Page 118 of Last Shot

Frankie had just shot the floor. ‘One girl can change the world,’ she said, turning to her right. ‘Do it now.’

Frankie’s words were for Raphael, who still hadn’t looked in Max’s direction.

‘No!’ The moan came from Nella, strangled behind the cloth around her mouth. She kicked and thrashed against Raphael. Quinton went to help but as he tried to grab her legs, Jett threw himself at the vet, his hands, feet and jaw still bound. His body crashed into Quinton with enough force to send him stumbling backwards, but Jett fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Quinton’s boot nailed his neck to the concrete floor but still Jett bucked and fought – the one word, the one sound he’d been trying to strangle out of his throat clear to Max now.

Nella.

‘You do anything to stop them,’ Frankie said, watching Grey’s eyes move from Jett to Nella, to Luca and even Skinner, who was lying next to what Max recognised as the plate of food Raphael had snuck through the gala, ‘and I shoot them, now. Then I shoother.’

Max felt Frankie’s eyes on her.

Nice try. He doesn’t care if you shoot me.

‘Don’t test me, Greyson,’ Frankie said. ‘You know what I’m capable of. What I did to Dad.’

‘Francesca ...’ Vittoria didn’t struggle against Quinton as he dragged her towards Raphael and the others. Her mouth stretched open at her youngest daughter like a wound that wouldn’t close.

Did Vittoria know it was Frankie’s handwriting on the note? Had she been trying to protect her daughter while simultaneously desperate for Max to stop her plan from coming to fruition?

‘Five,’ Max said, before the shock could completely settle. There was nothing left. She’d failed. But her mouth was set on her original plan – keep Frankie talking.

‘What?’ Frankie rubbed her nose, her eyes tracking her mother’s movement as she inched closer towards the door.

‘Five people, Frankie. There’s five people left in your family. You said six.’

Frankie rolled her eyes, but this time turned to her mother. ‘Am I seriously the only one who knows?’

Max looked at Vittoria, who was sandstone white, her eyes fixed on Frankie. ‘How did you ...’ Vittoria’s shaking, veiny hand grabbed at her chest like she was trying to rip her own heart out. She started to whisper what sounded like a prayer or a curse in Italian.

Her eyes weren’t on Frankie.

Or Nella. Or Tomaso. Or Luca.

Max knew in that moment what it was about the portrait of Emilio Barbarani that wouldn’t let her go. His jaw.

The jaw of the Barbaranis’ Fixer.

Max locked eyes with Frankie. ‘Greyson’s your brother.’

39

Grey

Grey heard the words, but had no idea what they meant.

Vittoria had vanished into another dark passageway he’d never seen marked on the blueprints. Quinton was wordlessly dragging Nella, then Luca, then Tom and finally Jett through the door after her.

Grey didn’t move.

Maybe Matteo hadn’t just threatened Max. Maybe Matteo had stabbed Grey – gutted him through his suit like a fish and he was now bleeding out in the Barbarani hallway. Maybe he hadn’t told Max those unforgivable things. Maybe Gio hadn’t been shot. Maybe Frankie was holding Grey’s head and crying, not glaring up him with a crooked smile and a gun.

None of this was real.

Greyson’s your brother.

‘That’s a lie,’ his avatar explained to the creators of this reality.

‘Why do you think she’s pointing the gun at you?’ Max asked, her voice shaking and her eyes not moving from the door that had closed behind Vittoria and the others. Quinton stood against it, thick arms folded. There was no chance. It was over. Grey was going to die. Butshedidn’t have to. He had known as soon as he’d come into the room and seen Nella and Tom and Jett tied up that he wasn’t getting out of here alive. But he could make sure the last thing he did was get Max out of here.

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