Page 32 of Married to the Mafia

I take a run up and leap off the edge, flying through the air and then rolling as I land on the Belucci building. I’m on my feet a moment later and darting across to the skylight.

I peer over it and I don’t see her, but I see some of Ricardo’s goons sitting, playing cards around a table. They’ve several beers on the go.

Good. That will make their reactions slower.

I think about Corrado’s advice. Take some men withme. Even out the odds. I rejected that out of hand. The more men, the more chance of getting spotted. This way I can deal with them and get out of there fast before they strike back.

I dig out my cellphone and check the tracker. To my right. I move that way, hoping there might be a trapdoor or another skylight. Nothing. She’s directly below me right now and I can’t get to her.

Two options. Shoot through the skylight and hope I get them all before anyone gets to her. Or the door over in the corner.

I go for option one. I hunch over and run back to the skylight, getting low and crawling to the edge, peering down again and counting them. Three at the table. One over by the bar. Still no sign of Ricardo. He better not be in there with her because if he is, I will fling him off this fucking roof piece by piece.

I pull out my gun and take a slow breath. I know the motion I need to make. I predict which way they’ll move. Then I do it.

I hold my breath, and I don’t exhale until it’s over. First shot fires and shatters the glass. The guy throwing in his chips goes down and before the other two react, I’ve got off another shot. It takes out the one on the left.

By now the one at the bar is moving, but so am I. Rolling right, I land and shoot again, taking out the last one at the table.

Bar man is lifting his gun my way, shouting at the same time. We shoot in the same instant, but he’s panicking and drunk. His bullet shatters another pane of the skylight.

Mine hits him in the face. That’s all four down.

I don’t pause. I leap down through the skylight, aimingat the couch. It softens my fall and I’m up a second later, running toward the door in the corner of the room.

I swing it open and I’m in a corridor. At the end Ricardo is in the elevator and the doors are swinging shut. I get off three shots, but they hit the metal. He’s gone.

I have a choice. Go after him or get her. I don’t know how many more men are in the building, but I know time’s running out. There’s a room to my right, and that’s where the tracker was beeping.

I look in and there she is, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. Still got the wedding dress on, but it’s ripped and down to her waist. Bag over her head. Room stinks of piss and sweat.

I run over and grab her, wrenching the bag away. She looks at me and starts screaming. For a second I think she’s afraid of me, but her eyes are looking over my shoulder.

I spin and fire at the same time. One of the card players didn’t take death the way he was meant to, but he does this time. The bullet hits his face and obliterates it.

He falls back and my ears are ringing as I pick up Rose and carry her out of the room. I look up out the skylight. How the fuck am I meant to get back up there?

I’ve no choice but to go find the stairs. That means back out in the corridor just as the elevator is opening again. I drop Rose on the couch, insert a fresh clip, and then get to the doorway.

I go low, leaning out and firing from the ground as they fire back at head height. I get all four coming out of the elevator and they fall back inside; the door shutting once more.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing her again. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

I carry her over my shoulder into the corridor. Aroundthe corner is the stairs to the roof. I run up them and kick the door open at the top. I can hear the elevator ping again. Is that the corpses or more coming my way?

Either way, I need to move fast. I get her over to the roof and look down at the gap for a second. I pull out my knife and slice through her bonds, setting her on her feet. “Can you jump?” I ask her as she tugs the gag from her mouth.

“In this dress?” she asks. “Are you insane?”

I dig the knife into the gap between her legs and slice downward, cutting the gown in two below her hips. “Take a run up,” I tell her.

“I can’t,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m afraid of heights.”

I can hear voices yelling back down the stairs. Time’s running out. “You can do it,” I tell her. “Go for it.”

“Oh fuck,” she says, walking back from me and huffing in and out. “I can’t do this.”

“Do it!” I yell. “Now!”

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