Return to the Mob (Detroit Mafia Romance Book 6)

by Tami Lund

  He stopped short of the door and then slowly inched forward to look outside. Tigran lay on the sidewalk, moaning and clutching his side. Marco could see a dark stain blooming under his suitcoat. That bullet could have hit a kidney or the man’s bladder, possibly an artery.

  He needed help.

  “Cover me,” Marco yelled to no one in particular, but he sensed more than saw someone step up and aim their gun out the door, so at least he’d been heard.

  He crouched and ran.

  Gunfire exploded, and he zigzagged, trying to make himself a difficult to hit moving target. More gunfire erupted from behind him. He was running through a wide open area in the middle of a fucking shoot-out. He might as well be back in a damn warzone.

  As soon as he reached Tigran, he looped his arms underneath the guy’s shoulders and began the arduous task of dragging him back into the restaurant. Yeah, the place was on fire, but it was a hell of a lot safer inside than out here at the moment.

  He was a few steps away from the entrance; someone grabbed him and jerked him inside. Two other guys snagged Tigran, dragging him over the threshold and then slamming the door.

  The place was filled with smoke, despite the sprinklers raining water down on them, soaking everyone to the skin.

  “Where the fuck are the extinguishers?” he bellowed, swiping his wet hair out of his face.

  “Emptied,” Hillary said, standing at his elbow. What the hell was she doing so close?

  He glanced at the closed door, then whipped his head back around to stare at her. “Did you—did you just drag me inside?”

  She shrugged and blushed, like she was embarrassed over him noticing that she had the strength to drag two hundred pounds of muscular human being out of harm’s way.

  Jesus, that was hot.

  No, wait; it was hot as fuck in this building.

  Hillary thrust a cloth napkin at him. She had one held to her face, covering her nose. Her hair was plastered to her head, and water streamed down her face, mingling with her mascara and making her look like she was crying black tears.

  Logically, he knew she wasn’t literally crying, but that didn’t matter; the idea of tears streaming down her face tore at his heart. When they got out of this mess, he would make it his life’s mission to ensure she was happy.

  “Whatever was in that bottle, as soon as the sprinklers went off, it started spreading,” she said, swiping at the wetness under her eyes.

  “Shit.” On top of everything else, his parents’ legacy was going up in smoke. “Has anyone called 9-1-1?”

  “Yes,” Hillary said. “Come on, everyone else went out the kitchen door. The first couple people were shot at, but then your uncle sprayed the parking lot with gunfire, and whoever was out there apparently took off.”

  He followed her, covering his nose and mouth with the napkin, marveling at the difference in the woman he’d met three years ago, who had been afraid of her own shadow, and the one now, leading him to safety and discussing gunfire as if it were a conversation about ice cream flavors.

  Every new thing he discovered about her made her hotter, in his eyes.

  At the swinging door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder at the long row of tables they’d shoved together for the impromptu meeting. It was engulfed in flames already. More glass shattered, and he ducked. Had another Molotov cocktail had been added to the first? But no, it was only a window bursting from the intense heat.

  If the fire department didn’t get here in a hurry, the restaurant was going to be a total loss.

  Shaking his head, he followed Hillary into the kitchen at the same time that Jo burst through the back door.

  With a gun in her hand.

  “Where’s Marco?” she yelled, her gaze sweeping the room.

  “Right here,” he called out, and he did not miss the look of relief on her face when her gaze landed on him.

  Wait. Why the hell did she have a gun?

  “All occupants alive. I’m going after him,” she said, pressing something in her ear as she spoke.

  She was doing what?

  And then she ran back out the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  If this experience got any weirder, it would be a TV show.

  The Twilight Zone.

  Seriously, what in the world was going on? Why was Jo here? And with a gun? And she was talking into an earpiece like she was James Bond or something.

  Holy crap, was she not who she claimed to be? Was she undercover?

