Page 96 of Perfect Vengeance

Oh my God. A Mafia power play was unfolding, and she was caught right in the middle of it.

She was also free.

Psycho had to release her when he jumped into the fray. All four men grappled, cursing and falling to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs.

Gina fumbled with the lever on the vise grip, praying she wasn’t cranking it tighter. She opened the two halves of the vise, releasing her hand. It was so bloody, blue, and numb she could barely feel it at all.

She bolted up the stairs, pausing to grab the crowbar, then pushing through the door into the house. For a split second, she wondered where Meat had gone. Maybe he’d known what was coming and hauled ass out of there. The only smart one in the bunch. She was tempted to follow his example but couldn’t. Maria Falzone was locked up in Franco’s study.

“Maria?” she shouted. “Maria?” No response. She ran through the ground floor of the house, finding one room with its door closed. She turned the knob. It was locked, and the keyhole was empty. She pounded on the door. “Maria, are you in there?”

A second later, “Yes. Leave me here,” a frail voice whimpered. “Just go while you still can.”

Not a chance. “Get away from the door.” She jammed the flat edge of the crowbar in what little space there was between the door and the frame and pulled. Pain shot to her injured finger. She hissed in a breath but kept pulling. Muscles in her already-cramped shoulders, arms, and hand screamed. It was no use. The door didn’t budge. By the looks of it, she guessed the house was built in the 1930s, which meant the door was well made and solid. It also meant the keys that opened one door in the house might be used to open another.

Still gripping the crowbar, she spun and raced through the main floor, searching every door for a key and finding none. Oddly, she didn’t see Meat anywhere. She bolted up the stairs to the second floor, checking those doors too. Nada.

Shouting from the garage filtered upstairs. Sooner or later, they’d realize she was gone. Calling 911 was an option but the police would never get there in time.

Plan B. Improvise.

She ran into one of the bedrooms and yanked open the closet door. All the hangers were made of shiny wood. Gina bit back a growl. Who didn’t have at least one cheap wire hangar in their house?

Think, think!

She looked down at her exposed bra. Her underwire bra. She tossed the crowbar on the bed and began working quickly, fighting through the pain in her finger as she jimmied the bra back and forth over the end of one wire until a hole formed in the fabric and she could tug out the curved wire.

The yelling in the garage had quieted some, and that worried her. She retrieved the crowbar, then pounded down the stairs and flew into the kitchen. She yanked open drawer after drawer until she found what she needed in one of the silverware trays—a metal pick with a slightly curved tip, the kind used to extract crabmeat from the shell.

She raced back to the study. Quietly, she set the crowbar on the floor. With shaky fingers, she inserted her makeshift tension wrench and hook tool into the lock. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. Normally, she’d use her sense of touch to feel the guts of the lock and listen to what the internal mechanism was doing. Her heart beat so fast, hearing anything would have been impossible.

She could do this. She could break into anything. Anywhere, anyplace, anytime. Gina jiggled the tools until the deadbolt gave way. She turned the knob and opened the door to find Maria curled into a tight ball on the sofa.

“C’mon,” she said with quiet force. “We have to get out of here. Now.” She held out her hand, and for a dismal few seconds thought the woman would refuse to come with her.

One of Maria’s eyes—the only one that could open fully—seemed to clear. She sat up and gave an audible swallow. “Okay.” With surprising conviction, she rose and took Gina’s hand.

A door slammed. The garage door. Someone was coming for her. Gina dragged Maria to the open door, releasing her to grab the crowbar. As she straightened, Maria gasped.

Gina sucked in a breath. The black barrel of a gun was pointed at her face not two inches away. Tino’s upper lip twitched uncontrollably.

Her heart jackhammered against her ribs. It can’t end this way. I won’t let it. Not at the hands of this sonofabitch.

Ducking away from the gun, she swung the crowbar with everything she had.

Tino bellowed as the edge of the tool glanced the side of his head. He pressed one hand to his scalp, staggering back as blood spewed from a deep gash.

Batter up, bucko. She swung again, but he grabbed the end of the crowbar before it made contact, wrenching it from her hands. He threw it to the floor where it clattered and skittered out of reach.

With a snarl, he advanced on her and jammed the barrel of the gun against her forehead. “You bitch.”

“No, Tino.” Maria grabbed his other arm. “I’ll stay here with you. Just let her go. Please, let her go.”

He shoved Maria away with such force that she fell to the floor. The barrel pressed harder against Gina’s skull. She stared into the face of the last person she would ever see.

Jack’s face flashed before her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing for a do-over and knowing her wish would never be granted.

This was it. Game over.