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I grab the nearest weapon - a cheap lamp off a side table - and slam it across his back. He crashes to the floor, the wind knocked from his lungs. His gun spins across the room, just out of reach.
We both scramble wildly for it. I claw and kick viciously, terror and fury lending me strength. But the guard's meaty hand closes around my wrist before the weapon sails across the room.
Time seems to slow, each instant dragging out to an eternity. He pulls me up, both wrists clenched in one fist. I can barely move as the ding on the timer goes off.
A single shot explodes in the close confines of the apartment. The muzzle flash sears my vision white. For a split second, everything hangs suspended outside of time.
Then reality comes crashing back in a deafening rush. I scream Dad's name, certain that gunshot signals the end. But strong arms are suddenly around me, pulling me into a crushing embrace. William's familiar tobacco and spice scent envelops me, chasing away the acrid gun smoke. The weapon drops from his hands and clatters back to the floor.
"It's done, Clara. We have to move, now!" William's voice cuts through the pandemonium, steadying my scattered thoughts. Escape. We still have a chance.
The lifeless guard sprawls across the carpet, blood blooming like a gruesome flower from the perfect kill shot through his heart. We're alive, for now. But Roberto's other men will have heard the shot.
Heart hammering against my ribs, I turn to Dad. "Can you walk?"
He gives me a tight nod, though pain brackets his eyes. "I'll be fine, Clara. Let's just get the hell out of here."
I squeeze his shoulder, unable to voice my relief at having him alive and whole before me.
Creeping to the door, I crack it open, peering down the dingy hallway outside. At the end of the hall, the echo of gunfire and shouts grows louder.
"We have to go," Dad implores again, "Before Roberto returns."
I swallow hard and take his outstretched hand, stepping silently into the corridor. We only make it a few limping steps out of the apartment when one of Roberto's men appears around a corner up ahead, gun at the ready. He hesitates for just a second - enough time for William to push me aside as he angles himself in front of me.
The shot echoes down the hallway and my father collapses.
CHAPTER22
ANTONIO
The inky night sky overhead mirrors the roiling darkness within me as my convoy of sleek black vehicles prowls through the shadowy city streets. My hands clench into white-knuckled fists on my knees, the expensive Italian leather creaking beneath the strain. Raw fury simmers in my veins, barely contained beneath an icy veneer of control. Once word spread of Clara's abduction, I wasted no time gathering our forces and arming them to the teeth with enough firepower to start a small war. Which I fully intend to unleash upon the arrogant Ferraro family tonight.
No one threatens what is mine and lives.
I roll my neck, joints popping as pent up rage seeks a physical outlet. In the seat beside me, Lorenzo silently checks and rechecks the weapons arrayed around us, honing his signature knives to a lethal gleam. The well-oiled steel rasps musically as he draws each blade in turn across the sharpening stone. Each scrape sets my nerves further on edge. I want to roar my fury and charge the enemy on my own, but Lorenzo's methodical ritual reminds me there is a careful strategy at play here. Recklessness now could cost Clara's life, so I force tense muscles to uncoil and allow Lorenzo to guide the process. Across from me, hulking Rafael cracks his massive knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the tense silence. A feral grin pulls at his lips, baring teeth. Beside him Pietro studies a crude map of the apartment building's layout in his tablet, memorizing choke points and defensible positions. Giovanni sits tense as a coiled viper on my other side, fury blazing in his eyes despite his usual gentle temperament. He meets my gaze, determination burning beneath the surface.
"We'll get her back, Antonio. No matter what it takes, Clara will be safe again after tonight," he vows solemnly.
His steady conviction bolsters my fraying composure. We all silently acknowledge the gravity of what's at stake tonight. This will be an epic clash destined to become underworld legend, a culminating battle to determine which family will control the city's criminal empire. But more than status or power, tonight is about protecting our own. None can threaten the Ricci family's heart and live.
"We're two minutes out," Dante reports tersely from the driver's seat, ice blue eyes cold and merciless in the rear view mirror. My men in the following vehicles sit stone-faced, steely eyed and bristling with weapons. They understand the bloody work ahead and need no rousing speeches to lust for vengeance. When the Ricci family bleeds, we all bleed as one. And the Ferraros will pay dearly for daring to make Clara bleed.
In mere minutes, we arrive at the location, my soldiers spilling silently from the vehicles into pre-assigned positions around the apartment complex. Under the directed chaos, the night air hums with coiled violence, begging for release. My muscles thrum with the need to unleash it. We'd already sent scouts ahead to infiltrate and report on the Ferraro's defenses. They confirmed Clara and her father are being held in their apartment on an upper level, but resistance will be heavy. The element of surprise will only carry us so far against Roberto's fanatical followers.
Rafael peers around the corner, cursing under his breath as he turns back to us. "They weren't kidding. Ferraro's got way more guards than we thought posted around the building. At least ten, maybe more." He spits on the grimy asphalt. "Bastard's not playing around."
Panic bubbles up in my chest, but I force it down. Losing control now could cost us everything.
"Alright," I say at last, my voice low but resonating with authority. My brothers turn to me, awaiting instruction like trained wolves awaiting the signal to hunt. In times like these, the bonds of brotherhood and Mafia run deeper than blood. "The best route is the direct route. Let's head in."
I stride toward the shabby entrance flanked by my brothers, our footfalls muffled on grimy concrete. The cheap metal door gives way beneath one brutal kick, Lorenzo's precisely aimed pistol dropping the startled guard behind the counter in the same instant. Blood sprays in a wide arc across dingy faux wood paneling as we surge inside the dim lobby like a tide of vengeance, sweeping away all in our path.
More of Ferraro's soldiers burst from concealed positions around the trash littered space, reacting a crucial breath too slow. Their dying gasps echo off the grimy tiles as our bullets find their marks with lethal precision, aimed carefully to avoid ending their misery too quickly. Several attempt to draw blades only to be cut down in a hail of unrelenting gunfire. Screams of agony cut off abruptly, eyes going glassy and lifeless before crumpling bodies even hit the floor.
I narrowly avoid slipping on the spreading crimson pool beneath my feet, the cloying metallic tang of freshly spilled blood impossible to ignore. Still,l I do not stop, do not even slow my pace. The primal desperation to reach Clara drives out all distractions. Anything between us right now is merely an obstacle to remove by any means necessary. I vault over the heap of cooling bodies and charge onward, heedless of whatever mangled flesh or jagged bone threatens to turn my ankle.
The first clutch of defenders eliminated, we continue our relentless advance toward the stairwell, bullets pinging off metal railings in ineffective suppressing fire. Shouts of alarm ring out from the floors above, followed by pounding boots and the metallic grind of ammunition clips sliding home into chambers. The sounds only drive my heartbeat higher. Our assault has the chaotic desperation of a suicide charge, but surprise and fury lend us purpose. Failure cannot be an option when so much is at stake.
