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Lorenzo crossed his arms over his chest, his feet shoulder width apart. He’d stand like this all night if he had to, a Colossus incapable of being moved. “I’m not going to let you kill him. You want to, you’re going to have to kill me first.”
Curiously, the same Sicilian expletive came from both in front of him and behind. O’Reilly shifted again, and Lorenzo moved to compensate. Tony’s arms quivered, but he knew it wasn’t from anything but anger.
Val, at least, lowered his Betsy. “Come on, Enzo. Get out of the way. There’s no way he’s leaving this alley alive, and you don’t want to be here to see it.”
Lorenzo’s throat constricted. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be like them.”
Tony’s nostrils flared. His gun was still trained on O’Reilly and, hence, on Lorenzo. He could feel the scorching circle boring through his chest. “This is our life. Our world.”
Lorenzo raised his chin. “It doesn’t have to be! It’s their world, not ours. Not if we choose something different. When are you two going to realize you can make your own choices? All I see right now is Manny’s decision. He decides it’s time for you to prove yourselves, and—”
“Enzo, I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. That could have been regret in his eyes but, absent repentance, it was black. “I know this hurts. But we can’t all be you. You were born a saint. I was born a mafioso.”
“That’s crap and you know it.”
Behind him, O’Reilly gave a small, humorless laugh. “Don’t you get it, Capecce? This is their choice. This is how they prove they’re ready to take over. You know very well they have to spill blood, take a life, to do that.”
Lorenzo’s fingers dug into his arm. He wanted to deny it, had always wanted to deny it, but the truth stared back at him. His brothers—his best friends—weren’t content to just be in the Mafia. They wanted to run it. “Well they’re not going to start with you.”
“Who better?” Val angled his gun back up a bit, though he didn’t level it at them like Tony. His usual cheerful, mischievous smile played on his lips, the boyish expression clashing with the deadly weapon. “It’s bad enough he betrayed us. Betrayed you with Bean. Then he pursues a murder that’s none of his business, and finally he was planning to steal your girl away before you could marry her. And I mean literally, whether she wanted to go or not.”
“I know that.” Lorenzo didn’t budge. “It doesn’t matter. Because this isn’t just about saving his life—it’s about saving yours. You kill a cop, and you can’t undo that. You carry that with you the rest of your lives. You really want that?”
Tony cocked his head to the side. “Orders are orders, Enzo. Not my call. Val, get our scioccu brother out of the way.”
“Try it and I’ll knock you for a loop. Last time we tussled you lasted all of five seconds.” Lorenzo glared at the baby of the clan, who nevertheless took a step toward him.
Tony’s lips turned up in a merciless grin—a stranger’s smile. “And while you’re pinning him, I’ll take my shot.”
O’Reilly cursed behind him. “Just get out of the way, Lorenzo. All you’re doing is prolonging this. Manny’s signed my death warrant, and if they don’t kill me now, they’ll just follow me until another opportunity presents itself. Or if they don’t, he’ll send someone else, and then they’ll be disgraced.”
“I don’t really care if they’re disgraced.” He raked a hand through his short hair. At least Val’s advance had halted again.
Tony snarled. “Val!”
The youngest started forward again, and Lorenzo unfolded his arms and leaned onto the balls of his feet so he could pounce. He directed a low mutter to O’Reilly. “Please have the good sense to hit the ground or run.”
“So they can shoot me in the back? I’d rather face it head on, thanks. I’ll bet you a thousand to one they’re not the only ones with guns around here. I run, I bite it anyway. Hate to render your heroics useless, but face it, Capecce. You’re not going to outmaneuver the Mafia.”
Maybe not. Maybe he’d not only fail to save Roman, maybe he’d die himself trying. But if so, then he would die fighting for what was right, die praying that God would use it to call his brothers to repentance. He would gladly lay down his life if it had a hope of saving their souls, even if he would much prefer living to see the change.
He drew in a long breath, closed his eyes for one moment. Put his life, his brothers’ lives, O’Reilly’s life, all in the palm of God. Thy will be done.
That was when chaos broke loose. Behind Tony, the door opened. Manny came out first, Franco and Father close behind. Then four other thugs joined the ranks, half of their faces not familiar. One was undoubtedly the man who had driven the car that dropped O’Reilly in the alley. He must have circled around.
All had guns and scowls and a look of bloodlust in their eyes, mingled with fury when they spotted Lorenzo in their way. Manny’s query of “What’s the problem, boys?” faded away into a low, drawn out, “Enzo…”
A new shout went up from the end of the alley. Lorenzo didn’t take his eyes off the furious mafiosi, but O’Reilly called out, “Cliff!”
In his periphery, Lorenzo saw a tall man charge into the alley. Not good. The sudden shift in balance was guaranteed to rip apart the fragile net of inaction. Lorenzo heard that one moment of silence before the storm, smelled the electricity of coming disaster. Then it snapped.
Bullets rent the air.
One hissed by his ear, followed by another. He glanced over at the newcomer. Cliff had sought out cover behind an unmarked crate. Good. That only left O’Reilly. Lorenzo spun around with the intention of tackling him behind whatever they could find. But Roman was a second faster—he was already tackling him. They hit the ground with a thud that would leave some nice bruising on his ribs.
That wasn’t what really knocked out his breath. A far too familiar voice screamed his name, growing ever closer as she charged down the alley. Sabina. Lorenzo jerked up, spotted her coming at him, and could manage only the most wrenching of prayers. “God, no!”
A bullet from a handgun rang out. And silence echoed in its wake.
