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27

ADRIANO

“ T ake off that bag and put on another, cause we’re gettin’ nasty tonight!” Stefano hollers, opening the trunk of the car as two sets of hands pull me out of the vehicle.

“Dammit, Stef.” I kick at him and the sly fucker dodges away.

“Haha! You really think I was gonna pass up a chance to get you like this? It’s your bachelor party, stronzo !” The five of them all laugh, exchanging high fives and fist bumps.

“Eh, vaffanculo ,” I growl, shaking off the stiffness of their handling and the ride over here.

Here, of course, being Dom’s favorite little exclusive shithole nightclub. The Diamond Lounge.

“Come on, let’s get you drunk, get you high, and get you fucking laid!”

Pumping my fist sarcastically, I get shouldered along in the press, up the stairs, past the block-long line of would-be partiers.

“Mr. Diamante, congratulations,” the bouncer cheers as we pass, slapping me on the back.

“Thanks, Bishop.” Hard to believe he still works here after Dom overhauled the place.

Inside, the thump of the bass and the flash of the lights muffle everything else, including my thoughts, racing for a way out of this. It’s the last place I want to be tonight.

We were supposed to be together, Gloria and I.

One last chance for a moment of peace before the ceremony. Because who knows how it’s going to end.

We cut straight through the dance floor, bodies bumping against us as Stefano’s meatheads clear a path toward the VIP area. Then through the gathering of lower-level celebs and suck-ups lounging on the white couches, every shimmering glass surface loaded up with Brignac, Cognac, Dom Perignon, and every other top-end spirit imaginable. All garnished with silver trays of coke, and goblets of shiny candy, pills in every color for every taste.

Stefano grabs a handful as he passes, greeting a few regulars, a couple of pro-ballers.

It’s a street soldier like Stef’s wet dream in here.

But we’re not staying.

After a few shots, two out five I manage to toss over my shoulder, we ascend again, through the center of the circular mezzanine up a winding staircase with transparent walls. All the way up to the balcony, where Dom likes to hold court on the weekends.

And there, sitting in the middle of a mass of half-naked women, is Dom, grinning like a fucking wolf.

“Adriano! My son! Congratu-fucking-lations!”

Instantly I’m inundated in tits and ass, smiling fake blondes and ebony beauties vying for a moment with me, offering me everything from dances to sex in the back room. I weather it, working my way back toward the railing, feeling my anxiety skyrocket in the tight confines of their attempted groping.

“I appreciate it, maybe later,” I finally pull free, gasping for a breath that isn’t choked with Dior and Guerlain.

Looking down over the dance floor gives me a moment before another round of well-wishers assaults me, every one of them offering me shots, drugs, girls. Soon, I manage to snag a beer from a passing waiter, holding onto it and waving it every time they try to get me to slam back another with them.

An hour slips by.

Then two.

I almost wish I could enjoy it. Let myself loose a little and dance.

If my brothers were here, if they had thrown this party for me as it should be, I would love a night out. The four of us wrecked shop all through Manhattan back in the day. And Prague, Milan, Ibiza.

It was our way of unwinding. But it was us.

Not a bunch of strangers invited by my greatest enemy and boss to an event that I can’t escape.

Especially since Dom is watching me, every time I turn around. He’s grinning. Toasting me with his martini. Hugging me like we’re the best of friends every time we pass.

And boy is he in rare form.

It’s a juggling act, a magician’s act even, trying to avoid the dozens of shots he thrusts on me. I pass some off, laughing and making a game of getting all of his bimbos drunk, a gift from the groom. Others I spit back into my beer bottle as I “chase” the shots with a swig.

And I don’t dare sit down.

Each time I try, I wind up with one or more asses planted in my lap, skirts so short that their lack of underwear is readily apparent. Ciro would be all over this.

Shit, I would have been a few years ago.

Except that I would have vetted and checked every one of them before they got near Alessandro, Ciro, or Ero. Or I wouldn’t have had to, because we could trust the people running our clubs to keep out the riffraff.

It’s like a parade of the city’s top-class trash, decked out in their finest.

With Dom at the center of all of the attention.

Because this party is certainly not for me. That’s just an excuse. This party is for the father of the bride, the proud Don whose daughter is marrying his consigliere.

It’s a joke.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

“Look at you, turning down all this snatch. I guess I chose well, for my girl.” Dom throws an arm around my shoulders, just shy of a headlock.

“I want to be a good husband.”

