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A few moments later, we near a building I’ve not been inside and Rafa pushes the door open, forces me in, closes and locks it before releasing me.
“Are you crazy?”
I look around while rubbing my neck. We’re in a garage where Stefan’s Bugatti is parked. There’s another car under a cover, too. I’ve never been in here before.
“Stay here until I’m gone,” he tells me, walking to a small cabinet and opening it, choosing a key.
“You’re going after him! That was a trick!”
He opens the driver’s side door and before he can get in, I’m around the car and opening the passenger door.
“You’re not going with me. Get out.”
I shake my head, close the door. “You need me. I’m your hostage. Stefan’s soldiers will kill you before you make it to the property gates without me here.”
“Car’s bulletproof. Get out.”
“They’ll shoot the tires.”
“We don’t have time for this.”
Something rams against the door and the wood splinters.
“No, we don’t! Go!”
He’s out of time and out of choices as the next time they ram whatever it is they’ve got into the door, it opens.
“Get down!” Rafa yells as he hits the gas and we crash through the garage door and out onto the dirt road.
Machine guns fire but soon stop. They must know I’m in the car, too. It gives Rafa the edge he needs to get off the property, just making it through the still open gates before they close on him, the Bugatti bouncing and screeching as he hits the main road hard and we’re on our way.
34
Stefan
I’m not one to obey commands. Catalano must know this.
The man behind me twists my arms.
I lean my head forward then ram the back of it into his nose. I don’t have to turn around to see the damage. I hear it. And I felt it. I just broke his nose and he’s in a world of pain. As soon as my arms are free, I slam an elbow into his gut.
Rifles are aimed at me as I straighten, adjust my jacket sleeves and glare at Catalano.
“That was a mistake, Stefan,” he says as he raises his pistol inches from my face.
I grip his forearm and when he cocks the weapon, I aim it away.
“You’re outnumbered. Outmaneuvered,” he says.
“And you overestimate yourself.”
“You’ve always been a cocky son of a bitch.”
“I don’t take kindly to people who insult my mother.”
“Fuck you, Stefan. You piece of shit.”
“Stefan,” Lucas says.
I turn to find three men with weapons aimed at his chest and head.
Well, Catalano’s right that we’re outnumbered, at least for the moment, but we’re nowhere near outmaneuvered.
I give Catalano a smirk and let go of his forearm.
He takes a moment, probably trying to gauge if I’m going to break his nose the minute he puts his gun down.
I’m not.
“Francesco,” I say, my tone musical, my voice relaxed. Because men like him, I know. Men like him, I crush.
He uncocks his pistol and drops his arm but doesn’t put the gun away. “Cuff him,” he orders one of his men.
A moment later, my hands are cuffed in front of me. At least they’re not behind me.
“Show me in,” I say.
I follow him to a room at the end of the hall. He pushes open the doors and I take inventory.
I’m not surprised, really. Well, maybe a little.
Two uncles from Syracuse are sitting at the rectangular table. Along with them are their boys, that makes a total of six plus Catalano. Seven.
Them I expect.
It’s Gabriel Marchese sitting with a smirk on his face I don’t expect.
“Stefan,” he says, that smirk spreading into a wide, satisfied grin as he stands, extending his hand to me. “What a surprise.”
I study him, try to see any resemblance to Gabriela, and happily see none.
“Dad,” I say, smiling wide myself as I take his hand, my hard grip matching his.
He loosens his grip to let me go, but I hold tight, my smile a sneer.
For one moment, Marchese’s face is wiped clean of his grin.
I drop his hand, take in the other men in my periphery. Four soldiers. Catalano’s men.
From the looks on their faces, it’s clear no one expected to see me.
Lucas takes his place to my right.
“Gentlemen,” I say.
The Syracuse men glance at one another. “S…Stefan,” one begins to rise, and the others follow.
I go to the first one, extend my cuffed hand to shake his.
“Uncle. It’s good to see you. And my cousins.”
I look the men over. Young, this one. Eighteen, if I recall. The others are older. I make a mental note of who they are. They’ll be dealt with if they survive the night.
After we’ve all shaken hands, I pull a chair over from across the room and set it at the table, gesture for Catalano to take the seat as I make my way to the head of the table.
