Page 35 of DeLucas After Dark

“We need to take cover.” I sign, upset with myself for being too complacent and not surveilling the area better.

Tactio touches my shoulder. “We can’t move him.”

“Understood.” For Ethan’s sake, I’ll rely on Tácito’s expertise despite hating our vulnerable position.

“Mierda!” Tácito repeats then removes his jacket to rip Ethan’s shirt apart. “Apply pressure to his chest.”

I do as commanded, telling Ethan, “Stay with me. You can’t die, you hear me? I will kick your ass and make you the sorriest motherfucker to ever breathe if you even think about tapping out.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he gasps as blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth.

Tácito’s lips disappear in a fierce scowl as he wraps a makeshift bandage around Ethan’s wound. Like me, he’s probably worried about the blood coming from Ethan’s mouth. I pray that the bullet missed his lungs and the wound isn’t fatal.

In the crush of people, I feel a prick on my neck right before I see Tácito fall over Ethan’s prone body. My vision becomes hazy and my coordination is off, but I know I don’t have much time. For Tácito’s survival, I must act fast. I tap a message into the device Valentino and Tácito always wears, hoping Valentino will find us soon.

Ethan’s down. Tácito’s taken. I’m drugged.

VALENTINO

Imake a run for the door, shooting at Pierangelo’s two men. Uppermost in my mind is getting to the urgent message on my wrist. Without knowing the layout of the penthouse, running through the front door would be foolhardy and get me shot full of bullets before I take two steps to the elevator.

The two men go down and I scramble to lift their guns off them while Pierangelo runs for reinforcements. I now have four pistols on me. Hopefully they have enough ammo to get me out of here, but I don’t dare to hope I’ll leave in one piece. Right now, I’m praying to leave on my feet and not in a body bag.

With time running out before Pierangelo returns, I look out of the office window. There is a rooftop terrace that spans the side of the building. The windows span the floor to the ceiling. Although it is just as easy to open them and leap onto the terrace, my anger spurs me to throw what looks like an antique vase through the window.

Fuck Pierangelo!

On the terrace, I run to the edge of the balcony. Just as I spy another balcony close enough that I won’t break a leg, stone shards fly from the railing. I glance behind me to see more of Pierangelo’s men at the windows aiming at me. Flowerpots shatter as their piss-poor aim hits everything but me. Either way, my time’s up and I can’t risk one of them getting a lucky shot. I run to the edge of the balcony and jump.

My bones protest as I land on the hard surface beneath and roll to soften the impact. A feminine scream from inside tells me I haven’t gone unnoticed. Oh, well. I jump through the window, shielding my face from the shards of broken glass, and I run like an escaped convict with dogs on my trail. Luck is with me when I rush past a service elevator. I double back and get on. As the doors close, I glimpse Pierangelo’s men running on the floor and I flatten myself against the door and pull out my phone camera to show me their movements.

As the doors close, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that I still haven’t left the building yet. There’s still danger, but now I have time to check my wrist.

Ethan’s down. Tácito’s taken. I’m drugged.

Sloane’s last words burn a hole in my gut. Despair darkens my vision, reminding me of what happened when Ghost Six separated us years ago. Back then Tácito worked tirelessly to save both our lives, but if he is taken, too… I can’t dwell on the what-ifs. But he and Sloane aren’t the only ones in danger.

With the few seconds on the elevator remaining, I shoot Sansone a text alerting him to the hit on his life and let him know it’s not the same threat as he is trying to deal with.

As soon as the elevator doors open, I use the same trick with my phone to ensure the floor is clear. There’s no movement but voices in the distance tell me that won’t be the situation for long. I duck down, running behind packages and crates until I see an exit. With quick, efficient steps, I make my way to the door, slowly opening it and peering outside.

No one appears to be nearby, but I don’t like the idea of going out without some form of protection. I scan my surroundings and find a discarded piece of scrap metal that must have been the remnants of a recent renovation. I grab the metal, placing it in front of me to shield me from being hit upon exiting, and I run out of the building.

“Hey, I heard something in the back alley.” The Italian sounds issue from my right, so I sprint left, zigzagging through alleys until I find a large enough crowd to blend in with.

I ditch the shield and peer down at my device again.

Ethan’s down. Tácito’s taken. I’m drugged.

Where the hell can they be? I go to where we agreed to meet, but they aren’t there. I’m still too close to Pierangelo’s to feel comfortable letting my guard down, but I have to find my wife and Tácito. That’s when distant sirens pierce my growing panic. Taking a chance that they have something to do with my group, I follow the sound.

A number of ambulances line the street, but one has my attention; the one were a paramedic is loading Ethan.

I rush over to his side. They place an oxygen mask over his nose, but his pale complexion doesn’t look good. Familiar strips of material bind the wound. The unique print on the improvised bandages looks like they’re from the shirt Tácito was wearing when we parted. They are soaked with Ethan’s blood.

“Mi saudi,” the paramedic says.

“Io sono il suo capo e lui non parla italiano.” I explain my need to ride with Ethan to the hospital and the paramedic allows me on.

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