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Running a hand through my hair, I pick up the gun and point it at her. Her eyes don’t close, nor does she cry out or scream. It is as if she isn’t afraid at all.
“Who are you with?” I demand.
Her eyes narrow as she leans into my face, her arms leaning on the side of the chair. “If I were with someone, I would’ve already had them get me out of this fucking place.”
I blow out a breath. I need to clear my head. For once in my life, I can’t just start killing people, I need to get answers.
“Let’s go…” I growl, grabbing her arm. She stands abruptly, and I reach out with both hands steadying her. Her body collides with mine, and as I’m evening her out, I hear the cocking of a gun behind me. I turn just in time to see Luccio pointing the gun straight at us.
Bone crushing fear courses through me for the first time since the day my mother died. She could die, I could die. I know it will happen someday. But she… She can’t die.
“You aren’t fucking going anywhere. You come into my house, talking all this shit, thinking that you know everything. I sent that man to you for a reason.”
I turn to him, placing my body directly in front of Amara’s. Not a word passes her lips, thankfully. There will be no talking ourselves out of what we are about to get into.
“You sent him to lure me out, didn’t you?” It isn’t really a question. I now know the answer.
“Lure you wasn’t really what I wanted to do… I do know who killed your mom.” His voice is full of hate as if he had a reason to hate me. I haven’t hurt him up to this very day.
“Who was it then?” I ask, pushing Amara closer to the door. Her steps are small and uncertain. I can feel the fear rolling off her. She thinks we are going to die. Which we will unless I get a grip on this shit. My gun is still in my hand, it’s all about who can get the first shot in.
“The FBI is onto you, Lorenzo. Every move you make puts you closer to getting caught. They came for you that day, they killed your mother, and they were fully intent on taking you. I got my hands on you first, though…” My mind is reeling as I place everything together in a timeline in my mind.
“What are you saying?” I ask between clenched teeth. My hands are shaking with anger as I raise the gun and point it at him. He doesn’t cower in fear. I don’t expect him to. He will die with dignity.
“I’m saying the FBI killed your mother, and we took you as our own before you could be taken by them. You have made us millions of dollars. My family is very grateful for all that you have done… But now, you’re becoming more of an inconvenience for our family. You’re powerful—too powerful. In this case, you must die.”
The words slip from his mouth as everything registers within me. It’s as if everything is playing in slow motion. I pull the trigger the same time he does—my weapon aimed at his chest, and his at mine.
My shot lands precisely where I hoped it would. Directly in his heart, and I watch him slip to the ground. My body is full of adrenaline, it takes a moment to realize that his bullet hit me in the shoulder. My skin burns, my muscles ache, and my body feels heavy. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot, and won’t be the last, I’m sure.
I can hear Amara’s screams as her arms lock onto me. She turns me to face her as a coldness sweeps over me.
“We need to go,” I say quietly, pushing her back.
“You’re fucking crazy, you just killed someone, and he shot you. He fucking shot you.” She is losing it, and I need her to stay with me. I need her to stay calm because she will be the one thing to help us get out of here.
A crazed look crosses her face as she helps me stand. “We need to leave. Now. Once his men come in and find him dead, they will come for us.” My shoulder burns like a motherfucker as we make our way to the door. It’s too late, though. The doors in front of us push open. I pull myself from Amara’s side and push her behind me, shooting the two men before us directly in their chests before they can even raise their guns.
They’re so young. Their blood seeping onto the gold flaked marble, reminding me that it doesn’t matter how many nice things you have. In the end, none of it matters if you’re not alive. I need to stay the fuck alive.
