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“That woman is crazy,” he complains as he slides into the driver's seat. “I told her that her friend’s dead and the other one has been shot, and she didn’t even blink. Like what the fuck? Who does that shit?”
These women are different. The streets hardened them. Portia especially. She’s has a lot more attitude and hardness than Teagan and Nell have. She’s the type of woman who’d slit your throat if she had to. Whereas my wife is all fire and ice, but when push comes to shove, she’s a kitten. She’s vulnerable. I saw that side today. Watching her as she held her friend, I realized just how fragile she is.
“Is she breathing?” Dario asks as we near my home.
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. Does he think I’m carrying my wife’s dead body around? What the fuck is wrong with him. “She’s unconscious, Dario, not fucking dead.”
“The doc will be with us soon,” he says. I know he’s trying to calm me down but that isn’t going to happen, not until I can get my hands on the bastard who did this to her. Then I’ll calm the fuck down.
Thirty minutes later and the doctor’s finished with her. “She was lucky,” he tells me as he walks out of the room. She’s asleep on the bed. From what he said, her body needs the rest. “An inch to the left and we’d be having a different conversation. The same for Lorenzo. Both of them are extremely lucky.”
That may be so, but it doesn’t negate the fact that some cunt tried to kill them both. For that, they’ll suffer painfully.
“Thanks, Doc.”
He nods at me. “Just let her rest. She’ll be fine, Mr. Gallo. If you need me, call. I’ll see myself out. You have pressing matters to take care of.”
Even the doctor knows what we’re like. His father was our father’s doctor, and he and his brother joined our organization when they were fourteen and became made men. They studied to become doctors as their father had, and now he’s my doc and his brother is Rocco’s. We’re lucky to have both men in the Famiglia. They’re huge assets.
“Ready?” I ask Dario once the doc has gone.
My brother grins and nods. “Ready. Rocco wants an update on everything later.”
“I’ll call him once we’re done with the bastard who’s no doubt scared about what’s going to happen to him.” The fucker is a kid. Barely eighteen. He had to have been hired by someone. The question is, who?
“He’s talking about some fucking gala next month and that we’re all to be in attendance.”
I look at him. “He really wants to go to a gala? What the fuck happened last year when we went to one?”
Dario chuckles. There was a fucking shoot out and the Gala ended early. “If it’s as good as it was last year, I’m all for going.”
Of fucking course he is. “Let’s go. Diego is staying here with Teagan.” As soon as Diego brought Portia to the new apartment, he came here and told me how quiet Portia was and that she hadn’t argued once with him. Which is unusual. The woman would argue with her reflection, given the chance. He’ll stay here and protect Teagan until I come back.
I drive toward the one place no one has gone near since they were taken out. The Demons clubhouse. It’s a no-go area for everyone. It’s the perfect place to do what needs to be done.
I walk through the clubhouse, my shoes sticking to the floor with every step that I take. Christ, this place needs to be cleaned. I join Emiliano in the room that was used for what the Demons called church. The Dirty Demons insignia is on the wall as well as a picture of Bear, which is surrounded by pictures of the previous presidents. Just looking at the bastard’s face makes my chest burn.
“Boss,” Emiliano greets as he sees me. “He’s pleading for his life. He says that he doesn’t know who paid him to do it, but they promised him two hundred thousand dollars if he killed everyone in the penthouse apartment.”
My gut clenches. He was sent to kill everyone in sight. I turn to the kid. The fucker’s trembling in the chair. “Did he say who you were after?”
He shakes his head. “No, I promise you. He just told me to kill everyone who was there. He said if I came after six, that I’d get everyone. He said he’d pay me.”
I narrow my eyes. “When did he tell you this?”
“He came to me two days ago with the job, but he called me today at five and said today was the day.”
I glance at my brother, and I see the look of anger and realization in his eyes. This means that someone in our own organization has set this up. Someone from in our ranks told him we’d be there. But the question remains. Who?
“Tell me about the man,” I demand, beyond fucking pissed. Not only has he shot my wife, killed her friend, and shot my man, he’s working for someone within the organization.
The boy shudders, glancing down. “I didn’t see him, man. He was wearing a mask. He kept his face hidden from view. I couldn’t see him.”
“Tell me something,” I snap, ready to shoot the fucker. “Something.”
“He was white. He had a gold ring, like something out of an old eighties movie. It had a black square with a gold G. That’s all I know, man. I swear. I didn’t know it was your house. If I did, I wouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”
I raise my gun and pull the trigger. The bullet sinks between his eyes. He’s dead instantly. He got off lightly. Had he not been so fucking naive, he would have felt pain. But he was right. He hadn’t known, and if he did, he wouldn’t have dared done it. But he fucked up and didn’t do the research needed. Had he, then we wouldn’t be in this position.
