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Sal wasn’t going to shoot.
Vitari laid his hand on the gun and eased its aim toward the floor. “This is where we end.”
“They’ll kill you,” Sal said, resignation dragging his voice down.
“I know. But not before I do the right thing. Trust me, this is right. Probably the most fucking right thing in my whole life.”
Sal’s face crumpled. His lips trembled, and his mouth turned down as he fought his emotions. “It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not, fra.” Vitari stepped close and cupped his cheek. “I know this isn’t you, and I’m fucking sorry he’s making you do this.”
“He’ll kill me, Angel. I don’t know what’s on the drive, but I know it’s wrong. I need it, please?”
“I can’t. You understand? I can’t let him have it. It’s bigger than all of us, you get that? It’s fucking justice, and we all have to face it.”
“Fuck,” Sal choked. “I’m sorry, fra. I’m sorry. I didn’t want this.”
Sal dipped his head, and Vitari gripped his shoulders and kissed his forehead. “I know, fra. And I fucking love you, man. I wouldn’t be here without you helping that fucked-up kid I was.”
“You’re still fucked up.” Sal looked up. Tears brimmed his eyes. He knew it was over. He was going to let Vitari walk away, and his father would kill him for it. They really were brothers. Sal’s huge hand grabbed at Vitari’s face. “Love you, fra.”
The casino door flung open and Sasha’s bodyguards from the poker table poured in, each pulling 9mm handguns. They yelled in Russian.
“Run!” Sal boomed.
There was too much corridor left to run, too much hotel to flee through to reach the restrooms, and Vitari didn’t have his gun. He wasn’t going to make it.
“DeSica sons of bitches!” Sal roared, swinging the gun up. “It’s been a fucking honor, Vitari. Like real fucking brothers! Now run!” His big arm swooped around, shoving Vitari behind him. Sal’s gun barked three times.
Vitari bolted and glanced back. Sal’s rounds hit the first guard in the chest, jolting him almost off his feet. But as Sal switched aim to the second, those few seconds delay gave the second guard time to aim and fire. Sal grunted and charged at the guard. He fired, missed. The round chipped off a chunk of plaster to the guard’s right.
Vitari ran and slammed through the door, but as he glanced back, holding the door open, Sal dropped to his knees. But it wasn’t over. Not yet. Sal raised his gun and put a round between the DeSica guard’s eyes.
The far door flew open. More armed men poured in. Battaglia men.
Fuck, fuck…
Sal was down. Vitari couldn’t do anything for him.
He couldn’t think, thinking would freeze him. Needed to run. Get his gun. Get back to Francis. Run!
Vitari flew down the rest of the corridor. “Gunshots that way!” he told security, hoping he looked innocent since he wasn’t armed. They ran toward the shouting, leaving Vitari to plow through another door and take the stairs three at a time.
Gunshots sounded behind him.
Vitari skidded into the foyer, drawing a few alarmed glances, then dashed into the restroom and dug the gun out of the trash can. A well-dressed middled-aged hotel guest gaped at him from one of the stalls.
Dull, muffled shots sounded somewhere in the bowels of the hotel. And the screaming started.
Vitari tugged the gun’s slide, loading a round in the chamber. “Get down,” he told the bystander.
The man whimpered and scurried back into his stall.
Vitari pressed his back against the wall, gun cupped in his hands, and listened for any commotion outside the restroom door that might indicate they knew where he was. The screams came in waves. The longer he waited, the worse it was going to be. Once the police showed up, he was fucked.
If he didn’t get out of this in the next few minutes, he wouldn’t be getting out of it at all, and Francis would kill him.
But Vitari had done it, he’d gotten the confession. Diaz had the memo waiting on her phone. He’d done… Sal had died—his heart lurched—but he’d fucking done it. He choked on a laugh. God, he was so fucked.
