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Angelo, on the other hand, is a different breed entirely. He lives and thrives off adrenaline and he’s as blue-blooded as Dante.
We hit the jackpot on the second warehouse, and we know it as soon as we pull up. There’s an Escalade parked on the corner of the street, too close to be anyone but Marco or one of his guys. No sane New Yorker would park such a nice car in this area.
“He’s got to be in there,” Angelo says, and I nod, parking in a sketchy parking garage and taking out the duffel bag. I pack a semi-automatic into my spine sheath and then bring the bag full of ammo and bigger weapons with me.
“Don’t shoot him,” I tell Angelo. “I want to do this bare-handed.”
“Love a bare-fisted fight,” he agrees. “Leave me some.”
“You can have everyone else, for all I care,” I tell him. “Marco is mine.”
I can’t wait to throw my fist into his face, feel the flesh give beneath my fists. I think about the scar on Aurora’s face, the nightmares that she had. I think about my baby in her belly and how he wants to off her, and my blood boils with rage.
But outwardly, I’m calm. Cool as a cucumber. It’s why I’m suited for this job.
“What’s your beef with him, anyway? You were never close to Bruno.”
“It’s about a girl,” I say, cocking the gun as I pull it. We’re approaching the warehouse and I don’t want to be caught unprepared.
Angelo’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t have time to ask more questions because a popping sound comes from the other side of the warehouse.
Angelo hefts the automatic in his hands and a yell and a thud let me know he’s hit his mark without me ever laying eyes on the man. Angelo is a sharp-shooter and that’s why I need him in my corner.
I’m better with my hands, but he’s a better shot, and we’ll make a good team.
Another guy comes around the corner, stupidly yelling and giving away his position, and it’s clear that the men with Marco are ex-wiseguys, or haven’t been wiseguys at all. And from the look of them, they’re too far into the drug life to ever climb out.
The one I shoot in the chest is skinny with barely any teeth, and he goes down easily with just the one shot.
Angelo and I have silencers, but since these men don’t, Marco will be on the move.
It takes me a moment to identify him because there’s a scattering of men like cockroaches when we kick down the warehouse door, but the glint of his gold watch tips me off. Marco’s sprinting like he’s running track, climbing out the back window of the warehouse, but I make it over there and grab his foot, pulling him back in.
He draws his gun but I punch him right in the nose and his aim goes wild, shooting up into the ceiling. Marco looks the worse for wear, having lost weight, looking dirty, and I wonder if he’s taken up drugs as well. Francesca wouldn’t like the look of him now.
Bullets are sounding all over the warehouse, but I ignore them.
I black out as I beat him, feeling his facial bones crunch under my knuckles, and when I fall over, I’m not sure why.
Angelo runs over to me, his face pale.
“Shit, Nico. You’re hit,” he says, and I look down. I don’t see any bullet hole, but my back feels like it’s on fire all of a sudden and something is trickling down my spine.
I look up at Angelo and then I black out.
29
AURORA
As soon as Nico leaves, I run upstairs to Francesca’s room, banging wildly on the door.
She comes to the door with her hair mussed and her eyes squinted since she hasn’t put in her contacts yet, glaring at me.
“It’s seven in the goddamn morning, Aurora,” she complains, but then she sees the look on my face and stills. “What happened?”
“Nico just left,” I babble. “He went after Marco.”
Her green eyes widen. “Oh no, he fucking didn’t,” she curses, walking past me and running almost right into Dante. “How could you let him leave?”
