Page 122 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
I try to lift my head but the weight above me is pinning me down. My breasts are flattened against the cold floor and my cheek is pressed painfully into the tile.
The gunshots recede but the crying doesn’t.
When the weight shifts a little I peel my cheek off the floor and look up. Benito’s hand is pressed into the floor above my head, the rest of his length pinning me to the ground. I crane my neck further and see his other arm outstretched. The pulsing veins in his taut muscles lead me to his hand. I follow the aim of his gun and freeze in terror.
Cristiano, Augie and Nicolò are upright, their arms outstretched, guns pointing at three men I’ve never seen before. The looks on the strangers’ faces are menacing, like they’ve waited their whole lives for this moment, and that makes my insides crumble. But then, Cristiano and his men stand inches above them, with everything of value to them scattered about on the floor.
Cristiano, still wearing his tuxedo with a crisp whiteshirt, his bowtie falling to the side, has his pistol pointed unwaveringly at what appears to be the leader of the other men. His face is unreadable, but his eyes, dark and calculating, never stray from the man across from him.
Augie’s jacket has been discarded and shirt sleeves rolled up revealing thick, corded muscles primed for standoff.
Nicolò looks bored, his raised arm and cocked brow the only parts of his body seemingly engaged with the scene in front of him.
One of the other men draws his lips into a sneer. “I almost forgot. Congratulations.” He nods toward the floor and I follow his gaze to a pool of white.Trilby. The urge to run to my sister instantly eats up my insides but I know Benito won’t let me move. Her body is shaking beneath that of another man who is shielding her from the gunfire while Cristiano protects the entire family. I can’t see who it is.
When her new husband speaks, his voice is thin, icy, loaded with the kind of hatred only reserved for the devil himself. “I don’t recall inviting the Marchesi’s.”
I glance back at the three strange men, andtruehatred, like nothing I’ve ever felt, rises up my torso.
The target of Cristiano’s aim is a cocky-looking man with a hook nose that seems too large for his face. Either side of him stand two younger versions, both equally nauseating in their arrogant stance and calculating smirks. The thinner one on the left has his gun aimed directly at Augie’s chest. The one on theright, a broad-shouldered man with a rough jaw, has his eyes locked and gun trained on Nicolò.
Silence hangs between them like a thick fog. Only the faint echo of strained breaths and leaked sobs taints the edges of their standoff. The sound of one of their voices tightens my chest like a wound spring and a small voice in the back of my head asks, “Is that the same voice my mama heard?”
“No invitation was necessary, Cristiano. We were coming whether we were invited or not. And the perimeter was wide open.”
The three Di Santos standing don’t move a muscle, though I know this is news to them.
“The place was surrounded,” Cristiano grits out. “How many have you killed?”
Augie cocks the trigger on his gun. They werehis mensurrounding the hotel estate.
“Lost count.” The man in the middle sneers.
A helpless wail rises from the floor. Guests are strewn everywhere, face down on the cold tile.
Cristiano’s chest expands while Benito’s hold on me tightens. “So, to what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Youoweus our fucking money.” Spittle flies from the middle guy’s mouth, landing on the floor by Cristiano’s wedding shoes. “That shipment would’ve made us three million and you fucked it over. For what? Just to piss us off?”
Benito’s breathing is alarmingly steady.
“You were on our streets,” Cristiano replies. “Wehad every right to bust you. We re-drew territories after Newark and you crossed the boundaries.”
“No—youre-drew territories. We never agreed to them.”
“That part of the city was ALWAYS OURS.” Cristiano’s roar ricochets around the walls, making my ears ring.
I feel Benito’s thighs tense beside me, as though he’s getting ready to pounce.
“You’re confronting a family that’s been running this city longer than you’ve been alive.” Augie takes over since Cristiano looks like the next sound out of his mouth might be nuclear warfare itself.
“I don’t doubt that, Zanotti. You certainly look like you’re older than the hills and it’s about time we had a new style of leadership in this city.”
Nicolò coughs out a bitter laugh. “Like you’d know what that looks like, Lorenzo. You and your brothers are barely out of diapers.”
The middle guy—Lorenzo—flexes his fingers around his gun, glee dancing on his thin lips. I hold my breath, knowing the smallest twitch could result in many of us being killed.
“Give us Manhattan and we’ll leave right now, no more bodies,” the eldest Marchesi drawls.
