The day I killed Giuliano Moretti had been the day I learned some absolute truths about myself.
The first was that the years of training halfheartedly next to Rocco hadn’t been entirely in vain. Attacking came more naturally than defending, but I excelled at both when my brain became quiet like this.
The second was the revelation that my mind has a tendency to shut down when the people I love are in danger. My entire purpose, my only goal, is to eliminate the threat at any cost.
It hadn’t mattered to me that Giuliano Moretti would die, brutally, at my hand. All that mattered was that Rocco and Cas were safe.
And, sure, perhaps walking into a bar filled with almost a dozen cartel men—who would like my head on a pike—wasn’t the most sensible thing in the world.
But none of that mattered, not when I saw who they had in their grasp.
Our gazes only meet for a second across the bar. Her eyes are deep chocolate, wide in fear and in anger, and I feel my mind go very, very calm.
The gun appears in my hand without much forethought, and three rounds go off. At least, I assume they do. Along with my mind, my hearing has gone very, very quiet.
Bang, bang, bang.The sounds vibrate through my hand on the recoil.
Three bodies drop to the floor.
Not his, though. No, I think I’ll save him for last.
The rest scramble to retaliate, shouting out in alarm, feet pounding across the ground toward me. Not that I hear any of it.
Only the slightly manic laughter of the woman I love seems to break through.
Which is a good thing, I think. Because at least I know she’s still alive. She just needs to stay alive a little longer until I can reach her.
But there are seven more bodies in my way. Their faces don’t register. Their voices are lost on deaf ears. They are nothing but an inconvenience, a threat that needs to be eliminated.
And I have a gun. And three more rounds in this clip.
Bang.
Another body drops just as one comes hurling into me. I can feel myself grunting on impact—this body is larger than the others.
But he’s gone low, trying to shake my balance by wrapping his arms around my waist, which leaves his back exposed.
He’s expecting resistance, so instead, I move with him a few steps, buying myself some time to bring my elbow up and slam it into the back of his neck.
He stumbles, and I step out of his grasp just in time to see another body approaching.
Bang.
It drops, and the bottle he was holding in his hand smashes to the floor.
The one behind me lunges again, but I counter with a blow to the side of his face. He reels back, disoriented, and I use the opening to tackle him to the floor. Gun to his temple.
Bang.
Something grabs me from behind, dragging me to my feet again. They lock my arms behind my back as another body hurls a blow straight to my face. I taste the blood in my mouth, though the sting never really registers.
I back up sharply, crashing the person behind me into the side of a booth, and kick my attacker in the groin. When he bends down instinctively, the second kick hits his skull. He drops. Alive or dead, I don’t really care.
I’m still restrained, and there are two other attackers making their approach.
But Isabella is still laughing, and that’s all I need to keep going.
The man behind me wraps an arm around my neck, which is a terrible mistake, really. Firstly, because the restraints on my arms lessen enough to wiggle free, but also because his arm is now in biting range.
