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Nico
The staccato beat of gunfire filled my ears as I stepped into a war zone.
Men running, bullets zipping past. The air was rich with the metallic zing of the gunfight.
I drew it into my lungs over and over again as I glanced across the yard toward Berlusconi’s metal-and-glass monstrosity.
If he had her here, if she was in there, no men or bullets were keeping me out.
But I couldn’t move.
For the first time in my life, I was frozen. Not in fear, exactly. I didn’t fear being shot at or wounded. It might hurt like a son of a bitch, but I wasn’t afraid of it.
Shewas all I could see. Her chest riddled with bullets and covered in blood. Her blue eyes, lifeless. The lump at the back of my throat got bigger, so big it felt like I could barely breathe past it.
“Let’s go, Costa,” Greta said.
I’d underestimated the violent energizer bunny. Though her eyes were wide with fear, her shoulders were squared and her spine was straight. She had a gun in her hand and looked more than ready to shoot her way straight through a battlefield for her friend.
Vito and I flanked her as I forced myself to move, walking right over the human-shaped mounds on the ground. Dead men, but not one of them were Costa men. What was left of Berlusconi’s men had been corralled in the house. It was only a matter of time before every last one of his men was dead. The thought should have sent a ripple of satisfaction through me, but it only added to the heavy weight of dread in my stomach.
Where is she?
The big window at the front of the house exploded as a body flew through it. Whether it had been thrown or it jumped, I didn’t know.I don’t fucking care. I put a bullet in the guy’s forehead then strode through the open front door.
The gunfire was louder inside, echoing off the walls, but the staccato beat had slowed dramatically. The fight was winding down. Only the occasional pocket of resistance remained, and my men would have them snuffed out soon.
I looked around.
We’d cut the power, but moonlight spilled in through the plethora of open windows, shining on the shattered china across the dining room floor, the overturned furniture in the living room, and the bullet holes that pockmarked every wall.
Where would he have taken her? I glanced up the winding staircase. Upstairs? In one of the bedrooms? My blood boiled thinking about what he could be doing to her there. But all the doors I could see were hanging wide open, most of them riddled with bullet holes like the walls.
Salvatore strode through the living room with a gun in each hand and a bloody rag wrapped around his arm.
“She’s not here, boss, and neither is Cesare. I checked myself,” Salvatore said, his eyes not quite reaching mine.
I kept my face blank and nodded. “Berlusconi?”
Salvatore shook his head. “I checked every face, I swear. He’s not here either, boss.”
I didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. He wasn’t one of the dead bodies here—which meant Raven wasn’t either—but where the hell had he taken her? What was he doing to her? Questions swirled around in my head. What if I didn’t find her in time? What if I was already too late?
I had no answers. I didn’t even know where to fucking start.
I was coming undone. I could feel it no matter the blank expression I tried to keep pasted on my face.
Whatever Raven had done to me, I sure as hell didn’t like it. I felt weak, helpless, useless—things I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
I nodded to Salvatore and turned away, doing my damnedest to stay in command of my legs as I strode back toward the door.
I needed to get out of the fucking house.
Outside, I sat down hard on the smooth concrete front steps. The impact jolted through me. It tried to wrack loose something in my chest, clambering up my throat until I swallowed it back.
“You really care about her, don’t you?” Greta said, sitting down next to me.
She draped her arms over her knees, but despite the casual repose, her whole body was strung taut.
