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“Where’s O’Malley?”
I can’t see the man’s face, only hear his voice. My blood turns to ice in my veins. So, they are looking for my father.
And what will they do when they find his daughter instead?
I can’t stay here.
My pulse races so hard in my throat that I can’t breathe. Lungs on fire, I glance around the room to see if there’s any easy way out. So far, I only see one guy with a gun. Whoever else was firing seems to have left the room. Unless it was Mr. Byrne who was the other person shooting. I notice with a swallowed gasp he’s trying to reach for a gun that’s slid away on the floor.
There’s no way he’ll reach it like this, with that other guy’s foot bearing down on him. From this angle, I can see that man’s black pistol shining, perfectly aimed, in the pretty golden lights of our living room.
No, the gun is too far from Mr. Byrne.
But it’s close to me. Really fucking close.
“Where’s O’Malley?” repeats the voice. “Mr. Serpico wants his money.”
“Serpico… Severu Serpico?” Mr. Byrne pants.
Severu Serpico… I may be shielded from most of mob life, but I know who the major players are, and Severu is the leader of one of the most violent Camorra clans in the country.
The shoe presses harder, and Mr. Byrne howls, the muscles of his legs jumping beneath his dress pants.
“No questions. Only answers. Where is he?”
“I… I don’t know! Fucking hell, man! I don’t know!”
“You Irish really don’t know much, do you? Did you know O’Malley’s been siphoning money away from Mad Darragh’s businesses? That he got cornered and then came begging on his knees to us for funds to cover it all up? The time on his loan is up, and unless you can tell me where he is you’re going to pay the interest in blood.”
“Fuck. Outside! He went outside!”
Oh my God.
My world tilts, everything I thought I knew about my father, my family, my life, evaporating in an instant. Dad was stealing? Lying? Betraying his own clients, his own boss?
This can’t be real. This has to be a mistake.
But mistake or not, there’s a man with a gun hellbent on finding my father. Without another word, he leaves the room, heading for the glass French doors that lead to our backyard and stepping through them.
He’s going to kill my dad.
That thought gives me enough strength to get up and get out. To fight through the fear that’s frozen my limbs. Without thinking, I grab the gun and sprint across the living room, tripping over broken glass and smooshed food that’s scattered all over the floor. Thank God I’m wearing shoes. For a second, I wonder if I should stop and check on Mr. Byrne, but I know I don’t have time. I’m not going to watch my father die on my birthday, and if I’m going to do something, it has to be now.
What I’m going to do, I have no idea. I’ve never even touched a gun in my life, let alone fired one at someone. Panic rises when I see my father running across the snow, the man heading straight for him, gun raised.
“Stop! I’m armed!”
The scream rips from my throat, splitting the air. The man stops and swivels. He sees me. Sees the gun I hold in my shaking hands. And starts to fucking laugh.
“Drop it, bella,” he says, advancing towards me, his own gun raised to meet mine.
My toes are numb, snow seeping through the silk of my flats. Bitter wind buffets my hair. My teeth chatter, but I don’t think it’s from the cold.
My fingers cramp as my brain screams at me to pull the trigger.
Now. Now! Fucking now!
But I don’t. I can’t. I’m too weak, too afraid. I should have tried to shoot him when his back was turned before I saw his eyes. His eyes aren’t laughing now. They’re lethal. And I realize that everything I’ve heard about the Italian mafia not killing women and children is dead fucking wrong.
