared beside me as a flash of brown and black raced ahead. The bestial growl and gargle of blood was the only sound that sent a chill down my spine as King launched himself through the air and left the man who had driven the Caddy without an esophagus.

I had backup. I wasn't alone. For that reason and that reason alone, I sprinted forward and fell to my knees, skidding through the loose stone until I came to a stop against the side of the SUV. Fearing the worst, I held my breath as I hunched down to peer beneath it. When a hand reached out, rings and bracelets glittering in the light, nearly sobbed with relief. I tossed the gun aside and grabbed hold of him with both hands. He was in my arms microseconds later, and despite the maelstrom around us, I told him the things he needed to hear before I did anything else:

“You dumb fuck. I hate you.” I grabbed his face between my trembling hands. “I love you.”

He gasped, and before I could respond, his lips crashed against mine with such force, we both went down. The heavy footfalls of my father's men thundered around us, an infantry advancing toward the frontline, but my fight was over. My battle had been won. I was the victor and he was my prize. I clung to him, tears finally falling as I kissed him back with just as muchfervor. He was okay. He was okay, so I knew I'd be okay, and in that moment, that was the only thing that mattered.

It was hours later when the adrenaline crash hit. The aftermath of the Jersey Docks disaster was widespread and destructive. My family’s apartment was a hive of pure bedlam as wounded men, my father’s lieutenants and associates from every level of the organization stalked in and out and in and out. Moretti had sealed his fate as a dead man, and the troops were mobilizing. It was only a matter of time before we got the news of his untimely demise at the wrong end of a handgun.

I was barely functional by the time my parents could steal away a few moments to touch base. The trembling was all-consuming and endless. My body was cold, frozen, numb and yet all-together too alive at the same time. True to my word, I hadn't let Bran out of my sight, but I didn't know how much longer I could manage to remain coherent as reality crept back in as the adrenaline left.

“Marc? Marc, honey.” My mother's voice cut through the rush of blood in my ears and had my eyelids fluttering open again. Shit, shit, shit. I'd fallen asleep?

“He's not doing so hot, Mammina.” Bran. My Bran and my mom.

“And neither are you. Go get Selene. She can bandage that arm.” A warm hand cradled my cheek and I leaned into the touch. I was starved for it. “Marco, baby. It's Mom. Are you okay?”

Am I okay? How many times had I been asked that question in my life, only to answer it with lies and deflection. And where hadthat gotten me? Nowhere. Despite the denials and falsehoods that wanted to spill from my lips, I answered honestly, for perhaps the first time in my life.

“No. M’not okay. Ma, I'm not.” I didn't care how desperate I looked. My hands flung out and I pulled her into my arms. She yelped in surprise before landing on my lap in the chair I'd become one with. I clung even tighter as my eyes grew damp and stung with the threat of my emotions.

“Oh, baby. I know. I've always known.” She shifted just a fraction and I caught the death glare on her face before tracking the gaze toward its target. I was stunned speechless to see it directed at my father.

“Son…” My father, typically stoic and unflappable, choked on his own voice before clearing his throat. “My son… this is my fault. I'm sorry.”

Maybe it was the effects of shock, but his words wouldn't register. I couldn't translate them and as a result, I stared at him like an idiot.

“Damiano, do better.” My mother squeezed my shoulders tighter in her arms and I sighed before melting into her embrace. God, how I missed her. I would miss her. The reality of it sunk in and left me shivering even harder as I tightened my hold around her smaller frame.

“Marco, this is all my fault. I should have never put so much pressure on you. I should not have buckled under my father’s pressure. And I should not have ignored your mother’s warnings. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and I am going to make it up to you. You and Gianluca and your mother.” His hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed. “We aren't leaving. There is too much work to do here yet. And if you can find it in your heart to give me a chance to do better, I'd like your help. You aren't beholden to the name or the business, but… as my son, I am hoping that we can fix this. All of it.”

I glanced between my parents and let the words sink in. They weren't leaving? He was sorry? My shocked system couldn't handle any more emotions, so I simply bobbed my head while blinking through my hazy thoughts.

“He needs time, Damiano. And he can have as much of it as he needs.” My mother pressed her lips to my forehead and I sighed again. Blindly, I reached a hand to the side and when familiar warm fingers wearing too many gaudy rings wrapped around them and squeezed tight, my trembling finally subsided and I sighed with relief. I was okay. My family was okay. My Bran was okay. Maybe, just maybe… everything would be okay after all.

Chapter Twenty-Four

---