Page 73 of Bittersweet Endings
“The fuck happened here?” One of the officers approached us.
Lucky put on what I assumed was his version of his Capo voice. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”
A captain pushed past the other uniforms, his face a bright red. “Nothing?” he shouted. “You think you can just turn my goddamn city into a war zone?”
“Your city?” Lucky laughed, and the cop flinched. “My city. I’ll do as I please. And you’ll clean it up like a good boy.”
The cop pointed towards the smoke still seeping through the building. “How the hell are you planning to cover up anexplosion?”
Lucky cocked his head. “That’s what I pay you for.”
Sienna’s voice on speakerphone interrupted their pissing match. “I found her. She’s moving fast, heading east towards the docks.”
Lucky spun on his heel. “Get the crew together. We?—”
But I was done waiting. I met my brothers’ eyes and jerked my head towards the back door. They didn’t hesitate. We were getting herourselves.
I moved first, slipping into the shadows as Lucky kept ordering people around. Matteo and Lorenzo followed close behind. By the time they were done planning, I’d already have Octavia back in my arms—one way or another.
The car was thick with tension, the kind that settled into your chest like a loaded gun ready to go off. The streets blurred past in a haze of streetlights and shadows, but none of us were relaxed. Matteo was gripping the wheel, his knuckles tight, and I was barely breathing through my anger.
And then there was Lorenzo in the back, stretching out like we were on some boys’ trip. He released a low whistle, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “Man, you ever notice how killing just…” He exhaled with a grin. “Shit makes my dick hard.”
Matteo groaned. “Jesus Christ.”
Lorenzo chuckled, leaning between the seats. “What? I’m just saying, a little bloodshed makes a man feel alive.” He jerked his chin at me. “Come on, Carmine, tell me that crazy bitch firing that gun didn’t do it for ya.”
I didn’t answer. Not because he was wrong. But because I was too focused on what was to come.
Matteo pulled onto a quiet street, killing the headlights as we slowed down. The house was up ahead, nestled between a row of homes that screamed normal, but we knew better. The men on the porch were trying too hard to look casual. They were leaning back in their chairs, cigarettes glowing, but I saw they were armed.
We parked a few blocks down and I scanned the area, my muscles coiled tight. “Anyone see Octavia?”
Matteo checked the mirrors. Lorenzo leaned out the window slightly, his eyes narrowed. “Nothing.”
I gritted my teeth, a dark thought creeping in. “You think they already found her?”
Matteo caught the edge in my voice and grabbed my arm before I could move. “We don’t know that. Let’s wait a few more minutes.”
Lorenzo shifted, resting an elbow on the seat. “We also don’t have a solid plan,boss.” His voice was laced with amusement, but his eyes were serious. “You want to run in there blind? Get lit up before we even know if she’s inside?”
I breathed hard through my nose, my hands flexing over my gun. Matteo glanced at me. “Give it five. If she doesn’t show, then we move.”
I hated waiting. But I hated the idea of running in stupid even more. I prayed to whatever god still listened—or the devil himself—that Octavia wasn’t already in that house, bleeding out while we wasted time. Because if she was, there wouldn’t be a single man left breathing in this city.
I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it with steady hands even though my insides were a live wire. The burn ofnicotine did nothing to settle the storm brewing in my chest. I exhaled smoke, my eyes locked on the house.
And then, I saw her.
I straightened in my seat, my heart slamming against my ribs as Octavia materialized from the shadows of a parked car. The entire time she was a driveway away.
She moved like a ghost. But, fuck, she looked like something out of a nightmare. Her dress was torn, blood smeared across her skin. Her hair wild, arms cut up, but there was no fear in her movements. No hesitation.
She walked straight for the house. Not sneaking. Not hiding. Walking. Like a goddamn siren stepping out of a storm, ready to drag a bunch of men to their deaths.
I pushed forward in my seat, my cigarette forgotten between my fingers. “Octavia.”
She didn’t look or pause. Didn’t acknowledge me at all.
