Page 14 of This Thing of Ours

Nico signaled to his men to circle the building. Once they were in position with Frankie hidden by the garage door, Marco and Nico made their way to the car at the curb. After stabbing both rear tires, they gave it a jiggle, setting off the alarm then ducked down, watching the front door through the car’s windows.

It didn’t take long for the door to open. A guy dressed in slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled came out and pointed a closed fist at the car. The alarm went silent. Marco also noticed, he carried a gun in his opposite hand, held down at his side. Not the typical suburbia family then. Good. Odds were, they’d found the right place. It was confirmed when someone yelled from inside the house, and the guy answered.

They spoke in Russian.

Marco stood, letting himself be seen. He wanted the guy to shout an alarm. Wanted his friends to come out of the house and join the party.

He wasn’t disappointed.

A bullet whizzed past his ear, and he returned fire, hitting a guy in the forehead. Marco wasn’t there to fuck around, and they didn’t need to extract information. All those fuckers could die for all he cared—which was to say, not a single fucking bit.

It took a ridiculously short time to clear the front yard. He skirted the four bodies decorating the ground as he made his way to the front door—Marco at Nico’s back with Frankie in the lead. Shouts of “clear” from their men echoed throughout the house as they fanned out, searching the main room.

Marco entered the kitchen, glass crunching under the soles of his shoes from a busted window. Two doors were against the far wall, one led to a pantry, the other was locked.

“Yo,” he called out. Nico rounded the bend, and Marco tipped his head. “Locked door.”

Frankie and Dino appeared. Nico looked at Marco. “Shoot it.”

Marco aimed, just right of the doorknob, and fired. Wood splintered, but he shot a second time for good measure. He pulled the door open, revealing a set of stairs.

Halfway down, Nico stopped and turned to look over the banister and into the room below. Marco saw him flinch. A movement that would be subtle for some, but it spoke volumes from the usually self-possessed Nico Conti. That’s when Marco knew he wouldn’t like what he was about to see.

Turning his head, he saw Gabriella lying on the floor within a puddle of light. He stared, taking a moment to comprehend what he was seeing.

She lay on her side, eyes closed, hands bound behind her. Strands upon strands of her long, black hair fanned the concrete floor, haloing her head. It was the only part of her he saw that looked undamaged.

Bruises, scratches, and blood filled the exposed skin of her face, neck, chest, and arms. The cheek that was visible was swollen and red, the tightly stretched skin shining in the light of the single overhead bulb. Dried blood crusted her chin, trailing down from a scab on her bottom lip. Her t-shirt was torn at the neck, baring a line of deep scratches that disappeared under the cup of her bra. Her jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped, exposing the lace of her panties.

He heard a low, drawn-out growl followed by an anguished groan, and it wasn’t until he looked around and noticed the stares from the men surrounding him that he realized they’d come from him.

As if that were the catalyst, everyone began to move in unison, but it was Marco who gained the lead. Dropping to one knee, he shrugged out of his coat, draping it over Gabriella. He looked up at Nico, who stood over him and held out his hand. “Give me your knife.”

Without a word, Nico passed it over, and Marco sawed at the plastic zip tie that bound her wrists.

She groaned once her arms were free, her eyes half opening. As if remembering her plight, she suddenly jack-knifed to sitting, her eyes going wide.

“Easy, you’re safe.” His jacket had fallen onto her lap, the jagged edge of her shirt slipping and exposing more of her bra. He reached for his jacket, grabbed it by the collar, and settled it securely back over her shoulders.

Her eyes darted around the room, her body relaxing in stages as she recognized all its members. “Nico?” Her voice was a choked whisper. And then her eyes landed on him. “Marco…”

And fuck him if she didn’t say his name on a sigh, causing a tightness in his chest.

He scooped her into his arms and stood. “Come on, streghetta mia, let’s get you home.”

He held her close, making his way through the room, up the stairs, and out the front door. He’d never realized just how slight she was. Larger than life when passionate about something, she was always a force to be reckoned with, lending presence to her small stature.

Nico caught his eye on the way to the car, but Marco couldn’t read his expression. That Nico let him keep control of his sister, especially at such a time, perplexed him, but he wouldn’t relinquish his hold without a fight, so his acceptance was a blessing in disguise.

He got into the back seat for their return trip home, wanting to keep Gabriella on his lap and knowing there’d be more room. Frankie took Marco’s spot in the front next to Nico without a word. Gabriella’s eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn’t asleep by the way her small hand fisted the front of his shirt.

He watched the rest of the men pile out of the house as Nico started the car. Johnny and Ricky held some fucker between them, bound and gagged. Guess they were going to have a little fun later, after all.

After a few minutes on the road, Nico spoke. “She all right?”

He looked down, and Gabriella gave him big, pleading eyes, clutching his shirt tighter. He caught Nico’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “She’s sleeping.”

He felt Gabriella relax into him, her stiff muscles softening in his arms. She still hadn’t spoken since they’d first found her, and that worried him. He’d never known a silent Gabriella.

---