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Bruno bolts toward his van, the false girl in his grip. That bastard is never getting away. Not on my watch.
I whip my gun up to fire at his tires but it’s already empty. Another thug charges at me at the same time. I sidestep, slamming my fist into his ribs. He folds, gasping, yet I don’t stop. A knee to his face sends him sprawling, nose shattered. His blood spatters on my shirt.
I finish off another one of them with a brutal smash of the car door to his skull. He crumples, twitching.
Lifting the walkie-talkie again, I order, “Finisci gli altri uomini(Make sure you finish off the rest of these men).” Then I jump into my car, tires screeching as I slam on the gas.
Bruno’s van swerves wildly ahead. I press harder, closing the distance between us. With a sudden jerk of the wheel, I ram into his side. The van derails and flips over, metal crunching loudly as it tumbles to the side of the road into the guardrail then a rough clearing.
I step out and walk toward his half-wrecked van, my entire body screaming from the pain in my side, but I can’t think of that now. Bruno staggers from the wreckage, his face twisted in agony.
He lunges at me first, and we crash to the ground, rolling in the dirt. His fist connects with my jaw, and a sharp explosion of pain tears through the lower part of my face. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
I swing back, driving my knuckles into his gut. He doubles over, reaching for my wounded side, and punches me. Agony flares through me, making my vision blurry. Gritting my teeth, I hammer my elbow into his face, breaking his nose. Blood sprays between us.
Bruno wrestles me onto my back, pressing a forearm to my throat. My lungs scream for air as I struggle to breathe beneath him. Reaching around me for anything to fight back, my fingers close around a fistful of dirt and I hurl it into his eyes. He roars, momentarily blinded.
I throw his weight off, flipping him onto his stomach. My fists pound into his back and his neck.
He coughs, spitting blood, trying to crawl away. I flip him over again, grab his collar, yank him up, and slam my forehead into his face. His body goes slack for a second. I drive my knee into his ribs, hearing them crack beneath the force.
Bruno collapses, chest heaving, blood running down his face. I yank his gun from his waistband and level it at his head. My breathing is ragged, my body trembling from exhaustion, pain, and fury.
Bruno coughs, wheezing. “If my men back home don’t hear from me in the next ten minutes, they’ll kill both Karl Abruzzi and Mallory.”
My jaw tightens, and this time, I deliver the punch to his gut. “Karl Abruzzi?”
Bruno shrugs, licking the blood from his lips. “Oh, you don’t know?” He says with a smirk, “The Deputy Chief’s been sniffing around, trying to arrest our whole family. We needed to take him out.”
Having heard enough, I punch him in his jaw again, sending him crashing back to the floor. He scrambles, hands slipping in his own blood.
“I swear, the girl will die if you keep this up, Donatelli. You let me leave alive, and she gets to return to your buddy, Cortez.”
My fingers close around the trigger and aim at his leg, nicking his calf. He roars in pain.
“You thieving bastard!” I reach to the ground and seize him by the hair, jerking his head back as I press my gun against his mouth. His eyes flicker with something, pain… fear, maybe both. He gurgles out, “This isn’t the end. He’s coming for you, Donatelli. He…”
I force the barrel past his lips and pull the trigger.
His head snaps back, blood and brain matter painting the ground beneath him.
My nostrils seep in the cold evening air, teeth gritting as I make my way back to my car. Persistent dripping makes me turn towards Bruno’s car, then I remember. The girl.
I hobble over, throwing the door to the front passenger seat open. She’s upside down, pressed to the seat by an airbag, blood dripping from the side of her head.
“Come in,Chi c’è(who’s there)?” I say through the walkie-talkie.
“Capo, I’m here,” one of my men responds.
“I need immediate backup. Get a car and meet me along the road. Hurry!”
The lady is limp, but there’s a weak pulse.
In five minutes, one of my men arrives, racing down the street in a pickup van.
“Take her to the family clinic. She was in an accident.”
He grabs her from my hands without further questioning while I walk back toward my car, my side soaked in blood and dirt.