Page 25 of Wicked Rivals

A crystal vase mynonnahad bought at a flea market shattered above my head, raining shards of blue glass as we passed, half-running and half-crawling through the destruction.

So many shots fired.

I couldn't tell where they came from anymore.

I just had to keep moving.

By the time Enzo and I got to the brick wall, my entire body shook, and tears streamed nonstop down my face.

The sting of multiple cuts on my hands and knees bit through the shock, and when I looked down at myself, I hardly recognized my own hair hanging over my shoulders, as coated as it was with shards of glass.

Without bothering to brush it away, I grabbed Enzo by the shoulders and patted him down, searching for blood, scratches, wounds of any kind.

He trembled as violently as I did, his eyes so wide above his cheeks reddened with fear and adrenaline. Tears spilled from his eyes, but physically, he was unharmed.

Then the deafening cacophony of open gunfire stopped.

The instant silence was almost as loud as the previous chaos.

Sirens began then.

Those sirens were the only thing I could think of that could possibly make the situation any worse.

I had IDs for Enzo and me, of course, but they would only stand up to so much scrutiny. Getting the police involved threatened everything.

Baldy and Man Bun barreled through the open front door and raced outside with their weapons still drawn as they searched for the shooters, only to return a few seconds later.

The sirens drew closer.

“How many?” Stefano barked.

“Just one, boss. He started with a high-precision rifle before switching to a semi-automatic.”

“Then he’s still close. Find him now. And I want him brought to me alive, goddamn it.”

“On it.”

Both men were out the door again in a blur, the mundane jingle of the bell almost comical over the sound of their boots crunching across the debris of glass and wood and plaster now coating my café floors.

“Are you hurt?” Stefano asked, whirling on us. “Did they hit you or the boy?”

“N-no.” I couldn’t say anything else.

He nodded, grabbed his phone again, and barked orders at whoever had answered on the other end of the line.

Man Bun and Baldy stepped back inside.

“Boss?”

Stefano straightened and returned the pistol to his waistband.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“Gone, sir. We pinned down his previous location. Shooter had a car waiting. Couldn’t get a read on the license plate. The cops are close, they’ll be here any minute. And in this part of town, none of ’em is on your payroll.”

“Bruce, you stay. But keep out of sight. As soon as the cops leave, canvas the area. This is Brooklyn… someone will have seen something. Call for reinforcements, as many men as it takes. I want to know everything about this son of a bitch now.”

Without another word, his men marched out of the café to carry out their orders.

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