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She let him go. Stood there simmering and steaming and wanting nothing more than to stomp her foot like a child. Then she realized his march would take him straight to his car in his current mood, so she ran to catch up with him.
Never mind her petulance—Papa had issued an order. “Enzo, wait. Papa wanted to talk to you.”
He didn’t so much as slow. “You know what, Sabina? I don’t really care. If it’s important, he can find me later.”
And leave her to explain to her father why he’d vanished? Maybe it was a fair punishment, but that didn’t mean she wanted to bear it. She could do nothing but dog his steps, though, since any logic would fall on deaf ears.
They hadn’t gone all that far, so it didn’t take long to reach her house again. As she expected, Lorenzo headed straight for his Nash, though he hadn’t quite reached it when the Pierce-Arrow pulled in behind him, Papa and Uncle Franco and Vanni emerging. Sabina let out a relieved breath and slowed down. Papa and Vanni would stop him, and it wouldn’t be her problem anymore.
Lorenzo disproved that theory when he ignored the hails from the men and kept his aim true. Sabina picked up her pace again, moving toward her father. She opened her mouth, but a shrill whistle interrupted her thoughts.
Her blood froze. The world slowed. In her periphery, streetlight glinted off of ugly gun barrels. Her father cursed. The air went heavy like right before a lightning strike, filled with the acrid scent of impending disaster. She saw Lorenzo wheel around, eyes wide, and make a charge—not for the relative safety of his car, which was well out of the line of fire. For her.
A second later, the fury of gunfire was unleashed, tripping over the panicked screams of the family still on the stoop. Too stunned to move, Sabina fought for breath as the three men beside her dove for cover and weapons. She was vaguely aware of the growing figure of Lorenzo, who was upon her in another second. His arm caught her mid-chest and wrenched her from her anchored feet, pulling her down and over.
Bullets sliced the air all around her, even as they fell. She braced for impact with the ground, but instead she found that Lorenzo had turned them so that he hit first, softening her landing. Still her breath abandoned her. Pain blazed.
He had gotten them partially covered by the stairs, but their legs were still exposed and bullets bit the ground all around them. Her reflexes finally recovered. She jerked her knees up to her chest and slid off Lorenzo so he could do the same.
He didn’t. “Enzo?” She forced her eyes to focus on him and was met with the sight of blood gushing from a wound in his head. His eyelids were closed all but a crack, his mouth slack, his face pale. Terror bubbled through her. “Enzo?” Frantic, she shook him a little. He didn’t stir. “No. No, no, no. Come on, Enzo, wake up. Please. Please wake up!”
As quickly as it had started, the barrage of gunfire ceased. Maybe people were screaming—maybe her ears were just ringing. She didn’t know. Didn’t care. Didn’t pay any attention to the pounding footsteps or the flurry of activity. All she could see was the stillness. Enzo’s legs, not moving. Enzo’s eyelids, not lifting. Enzo’s hands, not reaching for hers.
No, that wasn’t all. There was the red too. Enzo’s blood, gushing out all over her hands.
She hadn’t thought she had enough of her heart left to break, not after Serafina’s death and Roman’s betrayal and Papa’s arrest.
She had never been so wrong.
