Page 149 of Devotion

“Adriano is probably in prison. Alessandro is…”

“He is what, Fiero?” I stalk in, keeping my hands visible.

‘H-he’s dead. I killed him.” he blinks, his eyes darting from side to side, like he is reliving a memory.

“No, Ero. he’s not.”

“Yes. And Adriano too. They shanked him in jail. Dom…it was Dom. Ciro is the only one…I have tosavehim.” His face grows distant, slack.

Right before he bursts into a run, smashing out through the window.

I make it to the shattered opening just in time to see him swing down on a rope, repelling down to the upper balcony.

The nearest stairs take me precious seconds to reach, leaping down three at a time. I’m rounding the corner and running full out along the upper causeway. Down below, I catch sight of Ciro.

Rounding the bend at the edge of the upper-level railing, I frantically look for a way down. Nothing.

Then the bomb goes off.

The floor bucks under me, tossing me up, dropping me hard. Sitting up, I feel the section of floor near the edge buckle, sag. Ahead of me, the railing is gone, the glass shattered, the thin metal dangling on both sides. And across the way, Ero raises his gun.

“Ciro!” I point.

Masonry crumbles, the floor drops out beneath me, tipping down to the next level. I scramble against the slide, but it drags me down, pitching me over backward and into a rolling fall. The impact knocks the wind from me, but I am aware enough to realize I am on stable ground. At least for the moment.

Shoving off the rubble, I stumble to my feet, spinning, trying to find Ciro.

Shouts from below tell me all I need to know.

Looking down, I see Ciro soaring over the crowd, hanging from the chandelier, swinging in a long arc. He lets go, flips…

I see him disappear behind the lip of the floor, I lose sight of him.

Just as a gunshot rings out. My head whips back up.

Ero is gone.

The people below me scream, panicking. Any remaining guards guide them out to safety. I’m leaping across fissures, sliding down another floor on a collapsed ramp of cement. Down a hanging lamp, tearing the wire from the wall in my haphazard descent.

I land hard, my feet barking in pain, my hands clapping down on shattered glass.

All around, dust settles, wide-eyed guests rush toward safety.

My only thought is for him, my Shakal.

Across the room near where I last saw Pyotr, a cluster of Bratva heavies are under attack. Another group of what appear to be Mocro are locked in a vicious battle with Pyotr’s guards. I pray he is not in the pile of bodies peppering that section of the ballroom.

I am skirting the mayhem, trying to spot any sign of Ciro. There is blood where he should have landed, but no sign of him. Panic coils in my stomach, replaced by blinding rage when I catch a hint of black in my periphery. Wading through debris, I make my way toward the steps to the balcony.

“Ero. Ghost.” I announce his name, like a death sentence. Like his eulogy.

He’s right there, leaning on a column.

Our eyes meet and he bares his teeth. There is almost no recognition in his eyes. Just wild hatred.

In my heart, I know there is only one choice. I must end this.

Shouts and screams of battle are punctuated by rattling pebbles, rumbles of the building settling, breaking apart. I block it out, focused on my opponent.

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