“And a good father too, huh?” he slurs, thwacking me on the back.

At that I keep my mouth shut, every fiber of my being wanting to grab him and toss him off the balcony.

Not here. Not now.

Because in every corner of this place there are guys with guns, all of them watching for a flicker of a threat on Dom’s life. I should’ve been more attentive to his guard. Gotten guys I could trust, or buy.

Another failing on my part, outsmarted by Dom’s erratic chess moves.

“Gotta piss. Be right back,” I excuse myself, extricating my neck from his grip.

I was saving that move for when I really needed to get out.

And no sooner do I reach the bathroom hallway than my phone rings, an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Adri! Thank God!”

“Gloria?! What’s wrong?—”

She rambles an almost unintelligible string of events, frantic, her voice shaking.

“Where are you?” I interrupt, sprinting for the back entrance, through the kitchen, the storeroom.

“I-I don’t know. It’s somewhere near docks. Near water. Sandra’s hurt. She’s not waking up.”

“Can you find your phone, turn on your location?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then I’m coming.”

“Stay on the line with me?”

“I’m right here.”

I’ve never driven so fast, so precisely, in my entire life.

Once I have the ping of her phone, there’s nothing but asphalt and the roar of the BMW M3 I borrowed from the valet parking. At this hour the traffic is manageable getting off the island.

And the two cops I pass don’t even bother.

Small miracles.

When I reach the industrial area, it gets a little tricky, trying to find a way through the fences, gates, and identical buildings lining the single lane roads winding back toward the water. My pulse is through the roof by the time I spot the party bus parked out past a wall of shipping containers, boxed in on all sides.

A perfect hit spot.

Water disposal only a few dozen yards away.

I’m out of the car and running, leaving the car on.

“Gloria!” I bark, my gun out and slowing to a controlled approach, ready for anything.

“Here.” She’s inside, on the floor, Sandra’s head on her lap.

“Is she breathing?”

“Yes. She seems stable. Just unconscious.”

“Who did this?!” I growl, ready to kill.

Gloria looks pale, swallowing once and pointing past me into the dark. Based on the look on her face, I can deduce the state of the assailant, but I have to check.

The massive, dark shape on the ground is still, laying face down.

Well.

What’s left of its face.

“Come on, let me get her up. Can you walk?”

“Yes. Just bruised.” Gloria takes my hand staggering to her feet. “Can we take her to a hospital?”

“Absolutely. You need to get checked out too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Gloria,” I say delicately, raising her chin. Her eyes meet mine, her jaw clenched.

“Adri, I thought we were going to die?—”

And she’s throwing her arms around my neck, her body crushed to my chest as I lift her from the ground. Still, she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t fall apart.

“Let’s get Sandra some help.”

Gloria stays as close as she can walking back to the car, assisting me as I squeeze Sandra into the back of the two-door behind the front seat. Should’ve picked a bigger car.

At least we’ll be able to get to the hospital quickly.

Or so I think.

As soon as we’re strapped in, I hear the roar of an engine, several, echo through the metal crates, coming from several directions. Of course we’re not out of the woods yet.

Gunning the engine, I resist peeling out, keeping the lights off as I creep out onto one of the maze-like roads, listening with my window open.

“Any idea who tried to kill you?” I ask, side-eying Gloria.

“He said he was sent by Vito.”

“Wow. Didn’t know the old bastard had it in him.”

He’s always thrown his lot in with the sure-shot winner, but straight up revenge?

Dom sure has a way of bringing out the worst in people.

Another turn, another dark alley. More echoes of the cars searching on all sides. The next left should see us out of the maze and back onto an actual street…

As soon as I take the corner, my instincts kick into overdrive, gunning the supercar and maneuvering into a zigzag, dodging both of the blacked-out Mercedes that try to cut us off.

In a few seconds we’re on open road, the entire area conspicuously vacant.

Gift horses and mouths.

But I can’t let my guard down for a second.

More than likely, whoever is chasing us planned this. And the three cars that I’m currently outrunning may just be the contingency plan for the failed hit.

Stomping the gas, I gain on them even more, flying through another neighborhood as I clear 100 mph.

Gloria is locking up, her breathing rapid. She’s going to hyperventilate.

“You think that big fucker was supposed to report in when the job was done?” I ask, trying to distract her.

“I—uh, maybe. Or they might be someone else who wants a piece of me, or you, or Dom.”

