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“Paulie, I’m the one you have an issue with,” I say, my words low and easy, like I don’t actually care. “Talk with me, not my men.”
Because, really, that’s what they are now. I’m in charge of this family, of these men. It’s my job to keep them safe, to keep this family safe.
“Delilah . . . ,” Dante starts, but then the gun is pointed to me and his words trail off, panic and fear seeping from him and into the room.
“I’m the one who took your spot, after all, right? I’m the one who showed your men your true colors, made them understand you’re not the right person to be Don.” I feel rather than see Dante take a small step closer to me.
“You fuckin whore—”
“That’s what happens, though, Paulie, when you fuck your men’s wives. When you deny them a life outside of just serving you. When you punish them for disagreeing with you. When you hit a woman who wanted to go over wedding plans with you. You showed who you were all on your own, Paulie. I didn’t do anything except help to pull it out of you.”
“This was all a fucking setup, you sick fuck! This was always your plan! Steal it all from me, fuck everyone over!”
“She didn’t steal anything. It was never yours,” Dante says, and I want to curse at him, watching Paulie move his focus from me to my husband, the barrel of the gun pointed at Dante’s chest now.
My blood runs cold.
“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, Paulie.”
“What does it even matter anymore?” He waves the gun about, pointing at different people in the room. “She’s a fuckin’ traitor, gathering shit to keep herself in Chanel and anyone who crosses her in fuckin’ prison,” he says when he looks at Teresa. “My men.” His eyes move toward Gian standing near the exit, to Dario who also came back at some point. Even Silvero, who was once most loyal to Carmine.
All of them, my mind now registers, are holding weapons, all pointed at Paulie.
I’m not sure when that happened, but it further proves my point. He laughs when he speaks, like it’s a joke. “My men all voted against me, following some puttana who gave them a little bit of attention. And now my fuckin’ men are threatening me, willing to take me down for trying to make this shit right.” He points the gun to where Jason stands, now also pointing a weapon at Paulie.
“And Carmine’s fuckin’ dead, killed by him.” He points the gun at Dante again and I feel sick.
But then it happens.
It moves back to me.
“But it all started with you. Maybe if you’re gone . . . ” His words trail off and the rest happens in excruciatingly slow detail.
You know how they say when a tragedy happens before your eyes, your mind slows it down?
Slows it down and remembers ever millisecond?
Yeah.
That’s what happens as I watch Paulie move, his eyes feral and crazy. His hands are shaking, the weapon moving with them, but that doesn’t really matter when there’s a gun pointed at you.
There is noise all around—Teresa yells something, my grandfather shouts, Marco’s deep voice bellows, but I can only hear one single thing.
Only one noise registers in my mind.
The sound of Dante breathing.
Or, I guess it’s something I don’t hear, because he stops.
Before he even moves, I know what his plan is.
“No!” I shout like some kind of movie cliché, and I don’t even know who I’m saying it to—Dante or Paulie or the universe at large.
Because right as Paulie’s finger presses the trigger, Dante moves, pushing me until he’s in the line of the bullet.
He falls to the floor.
FORTY-THREE
