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“I won’t have to kill you,” Gabriel continued. “I won’t have to shed first blood. Your faggot son doesn’t count. But watching him die will break you. Everyone will know you’re not fit to control our family.”
Every fiber of my being rebelled at his words. Joseph wasn’t going to die. I couldn’t let him die.
I twisted in his hold, ignoring the pain as some of my hair was ripped out of my scalp. I managed to drive my elbow into his doughy stomach. The air whooshed out of his lungs, and his grip on me eased as he doubled over, wheezing.
I ran toward Joseph, throwing myself at Ricky with a defiant shriek. His eyes widened, and he was too surprised to react in time.
I didn’t know how to fight, but I did know how to hurt a man. I slammed into him with enough momentum to shove him and his gun away from Joseph. Then, I rammed my knee up into his balls.
He dropped to his knees, clutching at his crotch and gasping for air.
“Joseph,” I sobbed, struggling to get my shoulders under his arm to help him to his feet.
He got one foot down to support himself, but his boot slipped in a pool of his blood, and he went back down.
“Stupid bitch.” Gabriel’s fingers dug into my upper arm, and I shrieked as he wrenched me away from Joseph.
He spun my body away from his and threw me onto the table. My head cracked against the wood, making my skull throb and my stomach turn. His hand pressed between my shoulders, pinning me down hard enough that my breasts ached against the unyielding table.
I heard the sound of a belt buckle being loosened, a zipper being lowered.
Joseph snarled, and I felt something hard pressing against my ass.
“Your son can watch me fuck his whore while he bleeds out,” Gabriel told Mr. Russo.
I screamed and slapped my sweaty palms against the polished wood, struggling to get free. But Gabriel had me trapped, his hand pinning me in place while his hips trapped mine against the edge of the table.
A shot rang out, and I screamed again, fearing for Joseph.
A heavy weight fell onto my back, driving the air from my lungs.
Two more shots, in quick succession.
“Ashlyn!”
“Marco,” I sobbed his name.
The weight was lifted from my back, and I realized Gabriel’s dead body had fallen onto me. I watched Marco heave his lifeless form aside before he reached for me, running his hands over my body to check for injuries.
The man who had held a gun on Mr. Russo was on the floor, moaning and clutching his shoulder. Marco’s father stood over him, his head cocked to one side. His black eyes betrayed no emotion when he emptied another round into the man’s skull. He looked up at Mr. Russo and nodded, as though everything was handled.
“Joseph,” I gasped, trying to move past Marco to get to him.
Joseph lay on his side, blood pooling around him. At first, I thought it was all Joseph’s blood. But then I saw Ricky’s ruined face, and I realized a lot of it was flowing from the hole in his skull.
I gagged, but I focused my attention back on Joseph. I struggled past Marco, stumbling to my knees beside Joseph. He wasn’t moving, and his eyes were closed. But I could see his chest rising and falling.
He’s not dead. He’s not going to die.
I heard Mr. Russo shouting into his phone for an ambulance, saying something about a robbery. I wasn’t sure how he planned to cover up three murders, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting Joseph to the hospital.
Marco joined me, his face drawn with fear as he reached for Joseph’s hand. I took Joseph’s other hand in mine. I squeezed his fingers, willing him to squeeze mine back.
He didn’t stir.
I choked on a sob, and I leaned into Marco’s chest for support.
He can’t die. I couldn’t lose Joseph, or I’d lose half my heart.
