“Golf?” Frank finally spoke up with a frown. “You don’t golf.”
“I do now.”
“Golf?” Frank repeated, as if he couldn’t believe it.
Luca smirked. “I’m dead, remember? I can do whatever I want.”
He eyed Phoenix one last time. “Another favor.”
Phoenix only shook his head slowly and stood. “Just add it to your debt.”
Luca laughed at that, hard.
Phoenix’s lips twitched as Luca said, “Andrei needs a mentor, someone alive preferably.”
“Let me guess. I’ve been nominated?” Phoenix said in a bored tone.
“So smart. I chose well.” He nodded, his eyes falling to Dante. “I chose very well, indeed.”
Dante looked uncomfortable as he finally found his voice and spoke, low and threatening. “Why is it that I feel like killing you right now?”
“Misplaced hurt, anger, betrayal.” Luca shrugged. “But I’ll be around, son. I’ve been watching you this whole time, and I’ve never been prouder to see my blood—” His voice caught while Dante looked ready to pull the man in for a hug. “—to see that our blood, Joyce’s and mine…”
Frank nodded as if it was okay.
“…produced such a strong young man, worthy of the names Alfero and Nicolasi.”
The silence was palpable.
Each of us lost in our own thoughts.
The De Langes sat there in stunned silence.
I eyed Tex. It was time, time to give them their sentence, their last chance at freedom before we wiped them from the face of this earth.
The door to the room burst open as Vic dropped a bleeding Luciana onto the table. “He shot her. Chase shot her.”
I ran to her side. “Is it deep?”
“In and out the shoulder.” Vic wiped his forehead. “Sorry, boss. I had no other choice but to bring her here.”
“And Chase?”
He gulped and looked around the room. “In the kitchen, staring at his bloodied hands… still screaming her name.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
“Blood betrays us, blood saves us, blood may be the only way to bring life back — maybe even his.”
— Ex-FBI Agent Petrov
Chase
I stared down at my hands.
The blood.
Her blood.
Mil.
Luciana.
Lines blurred as my vision went black.
No, no, no! Why? Why would she pull the trigger? Why would she do that?
I was screaming her name.
“Luciana!”
I hadn’t even realized the noise was coming from my mouth until I had to suck in air to breathe — until I almost passed out.
And by the time I came back to myself, to reality, there was only blood where she’d once been.
I leaned against the counter then ran over to the sink and puked the contents of my stomach everywhere. I grabbed some water and washed out my mouth, eyeing my gun, the one that had put a bullet in her perfect skin.
Did history have no choice but to repeat itself?
I grabbed my cell and called Nixon. “Where is she?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” he said in a clipped tone.
I gripped my phone and sneered. “Luciana, where the fuck is she? I won’t hesitate to kill you. I won’t.”
“I know.” He sighed. “And she’s safe, for now.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been absolved of all crimes. The five Families have decided to wipe your slate clean. You’re welcome.”
I almost dropped my phone. “I-I don’t understand. Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you hunt me down? I don’t…” I shook my head back and forth. “What’s going on?”
“A life for a life. Blood. The De Langes demanded blood, yours or whatever is most important to you,” Nixon said in a cold, detached voice.
“Nixon…” My voice cracked. “…what are you saying?”
Please don’t let it be what I think it is.
Please, God, listen to me at least once in my miserable life!
I fell to my knees, as he said clear as day, “Luciana has decided to take your place. We agreed. Stay home, Chase. Think about your actions and remember… every choice has consequences. She’s made hers… and you made yours.”
“Nixon, NO!” I roared. “DON’T DO THIS!”
“It’s already done.” His voice held no emotion.
I wanted to kill him, strangle him with my bare hands. “NIXON!”
“Her last request was that you’d know she was innocent. She says in her death she hopes she can prove her loyalty has always, unequivocally been yours.”
The phone line went dead.
And I stayed on my knees.
Wrecked.
And full of shame.
The hatred was gone.
And in its place.
Utter loss and despair.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
“Blood changes things. It changes us. But without it, we are nothing.”
— Ex-FBI Agent Petrov
Luciana
I kept my head high as I made my requests.
As Nixon wrapped my hands behind my back and then to the metal chair in the middle of the soundproofed room.
