Page 63 of His Dark Vendetta

“They sent Dom a Message,” I said, using terms we understood but wouldn’t get flagged in a transcript. “It didn’t go through. He’s leaking pretty good.”

“Goddammit. Where?”

“Barbie’s in an hour.” Barbie’s was code for The Dollhouse.

“Yeah,” he said and hung up.

I sat back and watched the rain streak past the window. The rivulets shone like lightning under each passing streetlight. We secured the haul, and barring any further entanglements, we’d get away with it. Nothing could trace the lift back to me or Vinnie, but I felt like shit. Worry burned a hole in my gut as real as the hole in Dom’s stomach.

Dom had been shot twice and was losing a lot of blood. Ben Levine, the Valenzano doc, was always on call, but Mikey’d been pinched, was about to spend the night in the slammer. Vito’d removed a lot of bullets over the years, and he’d have been my next call anyway; Marco’s lawyers handled all blood demon arrests through the DeVita Foundation.

We still had to get the goods to the warehouse and those cops no doubt called for backup. I’d take side streets instead of the Pike after I took over driving. Less conspicuous. Leo’d move on with the cargo once we got to The Dollhouse.

The feds would get involved after a lift this big. At the very least they’d hear about it, which meant more heat. But none of that caused the rancid burn traveling up from my stomach.

I placed my hand over my parents’ names inked into the wet skin above my heart. I rubbed the space there, trying to ease the ache. That bullet whizzed right past my temple, inches from ending my immortal life. And all I could think about was who would take care of Siobhán if I was gone.

ChapterTwenty

Luca

“Vito!” I held the front door to The Dollhouse open with one hand and kept Dominic upright with the other. He leaned on me, his good arm slung across my shoulders. I ushered him inside. The door slammed shut behind us, and I threw the deadbolt. “Vito!”

One of the double doors that led to the back swung open and Vito appeared. He looked us up and down and frowned. “Let’s get him in the back.”

He held the door open, and we limped through. “How you doin’, Dom?” he asked.

“I’ve got a bullet in my shoulder,” he growled. “Fucking great.”

Vito moved past us down the hall. “The lighting’s better in the dressing room. I’ll need him up on the counter by the mirrors if I’m going to cut that bullet out.”

Dom groaned. “Can we not talk about cutting shit out of me?”

“Sorry, kid.” We hobbled through the second set of doors. “But we gotta get that thing out, so your shoulder heals right.” Vito walked into the dressing room. “Get him over there by the mirrors. Up on the counter.”

I maneuvered Dom sideways through the narrower opening, suddenly glad I gave the girls shit about keeping the dressing room clean. The floor was clear of obstacles all the way to the mirrors.

“Oh, God.” Siobhán’s voice startled me.

My head snapped to where she stood in the corner of the dressing room. Her face went white, staring at Dom’s stomach, the little color usually highlighting her pale cheeks gone. She lifted her thin fingers to her mouth, and her hand started to shake.

“Fuck,” I cursed and moved faster.

I arranged Dom with his back toward the mirrors and removed his arm from my shoulder. He shimmied himself up onto the counter. Vito started assessing the damage.

“No. No, no.” Siobhán’s small voice wavered, pulling me to the other side of the room.

I went to her and placed my hands on her shoulders, but her wide eyes remained fixed on Dom.

“He’s been shot,” she whispered, lips trembling. “He’s been shot. In the stomach. He needs to go to the hospital. His stomach…” Her lips kept moving, repeating the words without sound.

I followed her blank stare over my shoulder. Vito was cutting the bloody mess of Dom’s shirt away. I blocked her view, but her eyes remained fixed on Dom’s position as if she could see right through me.

“Siobhán. Look at me.” I took her face between my hands, but her gaze remained downcast and unfocused. “Look at me, Siobhán,” I said louder. “Come on, baby. Look at me. Look right here.”

Her eyes crept toward my face. Her pupils were dilated, her breath short and shallow. Sweat beaded her forehead. A full-blown trauma response. If I didn’t get through to her, she was going to black out, and we didn’t need another patient.

“Stay with me, okay? Dom’s going to be fine. Vito’s helping him.”

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