That was not repetition, that was expansion and it made my body ache, namely my chest, but it was a sensible request for her to make after hearing a statement such as that. So, I cleared my throat and said, “Because I was a defective heir and did not comply with his attempts to fix the failures within me.”
“Defective?”Her eyes appeared to widen at that word. “What—what do you mean?”
“I have several diagnoses such as…” My words trailed off as I squinted, a beam of light hitting me in the eye. As it drifted away from me and my sight returned, I followed it to my chest, and then to my new wife’s shoulder. It appeared unsteady, or rather,untrained.
I traced it to the opposite building.
In the shadows, perched on a hotel balcony, was a sniper camouflaged in black, barely visible.
I lurched forward, snatching Sicily into my arms, pressing one palm to the back of her head and the other around her waist to prevent damage as we toppled to the ground.
The shot rang through the air, splitting through the brick wall behind us, barely missing us. The crack of the bullet sprayed us in a shower of dust and shards of stone, and I almost missed how her breath hitched like she wanted to scream but didn’t.
Almost.
“Milan,” she breathed, clinging to my collar.
There was no time to understand her emotions, and also remember how I had learned to console Adriano. I held her to my chest, yanking the gun from my waistband, and pulled the trigger at a second assailant who had begun to climb up the balcony with weapons of their own. It was too dark to make out who they were, but it did not matter.
I had to protect her. As her husband, that was my duty. As a man, that was my responsibility, and I would not fail again.
You are capable, Milano.
You are capable, Milano.
You are capable, Milano.
The assassin stumbled off the balcony when my second bullet struck his chest, making room for more, four if I counted correctly, until the balcony was swarmed with thick black tactical outfits and balaclavas. Their identities were hidden, but their guns were disguised in erratically patterned wraps and colors, and that was a telling sign that our gunmen wereCamorra.
The Camorra was a lawless cluster of people from Naples who spent more time infighting than posing a threat to any of us, though they were pirates, always seeking money, women, and property to steal, especially at high-profile events like this one. They had strong egos, so they thought they had the strength to fight anyone and everyone, even me. They did not follow a typical structure like theFamiglia, rather there were dozens of clans, each with Dons and their own rules and expectations.We did not consider the Camorra a problem; it was agreed amongst Dons, and would be enforced under my rule, that the Camorra deserved to be wiped out entirely for convenience purposes, and after this attack on my wife, it would be my priority.
I pushed quickly to my feet, one arm wrapping tightly around Sicily to keep her securely tucked between me and the shattered wall, the other grasping my gun firmly to fire round after round at the shadowy targets shooting back.
Some bullets narrowly missed me, lodging into crevices in the wall behind me, some demonstrated just how untrained their aim was and flung far from my body, becoming lost in the darkness of the night, but none got close to touching Sicily.
There was not enough space to properly hide, not with parts of the tall walls shattered and the stone floor becoming speckled with blood and debris, but I backed us around a slight bend in the wall, nudging her as far away from the Camorra as I could get her.
“Milan—”
“Be quiet.”
Sicily’s heart was pressed against my spine. It was beating fast. That indicated fear, or perhaps adrenaline. She wasn’t trembling, but she was clutching my shirt with tensed fingers. She trusted that holding onto me would keep her safe, but not only was that implausible because I was made of the same vulnerable flesh and bone as she was, it was naïve. I had known her for all of eight hours; trust could not be earned that quickly.
The remaining Camorristas were shouting in rapid-fire Italian, blocking off every exit from the balcony that I had mapped in my mind as a way to get my wife out of this situation. I edged my head beyond the wall but instantly reared back as a bullet smashed into the stone of the building, almost catching my skin.
“Sicily,” I whispered, feeling her tiptoe to barely reach my shoulder. “Do you have a phone?”
“No, Fiore took it before I walked down the aisle,” she whispered back. “Where’s yours?”
That was a reasonable question to ask because Ishouldhave had it. Never again would I allow Adriano to remove what was required.
“I left it in the hotel. Adriano told me that was polite.”
“Milan,” one of the soldiers sang like he was performing in the opera. “Capo dei Capi. Give us that sweet wife of yours, and we’ll forget the rest.”
They wanted Sicily for reasons that did not make logical sense. The Camorra may have known of my marriage to Sicily and my bid for leadership, but Naples had no affiliation with the Bianchis.
I stepped forward once, taking my wife with me, and splayed my hand around my gun to show a voluntary cease in gunfire. “For what purpose do you require her?”
