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"Of course I came for you," Marco replied fiercely, his gaze filled with determination and something more—something raw and vulnerable that made Joey's heart ache. "I'd never let anything happen to you, kid."
There was a scream. Marco looked around the corner, and swore. He released his grip on Joey's arm and pushed him toward the back exit. His eyes were fiercely locked on Joey, as if he could will him to safety with just a glance.
"Go! I'll cover you."
Joey hesitated, torn between the urge to flee and the overwhelming desire to stay by Marco's side. But Marco shouted again, desperation tinging his voice. "Get out of here, now!"
Joey ran. But just as he reached the door, a gunshot echoed through the club.
In a fight full of gunshots, there was no reason why he should have known that one was anything significant.
But somehow, he knew.
He turned.
Marco slowly crumpled to the floor, clutching at his chest.
As he buckled, he turned his head towards Joey one more time.
Go, he mouthed.
And, as the door swung shut behind him, cutting him off from Marco, Joey's world shattered into a million tiny fragments.
Joey's heart pounded with the force of a freight train as he stumbled out of the club, his legs weak and barely able to support him.
Each step took him further from Marco, from the man who had ignited a fire within him that burned hotter than the sun itself.
Everything seemed to be happening very fast, but at the same time, very slow. Everything felt unreal.
A strong hand grabbed him. Joey jolted, and looked up to see a brawny man in a suit, a gun in hand.
Another Petrov?! "I'll kill you!" Joey raged, taking a swing.
"The fuck?" The man dodged it effortlessly, like it hadn't happened at all. He looked over Joey's head at the chaos inside Sinsation. "You see a guy run into there? My height, dark hair, tough motherfucker?"
Joey trembled. "Marco?"
The man's eyes were wild as his chiseled face twisted into a mask of rage. "You know him? What the fuck happened? Where is he?"
"Marco…" Joey choked on the words, the name like a stone lodged in his throat. "He… He's dead."
"Dead?" The man spat the word as if it were poison. "Fucking asshole! He was supposed to wait for backup!" At another peal of gunfire, the man dragged Joey down behind his car. He shoved Joey down to the asphalt, rough. His eyes were distant.
"Backup?" Confusion bloomed within Joey, mingling with the anguish that consumed him. "You mean… he didn't have to go in alone?"
"Alone? What kind of fucking idiot would walk in to something like that alone?" the man snarled. "We were just minutes away, ready to storm the place. Shit. Fucking asshole," he repeated. "What's the point of wearing a vest if you're just gonna get shot like a punk?"
Amidst the ringing in Joey's head, something tried to get his attention.
Wait.
Vest.
Vest?
Joey grabbed at the man's lapels. "He was wearing a vest? Like, a bulletproof vest?"
The guy knocked Joey away with a scowl. "Yeah, of course? He was a dumb motherfucker, but no Toscano is dumb enough to walk into a firefight without protection." He rapped his knuckles on his own chest.
