Page 3 of Deadly Sins: Greed

Where the hell was Falcon and Salvadore?

What was taking so long?

Pounding his fist into the steering wheel, he switched the car off, spewing curse words into the open air. He was angry. Angry at the man in the Mercedes. Angry at himself. He jerked the car to a stop, staring back at the sedan wrapped around the tree. The man remained motionless. Yanking Marcelo’s limp body from the floor, he pressed two fingers against the boy’s tender flesh, feeling for a pulse. Weak, but it was there. He was alive—for now. Next he checked Luca, and felt nothing. No sign of life.

Giovanni glanced back at the other car once again. The driver was missing. Canvassing the neighborhood, Giovanni saw no sign of him. Getting even would have to wait. Now he needed to get the boys to a hospital.

Focus, Giovanni. Breathe.

Key on.

Gas on.

Spark up.

Giovanni pulled the spark lever down, giving the Model A the gas it needed to chug to life. A shot rang through the air, piercing Giovanni’s shoulder. He raised his gun in retaliation, but it was too late. The man was beside him, the hardened steel from the butt of his gun pressing into Giovanni’s temple. The man was tall and thin, well-dressed in a fitted, Italian suit.

“Get out,” the man seethed. “Now.”

Giovanni remained. “I will not. I need to get the boys to a hospital.”

The man’s forehead wrinkled. Confused. He glanced over Giovanni’s shoulder, glaring at the boys in horror, as if surprised to find Giovanni wasn’t in the car alone. His voice cracked as he said, “I didn’t ...are they ...were they ...hit?”

Giovanni nodded.

The man shouted an expletive into the air. “Step out of the car.”

“What do you want?”

“You. Plain and simple.”

“I’m not leaving the boys. You’ll have to kill me first.”

The man shrugged. “Fine by me.”

CHAPTER 2

I was sitting on the front porch with Cade, listening to him talk about our plans for the weekend when my cell phone buzzed. I glanced at the number and didn’t recognize it. Not wanting to disrupt him from the obvious roll he was on, I flipped the phone over, figuring I’d deal with the caller when Cade was done. But the caller seemed insistent, and a couple minutes later when my phone sounded off for the third time, Cade tipped his head in my direction and said, “Don’t ya think ya oughtta to get that?”

“We’re talking,” I said. “It can wait.”

“Who is it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t recognize the number.”

“What’s the area code?”

I didn’t remember, so I looked. “Five one eight.”

“Huh, I don’t know it.”

I did.

“New York.”

“Who do you know in New York?”

We made eye contact, and a verbal response was no longer necessary. He knew whom I knew in New York—one person in particular—one family. And when my phone vibrated a fourth time, I answered it. “Hello?”

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