  As quickly as she’d popped inside, Jo was gone again, and then Marco was running past and, holy shit, he wasn’t seriously—

  He ran out the door after her.

  Hillary rushed headlong toward the kitchen entrance, but someone wrapped their arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Frankie said, holding her just high enough that she could not touch the ground. “Marco has dealt with a lot of shit in his life, but losing you might just send him over the edge.”

  Yeah, right. “I need to go after him,” Hillary shouted. “Make sure he’s okay.”

  “He went to do his job. Well, the job he did when he was a SEAL. And you are coming with me, to the EMTs, which is the safest place you can be right now.”

  A crashing sound came from the front of the building, momentarily distracting her. “Is everyone else outside?”

  “Yeah. Come on, let’s get the hell out there ourselves, before this place falls down around us.” Frankie placed her on her feet. “Stay close to me.” He thrust his hand into his pocket, where she knew he was holding his gun.

  There was no more gunfire. And Marco and Jo were nowhere to be seen, either. Frankie led her to an EMT vehicle at the far end of the parking lot. Tigran and another man were already strapped onto gurneys, medical personnel hovering over them. EMTs were checking everyone for injuries, passing out oxygen masks for anyone who needed them.

  Where was Marco?

  Smoke billowed from the building, thick and black. Firefighters in bulky, dirty yellow coats and helmets were hustling everywhere. A white spray was spewing from a couple hoses, coating everything and, hopefully, extinguishing the fire.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

  Julia.

  She answered, turning away from Frankie and moving to a quieter location to talk.

  “What’s going on?” Julia asked as soon as she connected the call. “Are you okay? Where’s Marco?”

  The poor kid was clearly panicked. She obviously knew what was going on. Hillary spotted a local news van on the other side of the emergency vehicle. That explained it.

  There was no way in hell Hillary was going to tell Julia she had no idea where Marco was. “We’re fine,” she assured her. “The restaurant caught fire, but everyone got out.”

  “Oh thank God,” Julia said. “Aunt Dee says to tell Uncle Frankie to call her as soon as he can.”

  “He’s right here, and I’ll tell him.”

  “Is it bad?” She whispered the words.

  Hillary glanced at the smoking, charred building and then turned to face the cluster of arborvitae bushes that concealed the fence behind the restaurant.

  Movement caught her eye. Red.

  Jo had been wearing a red shirt when she’d burst into the kitchen, searching for Marco.

  “Listen, Julia, I have to go. We’ll check in as soon as things settle down.”

  “Okay. I love you, Hill.”

  She was almost distracted by the unexpected endearment. Almost.

  Except that Jo was skulking one way while someone else was sneaking up on her from behind, and no one seemed to notice except Hillary.

  She slipped the phone back into her pocket and moved closer to keep an eye on whoever was moving through the brush.

  Jo straightened, stretching to look over a half wall, and suddenly, there was a gun, aimed at her back.

  “Jo!” Hillary shouted.

  Jo dropped into
a crouch. The person holding the gun swung it around to face Hillary, squeezing off a shot.

  She was in the middle of a wide-open parking lot. All she could do was duck and throw her arms over her head.

  Pain exploded in her leg, and she glanced down to see a dark spot spreading over the denim covering her outer thigh. Holy shit, was that blood?

  Had she been shot?

  Her leg wobbled and she collapsed, glancing up to make sure Jo was safe.

  Suddenly, whoever had shot her was tackled from behind and slammed face first into the brick half wall separating the restaurant’s parking lot from the neighborhood behind it.

  The attacker turned slightly.

  Marco!

  She was so relieved to see him, to have visual proof he was okay, that she closed her eyes.

  And heard a click, right next to her ear.

  Son of a bitch, not again.

  ***

  Marco slammed the guy’s head into the brick wall again. “Don’t. Ever. Shoot. At. My—”

  His what? What the hell was Hillary? He knew what he wanted her to be, but he was pretty sure that, given her life was in danger yet again, whatever he wanted didn’t matter.