“Man, I remember when everybody in town liked us. Or at least feared us too much to try anything.” I grin at her, taking my hand off the wheel long enough to grab her hand, draw it to my lips, and kiss it.

“Or it’s Dom’s guys. Maybe he sent someone to follow you?” She’s blinking, breathing, regaining her composure.

The first bullets wiz past the car as I slow to take a tight corner.

“Or not,” I snap, throwing the car into gear. “Don’t think he’d want you dead with his grandchild on board.

“Either way, maybe we should lose them?”

“That…” I spin the wheel, clenching as the G’s press me into my seat, “is a great idea, my love!”

“Smart-ass,” Gloria grunts, clutching the handle.

Taking another hard right, I double back, keeping our trajectory aimed into the middle of the industrial zone. Less traffic. Less chances of collateral or cops.

Luring the first car back onto our trail only requires circling around, squealing my tires behind him and peeling off in the opposite direction. He’s on us in a flash, gaining fast enough to tap my rear bumper.

“Tailgating testa di cazzo !” I swerve, pretending to lose a bit of control as he taps us again. “Here’s a gate for ya!”

I take the left at an angle, hoping our car is blocking his vision enough to mask the low, iron fence running along an old factory lot, missing the gate posts of the entryway by a fraction of an inch and gunning it alongside the fence. A satisfying smash explodes behind us, followed by screeching metal.

“One down!” Gloria whoops, ducking a second later as a gunshot pops to our left.

The other two cars cross out in front of me, trying to X me out.

“Brace!” I yell, right before I stomp the gas, zipping right in between the cars before they can cross again, way too close for comfort.

The result is perfection.

Screaming brakes echo through the night as the rear car clips the back of the leader, spinning him out, sending the backup car careening into the median divider. In my rear view, I catch the tumble, the front wheel jumping, catching the rail guard and flipping the car into a sparking pinwheel.

No sooner does the car come to rest, smoke obscuring my view, than the lead car roars through the lamplit haze, arms out the windows, guns blazing. A pitter patter of bullets on asphalt precedes the ping-ping of two rounds hitting the Beamer, sending my already pounding pulse into a rib thumping rhythm.

“Fuck. We need cover!” I growl, wishing for the life of me that Ciro or Ero were with us. Either one of them could put the driver down with a single shot.

“Give me your gun.” Gloria forces out, reaching out one shaking hand.

“Not that I don’t trust you, but…”

“You either do at this point or you don’t,” she giggles a little hysterically, taking a deep breath.

“Aim for the tires,” I mutter through clenched teeth, passing her my Glock.

Gloria rolls down her window, pausing and closing her eyes for a second. On her next exhale she flicks the safety, ratcheting back the slide and cupping her main hand.

In one fluid motion she twists, ducking out the window, firing off three rounds before dropping back inside. The response is instantaneous, rounds whirring by us, right where her head was.

Another breath and she opens the door, leaning low and firing with one hand.

“Corner!” I shout, and she’s back in, catching her breath. “Where the fuck did you learn to shoot like that?”

“The one and only thing Claude ever did was teach me how to defend myself against attackers and bullies. Took me shooting for two years before my mom found out and shut it down.”

“Color me impressed. You think you can make a trick shot if I give you an opening?”

“I’m game!” Her voice is shaky but determined.

Normally I would do this with Ciro, pointing him at the other guys, let him take the heat too. But I won’t compromise Gloria’s side of the car.

Veering to the left side of the road, I kick my door open at just the right time, clipping a streetlamp and flinching away as the door rips off, clattering behind us and making our pursuers swerve dangerously.

The end of the road is fast approaching, and I have to make the turn soon if we’re going to make the only alleyway out of the cul-de-sac. I look to Gloria, then to my open door and back.

She nods once.

Inhale.

Brake.

Spin the wheel. Into the turn.

Gloria lunges over my lap laying out flat, her gaze never faltering from her target.

Six rounds. Deafening.

The black bar whips to the right on a flat tire, clipping the curb and ramming right into a brick wall.

But one of theirs hit my tire too, lurching the car and causing me to follow through the spin, stalling out. Riding out the momentum, I ease us to a stop, unbuckling my belt and bolting from the car, my backup piece in my hands.

I clear the wreck, checking for the driver, the gunman.

Both dead.

“Adriano!” Gloria screams behind me, but I turn too late. Another attacker snuck around the car, darting out to rush me. I drop back, falling, waiting for the shot?—

Bang.