Page 41 of Captured Fantasy

“I’m stepping out,” I barked. “Cover me.”

Without waiting for a reply, I darted out, Amadeo just behind me as he emptied his Beretta. Trying to ignore the bullets pinging around me and the screams of the dying and the smell of burning flesh, I leveled my Glock on the man in the truck. He turned, saw me, and I squeezed the trigger. The recoil rippled through my chest.

His arm snapped back like it was made of rubber, the AK falling to the ground as he collapsed back into the truck. I stepped back to safety, but Amadeo stumbled, reaching for me as I caught him. He was dead weight, his face white as I dragged him to the corner, pushing him up against the wall.

“You hit? What the fuck, man,” I breathed, moving my hands over his chest, trying to find the wound.

“My leg,” Amadeo grunted.

I looked down at the red blossoming on his inner thigh and swore under my breath. Fuck this…fuck this shit, it wasn’t worth all the money in the world. My hands shook as I ripped off my belt and laced it around his thigh.

“You stay here, you hold that,” I said, scrambling up. “I have to help the others.”

He nodded, his dark gaze burning. The pit of my stomach soured and I swallowed past the dry ache in my throat, blinking my burning eyes to clear the sweat. Amadeo’s jaw was set in a rigid line, his teeth gritted. There was something strangely bright and wet about his eyes, as if he were holding back tears.

It hit me then, like a bullet to the brain. Amadeo didn’t expect either of us to make it out alive tonight. He didn’t think I was coming back for him either.

He was right. If Lucien didn’t get here right now, we were all dead. If there was anyone left out there at all to die.

The world slowed around me. My brain had never been this quiet. I looked down at my bloody hands encircling the gun. This wasn’t how I wanted to die.

I blinked and in the second that my eyes were closed, I saw her like a ghost. Standing there in a white dress all alone. Bending over a crib with a bundle in her arms. Climbed into a bed beside a faceless man. I saw gray streaks in her hair and lines by her eyes. Then it all reversed and I saw myself standing at the front of a church waiting for a woman shrouded in white.

No, goddamn it, no. I wasn’t going to die here tonight. I was going to fight my way out and if I could still stand at the end of the night, I would go to Mrs. Lorenza Russo. I was done denying myself.

At that moment, the side door burst open and Federico stepped through, an AK in his hand. Several of his soldiers followed at his heels, armed to the teeth. Lucien appeared behind them, his face set like a graven statue. He took one quick look, his cold gaze unperturbed, and opened fire on the soldiers.

It was over in less than a minute. Ears ringing and heart thumping painfully in the hollow of my throat, I stumbled to my feet, sagging against the wall. My hand stung like a motherfucker and I lifted it, blinking down at the sticky crimson. I’d been hit at some point, or I’d fallen and torn my skin open. Whatever it was, the blood wasn’t pouring out so it could wait until later.

I shook my head like a dog, trying to fix the whining in my ears. Across the room, Lucien descended into the bodies piled on the ground, dust settling in a golden shimmer around him. Everything smelled of burned flesh and fresh blood as I stepped out from behind the door, my Glock still in my fist.

“Anyone dead, Barone?” Federico barked.

“Elio and Paolo,” I breathed. “Amadeo’s shot in the leg. We have to get him to the hospital.”

“Rico, Cosimo, load him up,” Lucien ordered. He kicked once at one of the dead soldiers.

“They didn’t take any product?” Federico said, surveying the bloody scene.

“No,” I said, stepping back behind the wall where Amadeo was crumpled. “They didn’t take it, but there has to be smoke and fire damage. We’ll be fucking lucky if we can salvage half.”

“Fuck,” Lucien spat.

I knelt before Amadeo. He was shifting in and out of consciousness as we carried him out the door and loaded him into the back of the ambulance waiting outside. Lucien must have called them on his way over because I saw him hand a pile of bills to the medical team.

We both waited around to hear the medic’s initial evaluation. It was good—the bullet had missed the artery. Relief seeped through me and I turned away, walking back into the warehouse to conceal my wet lashes. Lucien followed, his cold gaze fixing on me with something like admiration.

“I’ll do an evaluation. Find out the damage,” I managed.

Lucien shook his head. “I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility. You held your own, Barone. Good man. Now go home, fix whatever the hell is going on with your hand.”

“It’s nothing. Are we still vulnerable tonight?” I asked.

Lucien looked over the stockyard, the moon glinting full overhead. “Yes, I’ll stay here tonight and clean this up. The coroner will be here for Elio and Paolo in a few minutes and then I’ll have my men patrol the perimeter for the next few days. We’ll tighten security up until we can move the product and weapons out.”

I turned to go, still completely disoriented. My vision was blurred as my heart slowed to a normal pace, each beat palpitated against my ribs. I closed my eyes against the image of Elio crumpling to the ground, of the man with the AK twisting as I shot him, of Amadeo’s leg bleeding out. My stomach roiled and I ran my hands over my face to clear the sweat.

“Barone,” Lucien said when I was done. “This is my warehouse so this is my responsibility. You go home, you’re work here’s done.”

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