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And then the doors were opening.
And the gunshots were ringing out.
I’d never been in an actual gunfight before.
Movies always overdramatized it, filmed it in slow motion so it dragged on forever.
In reality, though, before your adrenaline could fully kick in, it was all over. And bodies were all over the ground.
It wasn’t until I was panting for breath that I realized it hadn’t just been Luca and I against the mob of five armed men.
Because there was Lucky and Milo moving out of the shadows outside of the container, guns still in their hands.
“The fuck, right?” Lucky asked, shaking his head.
“You’re hit,” I said, noticing the blood seeping out of Luca’s shoulder.
“It didn’t hit anything important,” Luca said, deadly calm, but I knew my brother well enough to know his mind was racing.
“Cops,” Lucky said, nodding. “That wasn’t quiet.”
“Kick ‘em in and lock it up. Mark it bio-spill. We will deal with it after shit blows over,” Luca said, moving out toward the edge of the water, taking his gun, and hauling it into the ocean, then standing there, head raised to the sky, eyes closed. Likely saying a silent prayer that he’d made it through to go home to see his kids.
“I’m not the only one who noticed, right?” Milo asked, coming over to us after the door to the container slammed shut. “Those fucks. They’re all Italian.”
“Yeah,” Luca said, sighing hard. “We need to—“ he started, getting cut off by my phone ringing.
Massimo.
I couldn’t tell you why, but my gut twisted hard as I swiped to answer.
“Mass, what—“
“Matteo,” Josie cut me off, out of breath, voice high-pitched. “They came. And… and Mass is shot. In his leg. But but… but he’s lost a lot of blood. And he’s unconscious. I don’t know what to do. Or if I should call the police. And we don’t know if Aurel…”
She trailed off.
And then there was a gasp.
And then a scream that would haunt me to the end of my days.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Josie
I knew the day would come.
You know… like when his “other” business would break into the little sanctuary we’d been living in.
And I guess I’d naively thought it wouldn’t happen so suddenly.
But of course it would.
It wasn’t like fellow criminals called and scheduled their mischief.
“You good?” Massimo asked, making me realize I’d been staring at the wall, lost in my own thoughts, since Matteo had walked out of the house a few moments before.
“I, ah, yeah,” I said, nodding.
“It’s not easy, is it?” he asked, shaking his head. “Me, I was raised in this shit. I was used to not knowing if my old man was going to make it home or not. Same for my uncles, my cousins. I’ve never known anything different.”
“Does that… does it make it any easier?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It just makes it easier to compartmentalize it, I guess. Don’t know how the chicks who marry into the Family do it, to be honest.”
“Do you plan to bring a woman into it one day?”
“I’m a selfish fuck. I want a woman. I want the kids. And if I find one who thinks she can handle it, I will ring it up in a heartbeat.”
“I don’t think it’s selfish.”
“It is,” he said, shrugging.
“So you think Matteo is selfish for… you know… involving me in this?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Dragging anyone from outside this world into it just because you want them there is selfish.”
“It’s not like it is a one-sided decision, though,” I insisted, sprinkling the fresh basil over the top of my dish, then smiling down at it.
I could see all the men swarming around it when it came out of the oven, gooey and delicious. I could see myself dishing it out, watching them eat it.
I was pretty sure I was starting to understand the women of the family like Adrian, who showed their love with food, who got a sense of satisfaction in watching those she cared about enjoying the food she’d slaved over.
I’d never had anyone to cook for before, but now that I did, I was more excited than I could have anticipated to see them enjoying my food.
“But it is,” Massimo insisted. “Because you don’t know what you’re agreeing to. You’re too busy getting to know someone, fucking, all that shit. You aren’t thinking straight about the whole situation. And by the time you can get a minute to think it through, it’s too late. You caught feelings.”
“You’re acting like having feelings means you can’t leave.”
“It does.”
“No, it really doesn’t,” I said, shaking my head. What kind of toxic mindset was that? If the bad outweighed the good, you owed it to yourself to leave. Always.
“Look, the way it seems to me, there isn’t much of a choice in it. Don’t know shit about it myself, but seems like it is the kind of love that is too painful to walk away from. Which kind of suggests you can’t leave it.”
