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“Grab your phone, and let’s go, Donna Isabella,” Vincenzo snapped.
I might be the boss, but this was their forte.
I snatched my phone and nodded. Johnny laid down cover fire while Vincenzo pulled me toward the door.
“Move!” Johnny commanded, backing away from the window.
We burst into the hallway, where Franky materialized from the shadows, his face grim, twin pistols already drawn.
“South entrance is compromised,” he muttered, falling in step beside us. “We need to get to the panic room.”
The four of us hugged the wall as we crept toward the grand staircase. My bare feet slid on the polished wood, blood from my cut palms leaving crimson smears on the antique banister. The gunfire outside had momentarily ceased—the silence more terrifying than the chaos.
“Stay low,” Vincenzo whispered. “Two steps at a time.”
We were halfway down when the front doors exploded inward. Joseph, my faithful capo, staggered. His hands clutched his throat. Blood poured between Joseph’s fingers in sickening pulses. His eyes found mine, wide with shock.
“No!” I lunged forward, but Vincenzo’s iron grip seized my arm.
“You can’t,” the lad hissed, yanking me back as another spray of bullets tore into the foyer wall.
Joseph collapsed to his knees, then fell forward. His body made a dull thud against the marble. The pool of crimson beneath him expanded with horrifying speed.
My chest constricted, my vision blurring.
His eyes found mine in his final moments—loyal to the end. The light in them flickered and died as his hand fell limply to his side.
This was what it meant to be a leader.
Loss.
Pain.
Death.
Something inside me shattered. A wail tore from my throat, primal and raw.
“We need to move,” Franky growled, but his voice seemed distant.
Vincenzo dragged me toward the back door.
The night air hit my face like a slap as we burst through the kitchen’s service entrance. Gunfire erupted behind us, bullets splintering the doorframe mere inches from my head.
“This way,” Johnny hissed, leading us toward the garden maze. His massive hand engulfed mine, practically dragging me across the dew-slick grass.
Assailants crept across the pool deck, desecrating my favorite space.
I cursed them all in my head.
Franky flanked my other side, his weapon raised, constantly scanning. “Stay low, Donna Isabella.”
We plunged into the darkness between the tall hedgerows to the east of the house. The maze—designed as a whimsical garden feature—now served as our escape route. Johnny navigated the twists with practiced precision. It made sense. He’d been a frequent guest when my husband was alive. Hell, this plan had probably been something the capos rehearsed!
Or maybe he was just that good.
Either way, the newest addition to my crew saved my life.
Franky’s grip on my wrist tightened as he yanked me down a side path, his boots silent on the stone. Moonlight filtered in hard, white shafts through the sheared hedge tops. My lungs burned with cold air, but my mind spun faster than my feet could keep up with.
