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“It wasn’t us,” Johnny stuttered, his face stark white.
In a flash, Lorenzo pulled his gun from my head and shot Johnny in the foot. Johnny screamed, jumping back and knocking a painting to the ground. Blood pooled under his shoe as he leaned against the wall, moaning.
“How did this happen? Who killed Cy?” Lorenzo yelled, his fingers painfully digging into my soft belly. Vinnie and Lenny stood tall, but their expressions gave them away. They were scared shitless.
Me, on the other hand? I fought back the urge to laugh. Without knowing it, I’d ruined a coup to unseat my husband.
“You were working with Cy?” Marco said through gritted teeth, shooting Mickey a sharp look. To his credit, Mickey looked just as confused as the rest of us.
“That idiot?” Lorenzo jabbed his gun at Mickey. “Mickey thought I was helping you by starting a war with the Chronis family. He never realized Cy and I were using the conflict to gain footing.”
Mickey’s hand went to his stomach, his face contorting in pain. Not only had he plotted behind Luca and Marco’s back, but he’d betrayed the entire family.
People died for less.
Lorenzo shuffled me in his arms, the gun knocking into my cheek, sending a bone-deep shock of pain. “Who’s missing?” When no one spoke up, he pointed his gun at Marco. “Who killed Cy?”
Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was the fact I was tired of all the bullshit masculine posturing, or maybe it was the trauma of killing yet another person—but before I thought better of it, I said, “I did.”
Grabbing ahold of my jaw, Lorenzo turned my face to his. “You?” His lips twitched. “I guess it wouldn’t be your first kill.” He smiled, his eyes lighting up. “You sure are full of surprises, Mrs. Moretti.”
“So, what’s your plan?” Marco asked, drawing Lorenzo’s attention from me. “You’ve got us here. Now what?”
The mirth left Lorenzo’s face, and he scowled at Marco. “You all die. I take Sasha, and Luca stays locked up because I’ll kill Zoe and Tootsie if they ever show their faces again. Pretty cut and dry.” He glanced down at me and let go of my jaw, dragging a finger over the tender skin. “How’s that sound?”
I arched an eyebrow, and he chuckled, letting me turn away.
“You aren’t touching my fucking brother!” Taz spat.
“Without his guardian angel, I don’t see him and that bitch surviving to the new year.” Lorenzo's body tightened around me. “Since Cy’s not coming, I guess we’ll handle this here.” He backed us up to the door and whispered in my ear, “Watch this.”
Lorenzo’s guys raised their guns but looked decidedly less confident than when they crashed our party. It didn’t help the tough guy illusion that Johnny was standing like a flamingo, sweat pouring down his face as he grunted in pain.
Marco was the only one with his gun out, but the other guys had their hands at the ready.
“Kill them,” Lorenzo said blandly.
Without thinking—a recurring phenomenon that night—I stomped the spike of my heel into the middle of Lorenzo’s foot and shoved his hand holding the gun toward Johnny. Grunting in pain, he squeezed the trigger and shot Johnny in the arm. Johnny cried out, falling over.
Aldo, Joey, Frankie, and Mickey pulled their side arms, and gunfire filled the room. Johnny took a bullet to the neck, his cries becoming a gurgling noise. Lenny hit Aldo in the shoulder, and his second shot grazed Frankie’s arm, but he was taken down by Joey before he did any more damage.
I struggled against Lorenzo’s hold, fighting to take cover as stray bullets hit the door and walls behind us. “Stop moving,” he grunted, banding my arms down.
“Let. Me. Go.” I thrashed, elbowed, and tilted my head to try to bite him.
Lorenzo grunted when I landed a well-placed shoulder to his chest. He raised his gun, and the warm metal kissed my cheek. “You can bite and scratch all you want, but it won’t change the fact that you’re coming with me.” He pushed open the door, and I shrieked, throwing myself against his hold.
“Lorenzo!” Marco yelled, taking two steps toward us.
Lorenzo pointed his gun right at him and fired. My eyes widened, and I jerked forward as if I could stop the evitable. Marco swerved his body, but it was unnecessary because Mickey stepped right into the bullet’s path. We all watched in horror as his head flew back at impact.
“No!” I screamed, going limp and sliding from Lorenzo’s arms.
The gunfire ceased. Johnny, Lenny, and Vinnie lay on the floor, bleeding out, dead, or on their way to dead.
Marco cradled Mickey’s head in his lap, his face red, the veins in his neck popping out as he yelled, “Call an ambulance.”
Frankie darted past me through the wide-open door while Aldo stepped around puddles of blood to help Joey into a chair.
