Page 23 of Wicked Rivals

He would have never found us.

The window exploded.

Glass shards sprayed across the room.

I screamed, but I couldn't move.

Stefano grabbed my son and leaped over the couch as bullets pelted through the window, shattering more glass, and tearing massive chunks out of the walls.

Blood burst out of Stefano's arm and splattered all over Enzo's face.

Something burned my arm, but that couldn’t have been what a bullet felt like, could it?

The next thing I knew, a warm hand gripped mine, dragging me behind the couch for cover.

Time slowed as bullets crashed into my café. Mugs and porcelain teacups shattered. Wood splintered. My mismatched tables and chairs ripped to shreds of kindling. The couch thudded against my clammy skin as the onslaught continued.

Someone out there literally shot the life I’d built into oblivion.

Fear kept me from doing anything more than staring at the destruction around me from where we hid behind the sofa.

Was this really happening?

When Enzo grabbed my hand, I snapped out of the shock.

I snatched him up with what little strength I had and pulled him onto my lap, wrapping my arms—no, my entire body—around his. If I could be another layer of protection for him to keep the worst of the danger at bay, then I would be.

He buried his face against my shoulder, his trembling hands gripping the back of my dress as he held on for dear life.

Then again, I could have been the one shaking.

It was impossible to tell the difference between us.

I had never been so grateful for my decision not to replace that ancient leather couch. Its solid wood frame and metal coils might have been the only thing keeping us alive.

In the next moment, I remembered Stefano and finally noticed him there beside us. With his back against the couch, he sat on the floor, squeezing pressure down around his left arm where crimson oozed between his fingers.

“This!” I shouted. “This is exactly why I couldn't tell you.”

His upper lip curled into a snarl.

“It’s happening because you didn’t tell me,” he spat out.

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just held my child and prayed. It was the only thing I had as the bastards opening fire on us from the street continued.

I prayed to the Virgin Mother, to my grandmothers, and begged them to protect Enzo.

When I squeezed my eyes shut, meaning to pray harder, I finally saw in my mind what Stefano had done. It occurred to me it could have been my brain trying to process what I’d witnessed but had yet to comprehend.

Not a trick of the mind.

An honest-to-God vision sent from heaven.

Stefano leaping in front of Enzo, his arm outstretched, to take the bullet meant for my son. If he hadn’t lunged at that exact moment, the shot would have buried itself in Enzo's head.

The thought, the very idea of such a horror, crushed the rest of my reserves, and I burst into tears.

Then the rest of it played itself out in my mind.

---