Page 41 of Devil’s Gambit

"Dante?" He blinks hard. "Fuck me. This is embarrassing. Here I am bleeding out in literal bullshit, and you show up looking like you lost a fight with a swamp."

"You're alive." I drop to my knees beside him, hands hovering, afraid to touch and make it worse. "Paulie said—the bodies—I thought?—"

"Yeah, well, Paulie's a lying sack of shit on top of being a psycho." He shifts, winces, and presses harder on the wound. "Fuck, this hurts. You know what? I take back every time I said getting shot looked cool in movies."

"We need to get you to a hospital?—"

"Sure, let me walk it off. Maybe do a little jog to warm up first." He coughs, blood speckling his lips. "Dante, I got shot in the fucking stomach. We both know what that means. Seen enough guys go out this way. Slow, painful, and definitely no coming back from it."

"Shut the fuck?—"

"Why not? It's true." He leans his head back, and I can see how pale he is, how much blood he's already lost. "But you know what? I'm okay with it."

"How can you be okay with dying?"

"Because I lived, brother." His eyes find mine, clearer now despite the pain.

"I drank wine every day. I had a different beautiful woman in my bed every night, even if I had to pay them.

I never had to work a real job, never had to worry about money, never had to be anything other than what I was—a hedonistic bastard with good taste.

A son of a bitch, took a few lives, definitely going to hell. No regrets."

"Stop being dramatic, asshole. That's not a life?—"

"It was my life. And I loved every minute of it." He grins through the blood. "Come on, admit it. You're jealous. While you were brooding over territory disputes and FBI surveillance, I was busy doing body shots off models who didn’t even know my name."

"You're an idiot."

"Your idiot." His expression softens. "And I'm sorry. About Bella. I know how much she meant to you."

The sound of her name makes everything in me seize up again. "She's gone. Everything's gone. The FBI has it all—the casino, the properties, the accounts. Father's empire is ash."

"Yeah, well, when you've got a bullet in your gut, property seizure seems less important." He tries to laugh, but it turns into another bloody cough. "We should've gotten out years ago."

"We still can." The words tumble out, desperate, absurd. "Northern Italy, near the Alps. Those blonde women you like. We'll disappear, get new names. You can finally be Alarico like you wanted."

"Alarico." He smiles at that. "I did love that name. Sounds like someone who'd seduce your wife and steal your wine."

"We'll get a vineyard. Make our own wine. You can seduce all the wives you want."

"Dante, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Fresh start. No more violence, no more FBI, just?—"

"I'm dying, you moron." His hand finds mine, his grip weak but there. "I've got a bullet in my gut, I'm bleeding out in shit, and your wife?—"

My entire body goes rigid.

"Your wife isn't dead, Dante."

The world tilts. Stops. Restarts. I grab his shoulders, too hard because he groans.

"What did you say?"

"Jesus, easy! I'm dying here, not deaf." He winces, but his eyes stay locked on mine. "Bella's alive. That psycho Domenico showed up, shot Hendrik, shot me, and handed her over to Sal like a fucking party favor."

"But Paulie said—the bodies?—"

"Were you not listening when I called him a lying sack of shit? The bodies are Hendrik and one of Domenico's guards. Short guy with a face like someone stepped on it."

I'm on my feet without remembering standing. The barn spins slightly.

"She's alive." The words don't feel real. "Bella's alive."

"Yeah, and she's with Sal, so you might want to stop having your emotional breakdown and go be the fucking hero for once."

"I need to get you help first?—"

"Fuck you." His voice is weaker now, but still pure Marco. "I already lived my beautiful, hedonistic life. Got everything I wanted except maybe twins but can't have everything. Let me die in peace in a barn like a fucking cowboy."

"You're not fucking dying?—"

"Dante." He grabs my wrist with surprising strength. "Go. Save. Your. Wife. That's an order from your big brother."

"You're only older by eleven months?—"

"Still counts. Now get out of here before I bleed to death while you're being sentimental."

I'm already running, sliding through mud and screaming into the rain. "RODRIGUEZ! STOP THE CARS!"

Brake lights flash red through the downpour. Rodriguez gets out and starts jogging back.

"She's alive!" The words tear from my throat. "Bella's alive! Sal has her!"

Even through the rain, I see his shock, then understanding.

"Marco's in the barn, gut shot, bleeding bad. Get anyone with medical training. Get them now!"

"Boss—"

"And burn everything Sal owns. Every hotel, every warehouse, every fucking hot dog cart. Smoke him out like the cockroach he is."

Rodriguez looks at me—muddy, bloody, wild-eyed, probably looking completely insane. But he nods. "On it, boss."

"And find Domenico. That old bastard orchestrated this."

"The Commission won't like?—"

"The Commission can fuck themselves with their own traditions." I'm already moving toward the cars. "They wanted a war? They're getting one."

Relief floods through me so intensely that my knees almost buckle. She's alive. Breathing. Existing in the same world, under the same sky.

With Sal, which means she's in danger. But alive.

I'll burn his world to ash to get her back. Make Domenico choke on his own clever plans.

But first, I'll see her face again. Even if she hates me. Even if she never forgives me.

She's alive.

That's all that matters.

That's everything.

And maybe, just maybe, when I see her again, I'll finally be able to cry.