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CHAPTER51
LEO
Julian can barely standas we make our way through a maze of shipping containers, and my legs tremble beneath me as I haul him, his weight pressing against my aching side.
He’s in a bad way. I am, too, but he’s worse.
It makes me sick to think howmuchworse it must be for him. Getting beaten, tortured, while I sat around getting drunk and trying to persuade myself he was fine.
Julian stumbles, almost collapses, but I keep him upright. “Stay with me,” I grunt. He’s so weak, barely clinging to consciousness as we inch away. “We’re going to make it out of here, I promise.”
But I’m not even sure where to take him. AJ and the crew will have vehicles here, but God knows where they parked, and—
Julian goes limp, and I have to let him gently down to the ground, cradling his head in my lap. I pull out my phone with shaking hands—those fucknuts didn’t even bother to take it out of my back pocket, and it’s smashed up, but working still—and I dial Sandro’s number.
“Well?” Sandro answers, his voice tense. “What news?”
“Found him.” Sandro says something in Italian that I don’t quite catch; it sounds like a prayer. “But we’re hurt. Bad. Need help.” It’s painful to ask, but much more painful not to.
“Where are you?”
“The port.” This used to be a friendly zone for me. Now I’m just praying we get out of here alive.
After a brief silence, Sandro’s voice comes back. “Jack is close by. He’ll be there soon. Can you make it to the northern lot?”
I blow out a puff of air. I’ll have to carry Julian, and the guy is out cold, heavy as a bag of concrete. But staying here isn’t an option. “I’ll be there.”
“Ten minutes,” Sandro says, and then adds, “I owe you for this. I will not forget your assistance to the Castellani Family.”
“Just tell your hitman to hurry.”
The line goes dead, and I look down at Julian, his pale face streaked with blood.
When Jacopo arrives, he may well kill us both. That’s his job, after all. But I have no one else to turn to. So I’ll have to trust these Castellani assholes.
I pull Julian into my arms, heft him up over my shoulder, and grit my teeth against the pain. I need to move faster than I’m moving now, and as I make my way north, I focus on him, on Julian, on getting him out of here alive.
Iwon’tlet him die. Not here. Not like this.
Not long after I arrive in the parking lot, I hear a car approaching. When I see it, I think it’s someone else—this isn’t Jacopo’s usual car, that beat-up Pinto. But he waves from the shiny blue convertible and brakes hard. “Jesus,” he mutters as he takes in our battered appearances.
“Help me get him in,” I snap, as I slump against the side of the car.
Together, we maneuver Julian into the back seat, with me sliding in beside him to keep him steady. Just as Jacopo leans over him to strap him in, Julian’s eyes flutter open, and he hits out weakly.
“Hey, it’s me,” Jacopo says, catching the hand.
Julian squints at Jacopo, confusion clouding his gaze. “What are you doing here?” he rasps, his voice barely audible.
“We’re friends, Julian,” Jacopo replies softly, fastening the seatbelt. “Friends have each other’s backs, right?”
A faint smile touches Julian’s lips before he loses consciousness again. My heart clenches in my chest, but I force myself to focus.
Jacopo hands me a gun without a word. If any motherfuckers try to stop us leaving, they’re going to eat lead.
“Where are we going?” I ask, when we’re finally away from the port and heading back to LA proper. Jacopo’s finally put the top up, but I kind of miss the way the wind shoved my head around before he did. It was a reminder that I’m still alive.
That Julian is still alive, too.