  She would be through with him, would be on the next flight out of town just as soon as she could summon an Uber to take her to the airport.

  He dropped the guy he’d been holding onto, who was unconscious anyway, and scanned the area, checking to ensure Jo was okay and, more importantly, that Hillary was.

  She wasn’t.

  Holy Christ, Davit had her.

  Fucking Davit was holding a gun to Hillary’s head.

  Davit grabbed her arm and lifted her to her feet, and Hillary winced as she tried to stand. Marco caught sight of a large dark spot on her thigh.

  Had this motherfucker actually shot her? He kicked the guy lying at his feet.

  With one arm wrapped around Hillary’s shoulders and the other hand holding the gun to her head, Davit scanned the area.

  Marco did the same, taking in all the inhabitants. Most of them were far enough away, preoccupied with the fire, or being treated by EMS. They didn’t appear to even realize what was going down.

  If he made himself known to Davit, the man would kill him. Wouldn’t even hesitate.

  But Marco didn’t know if Davit would actually kill Hillary.

  Which meant Marco could keep himself concealed and try to skirt around, sneak up behind Davit and disarm him.

  Except he’d be risking Hillary’s life.

  Would his life choices ever get easier?

  Because, honestly, there wasn’t even a choice here. He would sacrifice himself for Hillary. There was no question.

  Julia would be okay. Dee would take her under her wing and would fight off Patricia. There was a very real chance Patricia would win that battle if it went to court, given Frankie’s prison time and his history in the mob, but Marco had to hold out hope right now. Hope that Julia and Hillary would both be okay was all he had left.

  Marco stepped out from behind the bushes.

  Davit turned toward him and moved the gun away from Hillary’s head.

  “Freeze!”

  With his arm still around Hillary’s shoulders, Davit swung around toward Jo, her own gun aimed at him.

  He swung back to face Marco, then darted a glance at Jo.

  Suddenly, Hillary elbowed him in the ribs, grabbed his arm and, holy shit, she flipped him over her shoulder, slamming him down onto his back. He lost his grip on the gun, which went skittering several feet away.

  Marco burst into a run as Hillary’s leg gave out and she sank to the ground next to Davit.

  Marco reached her at the same time as Jo, and while he scooped Hillary into his arms, Jo busied herself with cuffing Davit and speaking into her earpiece, barely sparing Marco a glance.

  “Where the hell did you learn to do that?” he asked as he carried Hillary toward the EMS vehicle.

  “Are you kidding? My dad’s a cop. Of course I learned self-defense.”

  Marco shook his head and chuckled.

  Of course.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Turned out, gunshot wounds hurt, no matter how superficial they were.

  That’s what the doctor said while stitching Hillary up. “It’s a superficial wound. No big deal.”

  It certainly hurt like it was a big deal.

  Being questioned by the cops wasn’t any fun either. In fact, it was downright exhausting.

  It didn’t help that she hadn’t been allowed to see anyone until after they were each questioned individually, either.

  She really wanted to see Julia. Even though the young girl had been kept well away from any danger, Hillary wouldn’t be satisfied until she laid eyes on her and saw for herself that Davit hadn’t gotten to her.

  And, yes, she wanted to see Marco too. They had a lot to talk about. Namely, whether he still wanted her to stick around to help him fight for custody. But more importantly, she was worried about his mental and emotional health.

  The restaurant, she’d learned from the cop who questioned her, was an almost total loss. The kitchen had been saved, other than water damage from the sprinklers, but the rest of it was destroyed.

  His parents’ legacy, gone, and so soon after their deaths.

  Finally, she was left alone, and she could leave the room. That’s when she realized how badly her leg hurt.

  The door opened, and Jo hurried over as Hillary let go of the bed railing and reached for the chair.

