Page 45 of The Woman on the Jury

We waited as Miko led Venezio inside, then Cosimo carried me in, making no move to set me back down on my feet. It wasn’t until his arms pulled me a little more tightly toward him as he faced out of the car that I realized it was because I was still shaking. Not as violently as before, but enough that he felt he shouldn’t set me back on my feet.

Safe, finally, and figuring no one was paying me much mind, since Venezio was so injured, I went ahead and let myself rest my head against Cosimo’s shoulder, taking a deep breath, breathing in that spicy scent of his that I’d been thinking about nonstop for days.

I let my eyes slide close even as the elevator doors did.

And for a few, short seconds as we rode upward, there was nothing in the world save for Cosimo’s arms around me, his chest against me, the steady, calm beat of his heart in my ear.

But then the doors were chiming again.

And I had to open my eyes and lose the fantasy.

CHAPTER NINE

Cosimo

I’d been getting bad news and reports of attacks and injuries since I was a fucking kid. I’d seen my first man shot to mincemeat when I was all of ten. My first knife wound not long after that.

It wasn’t uncommon to walk out at night to grab a drink, and find my father fishing a bullet out of someone’s shoulder at the dining room table, or stitching up a wound with a glorified sewing kit.

I had a pretty good tolerance for stress.

I could walk away from a shootout without a single frazzled nerve.

But, hearing Venezio on the other end of the phone, voice tight from pain, telling me that shit had gone sideways, and not only he, but they were hurt?

Fuck, the adrenaline shot through my system like an electric current.

My fucking hand was shaking as I dialed up Miko’s number. He answered on the last ring, sounding a little distracted.

“Venezio was ambushed.”

“What?” he swore, and I had his full attention in a blink. “How?”

“Don’t have details yet, but both he and Halle are hurt. They’re on their way here now.”

“I’m on my way,” Miko said. “Want me to call anyone in?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I told him. “I’m hoping we won’t need Salvatore.”

Salvatore Costa had a nickname in the Family.

The Surgeon.

He was the closest thing to a doctor the Family had. Someone who was capable of fishing out bullets, sewing up wounds, or doing shit a lot more complicated than that. He even had his own office full of equipment for times when we needed it, but most of the time, he came out to us.

He was an asset the Family was missing for many years when he did a bid and took his time instead of spilling his guts for the government.

“Shit,” Miko said. “I’m ten out,” he said.

I hung up, taking a deep breath, then tucking a gun into a holster before making my way downstairs to wait for Venezio and Halle.

“Mr. Costa,” Yuri, the nighttime doorman greeted me as he held open the door. “Do you need anything?” he asked.

In general, I wasn’t in the business of making my doorman do anything for me, but with the absurd amounts of money I paid day and nighttime guys to keep their noses out of my business, they often felt the need to do little shit for me. Bring my packages up to my door, wash my car windows, ask if I need errands run, little shit like that.

“Waiting for someone,” I said, moving past him and toward the curb, watching down the street.

And then I saw it.

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