All of the men stood in a circle around me; nobody moved. Phoenix looked to Sergio, then Sergio to Tex. Tex looked to Nixon, who looked down at my body. Frank was the first to say something as he took a step forward. “We aren’t sure this will work.”
“It will,” I said with a shaking voice. “It’s the only way to save him, right?”
Andrei made a noise in the back of his throat as Nikolai made purposeful steps toward me then leaned down until we were eye-level. “Is this really what you want? To be tortured until you beg for death? To get your fingernails ripped one by one from your hands, all in order to take the place of a man who shot you?”
“He loves me,” I said, voice clear. “And it’s the only way to prove my love for him.” I looked down as a single tear ran down my cheek. “What greater love than taking the sins of those you care for and putting them on your own shoulders?”
I’d never seen Nikolai look more pained as he slowly rolled up his sleeves. Tattoos marked his arms.
I gasped as the sickle design on his forearm glared at me.
I’d seen that tattoo before.
I glanced to the side as Andrei rolled his sleeves up as well.
Both of them.
Both Russian.
The rumors were true then.
I shook my head and laughed. Maybe it was my mind going crazy, but it was funny, all the talk around the breakroom about who Nikolai was.
True.
“You’re a killer,” I stated.
“Nikolai’s art form is torture,” Nixon said, his voice catching. “Killing… is too easy to us. What’s the suffering in a bullet through your head?”
My mouth went dry as Nikolai opened up a black case and pulled on latex gloves. Seconds later, he grabbed a syringe and sucked the clear liquid from the vial.
He wrapped a rubber tourniquet around my arm, tight, and then pressed the needle into my vein.
I hissed out a breath as a cold sensation ran up my arm.
He pulled the needle out and stood. My vision went blurry.
“I’ll keep the adrenaline shots close by in case her heart stops,” he said to the room.
My heart could stop?
I tried not to shake.
But it was impossible.
I was going to be tortured.
And if I survived it — if — then all would be forgiven.
That was a big if.
“Who goes first?” Tex called.
Nobody moved.
It was as if they were afraid to start the process, afraid of what it would do to me, and maybe even a bit afraid of what it would do to them.
Nobody volunteered.
And then the door
cracked open, revealing what little light came in from the hall, and slowly, one by one, the wives filed in.
Mo approached me first. Without warning, she grabbed a knife and stabbed it into my thigh. “My turn.”
I cried out.
She left it there.
Trace was next. She held a gun to my temple then very slowly lowered it and shot through the other shoulder.
Bee was next. I’d always thought she was so friendly… and then she pulled out a band and wrapped it around my neck and pulled tight until I almost passed out, and when my legs kicked, when I felt my vision slipping, something sharp went directly into my arm.
She left it.
Val approached. She was the one I hadn’t spoken to that much. I recognized her striking features and saw a rounded belly. Pregnant.
I licked my lips as she very slowly brought a knife to my right wrist and tugged it across my veins.
I was dripping blood everywhere, in so much pain, delirious from whatever Nikolai had given me.
My head fell forward as Trace spoke. “You said blood must be spilled. You never said now much.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
And then Nixon barked out a laugh. “Clever.”
I tried to focus on him as he pulled her into his arms, but I was losing blood fast, losing the last shred of consciousness.
Someone walked behind me and grabbed one of my bound hands and very slowly brought the knife to my palm and sliced. Then came a whispered, “Don’t die.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
“He would come. I hoped he would come.”
— Ex-FBI Agent Petrov
Chase
It took me five minutes to stop mourning the life that hadn’t been taken from me yet, and another four minutes to grab as much ammo as I could and strap it to my chest.
I made it out the door only to come face-to-face with Vic.
I could shoot him.
I could attack.
Or I could let him attack first.
He shook his head and then tossed me the keys to the SUV he’d just pulled up. “For once in your life, think about your actions.”
“I have.”
He snorted. “Two weeks in, and I already hate this job.”
I frowned. “It’s not a job, Vic. It’s life.” I eyed the SUV. “Where is she?”
“Where else do you guys like to torture and maim?”
My stomach clenched. “They wouldn’t.”