  “Maybe you should take it easy for a bit,” Jo suggested, guiding her back to the bed. “Besides the leg, you’re probably shock-y.”

  “Doctor said I was fine,” Hillary said petulantly, but she plopped down on the bed anyway. She may not be in shock, but she was tired.

  “Where’s Marco?” she asked.

  “He’s right down the hall, chomping at the bit to see you.”

  “Really?” Oops, she hadn’t meant for that to sound so hopeful.

  Jo rolled her eyes. “The two of you are a piece of work, you know that? You really do deserve each other.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She didn’t give Jo a chance to answer. “What’s up with you anyway? You’re obviously not a restaurant manager.”

  “I used to be. Before I joined the FBI.”

  “You’re with the FBI?” Hillary was pretty sure her lower jaw had fallen to her lap.

  Jo nodded. “Got assigned to this case three years ago.”

  “What case is that? Or can’t you talk about it?”

  “I can’t say much, but I can tell you it involved drugs and a couple of unsolved murders.”

  “Marco?” Hillary said on a gasp.

  Jo snorted. “Seriously? You really think Marco is capable of something like that?”

  Probably shouldn’t tell the FBI agent that Marco had killed a man three years ago and had had every intention of killing Davit too.

  “Not Marco,” Jo said. “Davit.”

  “Oh, right.” That made much more sense. “Wait. Why were you working at Marco’s parents’ restaurant if you were trying to capture Davit?”

  “I knew about Shannon Williams’s disappearance and his vendetta against Marco. When Marco started working at the restaurant, I figured getting a job there would allow me to keep an eye on him and also be there when Davit finally got around to making his move. Unfortunately, I hadn’t anticipated he’d go after the parents. They were really great people. It sucks that they got caught in the crossfire.”

  “Does this mean you’re quitting your job at the restaurant?” Not that there was a restaurant to go back to at this point.

  “Afraid so. I’m off to my next assignment. No more trying to convince me that you’re engaged to that man out there.” She thrust her thumb over her shoulder.

  “Why were you so determined not to believe us?”

  Jo snorted. “Why do you think?”

  “Because of the case,” Hillary said, realization dawning.
“You probably thought I was one of the bad guys.”

  “That was the kicker. You were very clearly not a bad guy, but I couldn’t figure out how you fit into any of it. In the middle of all the chaos with his parents, Marco’s suddenly engaged to some random good girl from New Hampshire.”

  Jo had obviously done her homework. Hillary was impressed.

  “It didn’t make sense. Mostly because you aren’t remotely his type.”

  “What do you think is his type?”

  “For a while there, I’d hoped it was me.”

  Umm…

  Something slapped against the door a moment before it was shoved open and a voice practically growled, “I don’t care. I need to see her. Save the rest of your fucking questions until I’m done.”

  And then Marco loomed in the doorway, pausing when he saw Jo standing next to the bed.

  “I was just leaving,” Jo said. “I wanted to say thanks, you know, for saving my life.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did. And I appreciate it.” She glanced at Marco before sliding her gaze back to Hillary. “Let me know if you don’t keep him. Something tells me he’ll be looking for a rebound, and I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  Jo chuckled and patted her good leg. “Listen, if you’re interested in working with the feds, even on a contract basis, I’d definitely put in a good word for you with my boss.” She strode past Marco and slipped out the door.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “What was that about?”

  Hillary shrugged. “She thinks I saved her life.”

  “You did. I saw it.”

  “Did you know she’s an FBI agent?”

  “Yeah, I found out about an hour ago. Well, I knew she was something when she cuffed Davit, but I didn’t realize it was FBI until the guy who questioned me introduced himself as a fed.”

  She dropped back against the pillows. “This is so much to take in.”

  He moved closer, his gaze straying to her bandaged leg. “How are you feeling?”

  “It hurts,” she said. “Have you ever been shot?”

  “Actually, yes. And it does hurt like a bitch. Did they give you anything for the pain?”