Page 25 of Brutal Legacy

When Georgia failed to emerge after half an hour, the biker got impatient and went inside. I followed slowly. Inside the hotel was a bank of elevators on one wall and a banquet hall and restaurant on the other. The biker was still on the phone, pretending to be a courier of some kind.

I settled into a seat that faced the street, but had a handy mirror angled just right to keep an eye on the elevators. Then she appeared. Walking with another woman, she went into the restaurant.

The biker waited, so I waited until his back turned then made my way into the restaurant. I asked for a seat near the door and sat out of Georgia’s eye line. I could see her, though. I could see her… and I couldn’t look away.

She ate as if she hadn’t seen food in a week. She talked and laughed, her beautiful face creasing into easy smiles.

She licked her lips, and my body turned to stone. I could still remember the taste of her… the only woman I’d ever wanted. The only one I’d ever touched. The fact that she still affected me just as much as she had then, despite the fourteen cold years between us, pissed me off.

Her friend got up and went toward the bathroom. In her absence, a movement from the biker grabbed my attention. He’d finished his furious conversation on the phone.

The Ravelli rival was lingering near a flower arrangement, sticking out like a sore thumb. He was going to do something. I stood, ready for whatever he was about to do.

Then, he turned and saw me.

I didn’t have anything particularly identifiable about me, but still, the reaction was immediate. He flinched and reached into his jacket.

The fool was about to shoot up a room full of people, for no reason other than the pure fear he felt at seeing me. It should have stroked my ego, but it was too much of an inconvenience.

He drew a gun, and his first shot went wide. Screams filled the air, and people dove for cover. I couldn’t spare a look for where the first shot went. I was running toward the shooter before he could line up the next shot. I caught him around the waist and bore him to the floor. He landed hard, his hand flying upward. Unfortunately, he didn’t drop the gun. I reared back and punched him, two hard shots to the jaw, and reached for the gun. As I took it from his hand, he managed to turn it toward me. I fell to the side as two shots rang out, hitting the ceiling above us. A millisecond faster and they would have gone directly into my chest.

Shit. Had Zio Sal gotten the information late? The Ravelli family was already here and already armed. I’d flown commercial and had yet to pick up a gun. All I had was my training and whatever weapon I could grab. Just now, that looked likely to be a salad knife. It would just have to do.

I punched the biker one more time and reached out and grabbed his fallen helmet. Bringing it around in a hard arc, I clocked him with the heavy object just under his chin. The knockout sweet spot, and he was down.

I couldn’t afford to forget where I was. Sure, I could get away with garroting someone in a dark and dingy corner of a Neapolitan nightclub with just a baseball cap and shades as a disguise, but this was different. I had the shades on, butotherwise, I was perfectly visible, in front of about a hundred witnesses and cameras, in broad fucking daylight. Not only that, but killing a random, errand-running, Ravelli made man wasn’t my mission today.

My mission was hiding somewhere. I got to my feet. It was deathly silent apart from the tinkle of glass still falling from a shattered chandelier.

I walked around, inspecting the various heads of the people huddling and hiding. Finally, I made out the toe of the sneaker I had noticed Georgia wearing. She was under a table. Clever girl.

I stopped just in front of her for a moment. Fate had brought us full circle. I could just leave her here and tell Renato that I’d been too late. I’d be forgiven. We were late to this party, clearly. The Ravellis were already in place. If not for gross incompetence, they’d have her right now. I could just walk away and abandon this woman to her fate, as she’d abandoned me to mine, a lifetime ago.

I reached for the table and flipped it back easily. A wave of murmurs rose. Everyone was too shit-scared to look up and see what was really happening. They had no idea if it was the gunman walking around or someone else. I could use that to my advantage. Georgia was staring stubbornly at the floor, her arms over her head like that could protect her from anything. Like that could protect her from me.

I snagged a spoon from a nearby table and pressed it into my palm.

“Get up,” I commanded.

She tensed, unwilling to move. I didn’t want to haul her up. I didn’t want to touch her more than I had to. I knew from experience how poisonous her touch was.

“Get up, now, or I’ll shoot a person in this room every ten seconds until you do,” I warned her. Sure, I didn’t have a gun, but she didn’t know that.

Still, she failed to move. Even as a grown woman, a widow, no less, she was stubborn as fuck.

“Ten, nine, eight,” I started.

She lurched to her feet, gasping as her palms pressed against the broken glass on the floor.

“I’m up. Don’t hurt anyone else.” Her voice was yet another thread to the past. It was still her, just deeper. Richer, somehow. She sounded genuine, but I knew better.

Georgia Bellisario had never cared about anyone but herself.

“I won’t as long as you do what I say, but every second we waste here, their lives are in danger.” My impatience to get out of the room before the cops showed up was making me rough. She flinched and then looked up and met my eyes.

Her look felt like a slap. My reaction was hidden behind my shades. I had to get it the fuck together. I couldn’t afford to show weakness, especially in front of this woman.

I reluctantly wrapped a hand around her arm and tugged her to me. Clearly, she wasn’t going to move without some encouragement. She stumbled and fell against my chest. I ruthlessly shoved her away to put some distance between us.

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