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On the filthy mattress in the corner, a body folded into itself. Jen obstructed their view as she stood over it, her eyes wide with fear, her hands in the air as if to surrender. “I’m sorry!”
An eerie silence fell over them as they stared at her. It passed as quickly as it came, however, and Carmine reacted . . . but Vincent was faster. He blocked Carmine’s line of sight and pulled the trigger, shooting Jen between the eyes. Riddled with shame, he stood over her as she dropped.
He couldn’t let his son be the one to carry that burden.
Staggering, an injured Ivan grabbed a discarded AK-47 from the floor as a last ditch effort. Vincent lunged for Carmine, throwing him to the ground as the spray of bullets rang out. They fired back, bullets tearing into Ivan from all directions. Vincent watched in horror as Corrado was shot again and dropped to his knees.
Vincent jumped up, his rage taking over, and three bullets struck Ivan in the head. He rushed toward his brother-in-law as Ivan dropped hard, taking out a metal chair on his way down. Vincent glanced around cautiously to make sure it was safe before dropping his gun and crouching down. Corrado wheezed and clutched his bloody chest, his face pale.
“Let me see,” Vincent said, prying Corrado’s hands away. He ripped his shirt open, exposing three entrance wounds on his chest. “This isn’t good, Corrado. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” he said, pushing Vincent away as he struggled to get to his feet. He swayed a bit but stood on his own, refusing help.
“Haven!” Carmine’s voice pulled Vincent’s attention away. His breath left him at the sight of Carmine sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling the limp body into his arms.
Vincent approached, fearing the worst. She was barely recognizable from the girl who had stood in his house a few weeks earlier, instead resembling the girl he had picked up more than a year before. She had dropped a lot of weight, her skin blotchy and lips tinged blue.
Vincent grabbed her wrist. Her pulse was weak, her hand freezing and arm twisted in an odd direction. Vincent could see her chest moving rapidly with shallow breaths. Feverish, her pupils constricted, she didn’t react with any of her reflexes, her neurological system not functioning normally.
In less than a minute, Vincent knew what was wrong. The problem was, he couldn’t fix it.
“Is she okay?” Carmine caressed her face. “Christ, why isn’t she waking up?”
“I’m assuming she’s been drugged.”
“But is she going to be all right?”
“I wish I knew.”
“You’re always trying to play doctor with me, and the one goddamn time I ask you for help, that’s what you give me? You wish you knew?”
“I need to get her somewhere to assess her,” he said. “She’s alive.”
“And she better stay that way,” Carmine said. “Haven, I need you to wake up. Please, baby. You have to make it. I can’t do this if you don’t.”
Vincent’s chest ached at his son’s outburst of emotion. “I’ll do what I can for her.”
“If she doesn’t make it, I’ll fucking kill them all. Every single one of them.”
Corrado’s voice rang out beside them. “Too late. They’re already dead.”
Carmine glared at his uncle. “Well, we’ll bring those motherfuckers back to life, then.”
Corrado tried to take a step, but his knees buckled. Vincent grabbed him before he hit the floor. “I need to get you to a hospital right now.”
He scoffed, pushing Vincent away. “I’ll take myself and make something up. You need to get some men over here to clean up this mess before it takes us all down.”
He limped away, his pain visible in his movements, but he didn’t verbalize it. Corrado looked at the bodies scattered around, his eyes falling on Giovanni. “Che peccato.”
“I know. It’s a pity,” Vincent said, pulling out his phone as Corrado staggered toward the door. He watched, worry eating away at him. “Are you sure about this? You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“Don’t be ignorant, Vincent,” he said. “Get Haven to my house and fix her before your son resorts to resuscitating people just to kill them again.”
Corrado paused near the exit and pulled out his gun, turning back around. He glanced across the room to where young Dean sat quietly in shock and fired three times into the boy, startling Carmine. “Fuck! I thought you were going to show him some mercy!”
o;I know. We’re here, we’re on it.”
“About fucking time.”
