Page 76 of The Beast Who Begged Me

Ferraro’s keeping them down with short bursts across the shop. He’s working with his good arm and making his shots count, but he’ll run out of bullets soon. I add the shotgun to it the first time I see Russo peek over a car fender, and the boom makes my ears close up like someone clapped hands over them.

It fucking hurts, too, the recoil jerking at the stitches in my hand. But that first shot takes away all fear. That’s the thing about me—one shot and the whole world goes into sharp focus where it was fuzzy before. Violence has always meant clarity for me.

Two of the Gees are creeping under a banged-up Chevy on the far lift. I spot its control box mounted on a pillar five feet from Ferraro.

“Ferraro! The lift! Drop it!”

I give him cover as he hobbles over, and then he smashes a hand on the button. The Chevy starts its descent, making the men under it scramble away. One of them rolls right out into the open, and Ferraro puts him down.

The other is mine. Clean shot through the heart with my Beretta.

While the remaining Gees are keeping their heads down, I run over to Mike Junior. His father is already there, and together we drag him back behind the workbench, leaving a long red smear on the concrete behind him. Giordano is on his kid the second we set him down, hands pressing into his shoulder.

“Keep him here,” I tell Giordano, who barely seems to hear me. Junior grits his teeth and tries to push his father’s hands away from the wound.

“Cut it out,” he slurs. “Just winged me.”

It’s a hell of a lot worse than that, but the kid earns my respect for wanting to get back up and into the fight.

“Stay down and do what your dad says,” I tell him. “That’s an order.”

Across the shop, one of Russo’s men makes a break for the rear exit. Another rises to cover him, firing toward our workbench, and a bullet knocks a chunk off the engine mounted above my head. I fire before the fucker can duck again. He drops, his gun skidding across the concrete.

The runner reaches the back door, where another Gee joins him. They shove through together, leaving the door swinging behind them, and Ferraro starts to get up. “Leave them,” I snap. “Watch the sedan.” We’ve got enough problems without Ferraro hobbling down a dark alley after two armed men.

The rest of the Gees are dead on the shop floor, but someone’s still moving behind that blue car. I catch a glimpse of a shoulder, then hear a furious, whispered exchange. One last shot cracks through the room, followed by a scream.

I bring the shotgun up as a man shouts, “Orsini! Hold your fire. I’ve got Russo.”

“Then stay where you are.” I glance at Ferraro, making sure he heard, too. “Nobody goes near that fucking car.”

And I can only just hear the sirens in the distance.

“Two minutes,” Ferraro tells me, already dragging one of the Giuliano bodies to the white van. “We need to clear up and clear out.”

Mike Giordano is more concerned with his kid. Junior’s still conscious, but he’s lost a lot of blood.

“Get him where he needs to go,” I tell Giordano. “But make sure they’re Family-friendly. Get out of here.”

I stay behind the workbench, watching the blue sedan while Giordano gets his kid out. The man behind it hasn’t shown himself, and I’m not going over there to find out what he’s waiting for. “You wanted to know if it was me,” I call, mounting the shotgun on the bench and aiming toward the sedan. “Now I want to know who the fuck you are.”

“Gallo,” he calls back. “Vic Gallo.” A head comes up, followed by an empty hand. I recognize the face. His other hand stays low, out of sight, and my finger tightens on my trigger.

“Where’s Russo?” I demand. “And where’s your fucking gun pointed?”

“At him,” the guy says quickly. “I shot him in the knee. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Then drag him out where I can see him.” I keep the shotgun on him as he ducks down again, swearing with the effort as he hauls Russo backward by his jacket.

The man lets go once they’re clear of the car. His empty hand goes back up in the air, while his gun stays on Russo. “Don’t shoot,” he says. “You know me; I was always on Seb’s side. Russo ordered us out here tonight. Then I heard your voice, and I figured this might be my only chance to get out—like you said. That was your offer, right?”

Russo’s Red Hook crew were mostly no good, but I do know this guy. Victor Gallo. He worked under Seb for years, but Big Gee moved him over to Red Hook a few months ago, which isn’t a point in Gallo’s favor.

And Pep Pardini worked under Seb for a long time, too.

It would be safer to kill him. But I hear Caligula Clemenza’s voice clear as day: “Be smart, Dami.”

Clemenza numbers are low. We need new blood. Young blood, especially since Mike Junior just spilled his all over the concrete.