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"Good." He rakes his gaze across my features, "You sure you don’t want to go inside, and get out of the line of fire?"
"And miss all the fun?" I allow my lips to curl in a poor attempt at mirroring his smirk.
He chuckles, then kisses my forehead, "I knew I was obsessed with you for a reason."
He's obsessed with me. He's. OBSESSED with me. OMG, did he just say that? I peer up at him from under my eyelashes, but he doesn't seem to be aware of the ramifications of what he just said.
He reaches for his phone and dials a number. When Massimo answers it, he glances first at JJ, then Seb, before fixing his gaze on me. "Open fire," he commands.
Instantly, shots are fired from above, and returned. Each time a bullet hits the glass, it's deflected, but the sound of the bullet bouncing off makes me wince.
The splattering sound of the bullets rebounding off of the glass increases in intensity. It feels like we are in the middle a hailstorm, only deadlier.
All through it, Michael, JJ and Seb continue to return fire, adding another layer of noise to the sound of bullets being deflected.
I thought I was prepared. I thought I could face this barrage of gunfire, but I had mistaken just how intense it was to be in the line of fire. The shooting seems to rise to a crescendo. The shots come so thick and fast that it’s like the popping of corn, at the height of when you are zapping it in the microwave, only much bigger, much larger than life, much more in your face… Much more lethal.
I know I am not in direct danger, yet I can't stop myself from flinching. I hunch my shoulders and wish I could cover my ears to lessen the intensity of the sound. I sense Michael glancing at me. He puts his arm around me, pulls me closer. I huddle into him, still holding the gun in my hands. My fingers tremble to pull the trigger, to answer back, to do something… Anything, except sit here with only a wall of glass separating us from the bullets that never seem to stop coming.
The shots go on and on. My heart beat ratchets up, my pulse rate accelerates, sweat pools under my arms, and black spots flicker at the corners of my vision. My heart seems to palpitate with such intensity that I can hear the blood thud in my ears. "Bloody hell," I gasp as my knees seem to buckle.
I lean heavily into Michael, who grips my shoulders. "You okay?" he yells, close to my ear so I can hear him above that never-ending barrage of bullets. A bullet rain. I am stuck in a monsoon of ballistic proportions with my very own avenging devil. A shiver runs down my spine. My heartbeat seems to grow louder, bigger, expanding until it fills my entire chest.
Over us, the hail of bullets reaches a crescendo, then stops. The sound ricochets through the corners of my mind, then fades away. I draw in a breath, another, then gasp when he hauls me to him, "You okay, baby?" he asks in a harsh voice.
"I am fine." My voice quivers and I clear my throat. Goddammit, I am not going to act like a wimp. Not now.
He searches my face and swears, "You’re pale."
"It’s the light." I attempt a weak smile. "I’m fine; honest."
He nods, then turns back to the window and shoots. JJ, Luca and Seb follow suit.
I’m fairly certain Christian, Massimo, and Antonio open fire from above, for once more, the air is thick with the sound of bullets being shot. The vibrations from the recoil slam into my chest, echo through my mind, press down on my stomach, my womb. My knees give way and I sink down to the floor.
I sense Michael glance down at me but he doesn’t stop shooting. I coil into myself, still holding onto the gun, as pain slices through my chest. Sweat pours down my temples, drips down my chin. Shit, shit, shit. This is it. It’s my heart… It’s finally giving out. How poetic that it had to be when I am holding a gun, and next to my gangster husband, in the middle of a gun fight. Am I going to die, not struck by a bullet, but because my heart finally chose this moment to show that I don’t belong with a Mafia guy, after all? Something I had already realized but which the events of the past few seconds have brought home even more firmly?
I shudder and curl into myself as the firing continues on and on. The spent cases from the used bullets hit the floor in front of me, a constant stream of metal clinking...
Like the coins in my pocket when I had walked home from school and stopped to buy my favorite candy at the corner shop. It had been during the time we had been with one particular foster family who had been so good to us. We—Summer and I—had fit in so well with them, we’d thought we had found our forever family. They’d give us pocket money we could use to buy candy, a huge treat. Something we had never been able to do before. One day, we’d reached the shop, and I’d chosen my candy and brought it to the till to pay. Then I had reached for the coins, which had slipped from my hands and hit the floor and rolled away. I’d managed to gather them back. At least, I’d thought I had, but when I had handed them over, some had been missing. I hadn’t had enough to pay for the candy. Summer had stepped in and bought me the candy. She had skipped her treat that day and shared mine, and I had been so happy. The jingling of coins would always be associated with that particular memory and now with this…
The constant barrage of bullets that my husband and his brothers fire at those who are trying to kill us. A chill grips me and my teeth chatter. I grasp the gun, drawing on some of the residual warmth from the metal.I am not weak. I will not give in to the frailty that envelops me.I am not going to just sit here and allow the men to fight while I play the role of a woman who needs to be protected all the time.I push myself up to my feet, place my gun on the barrier and fire.
30
Michael
One minute, she’s trembling on the ground; the next, she is on her feet and firing off the gun as if she’s done it her entire life. She holds her finger down on the trigger and fires. Her body shudders with the recoil. She pauses, changes her stance, then grips the gun tighter and fires again, and again.
Each time she fires, her body shakes with the recoil. Each time the gun spits out a bullet, she winces, but she doesn't stop. She keeps her finger glued to the trigger, long after the rest of us have stopped.
Her features are contorted, her cheeks flushed; her chest rises and falls as she widens her stance to better support herself and the weight of the gun she holds. At some point, I realize the rest of the men have stopped shooting and are watching her. But she still doesn’t stop.
The skin across her knuckles stretches white, but she keeps the trigger depressed, keeps shooting, until the empty clacking of the chambers fills the space. Tears run down her cheeks, drip from her chin. She sways, her legs seem to give way from under her, and I catch her as she crumples.
The gun slips from her fingers, and Seb snatches it up. I lower her to the floor, take in the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the trickle of sweat that runs down her temples, and my heart stutters.
"Bellezza!"I haul her close as I peer into her features, "You are not feeling well."