His eyes were sad as he whispered, “They already have.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
“And now, we wait.”
— Ex-FBI Agent Petrov
Tex
I stared at the blood dripping down her arm and winced when she cried out his name again.
Over and over again, she said his name.
And I wondered… would Mil have done this?
Would she have sacrificed her body? Her very soul? For the man she loved?
And I had to admit to myself, even though I hated it, Mil would have fought. That was what she did.
Mil, however, would never have surrendered.
Not the way Luciana had.
It was the ultimate sacrifice.
The ultimate test of loyalty.
So no, I couldn’t bring myself to break her fingers one by one.
I couldn’t even bring myself to watch the beauty of her sacrifice, of the life that left her body, and of the way his name fell from her lips.
I hated myself.
For making an innocent woman believe she had no other choice when it came to saving the damned.
“Tex,” Nixon said through gritted teeth. “You have to.”
“It’s enough,” I said in a strange voice.
Nixon closed his eyes briefly as if to say, “Please don’t make me do this.” Then he stomped over to Luciana, stood behind her back, and very slowly leaned down and broke two fingers.
I heard the crunch.
I felt her pain like it was my own.
Darkness surrounded us as Nixon stood, his body trembling. “No crime goes unpunished.”
“No crime goes unpunished,” we all said in unison as the red warning light flashed on in the corner of the room.
Intruders.
Or intruder.
Just Chase.
He had keys.
He knew where we were.
“Let the games begin.” Nikolai actually looked excited, sick Russian. He grabbed his gun while the wives, Mo included, exited through the back of the room, behind the secret door and up into the living room.
We filed out, one by one, as the sound of footsteps neared.
Chase held his hands up in surrender.
No gunfire.
Only peace.
His eyes were crazed.
Like an animal needing to be put down.
I left the door open on purpose as Luciana screamed out his name again.
He started to run toward her.
I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.
Chase fell to the ground and got up again, running toward her without any sort of armor, without his gun, with nothing but his fucking heart in his hands and wild eyes full of desperation. I’d never seen him look that way before.
I’d never seen a man so broken.
So livid.
He held his hand to his arm as he sprinted toward the room. Nixon looked at me, then at him, and turned his head and pulled the trigger as well.
Chase fell to his knees.
Andrei was without his gun. Instead, he walked up to Chase and knocked him out with one swift movement. Then he grinned up at us. “That felt good.”
God, I wanted to kill that guy.
Nixon grabbed Chase’s body, pulled him into the room, and dropped him next to Luciana. I helped him strap Chase to the chair and tied his hands behind his back as his head lolled forward.
“What now?” Nixon crossed his arms.
“Now…” Frank pulled his sleeves back down. “We wait for him to wake up.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
“I could almost respect him, almost… maybe.”
— Ex-FBI Agent Petrov
Chase
Blood. Blood. Blood.
It covered my hands.
It surged through my heart.
It dripped from my fingertips onto the concrete floor.
Trapped.
Broken.
Finished.
Hungry.
I wasn’t tied well. It was as if the person who tied me forgot to knot the ropes properly. I jerked my hands free and stumbled to my feet, then reached down and pulled out the gun strapped to my calf.
Insanity scratched its way into my psyche as I eyed the door and waited, one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three.
It opened.
I fired two rounds, and acrid smoke filled the air. Not caring who I hit, what I hit, just needing to save her, to touch her, to rescue.
I’d thought I known what love was. I had been a fucking idiot. Every single bone in my body shuddered with rage, with the need to rip something apart, someone, anyone — all of them. My friends. My brothers. I’d brought the war to our house, and they would finish me because of it.
I’d thought I’d loved her.
Our love had been a lie.
Her betrayal was my only truth.
And now?
Now, I finally knew what love was. I’d seen it, smelled it, tasted it.
And lost it.
I’d fucking lost it.
They would pay. They would all pay.
For taking her.
For turning her against me.
For making me believe that blood was everything, only after mine had been spilled.
“I’m not worth dying for,” she’d whispered that last night when she hadn’t thought I was still awake. “But you, Chase Abandonato… you’re worth living for, breathing for, existing for. The only way to break — is from being already broken.”
“I am broken.”
I’d whispered as if I was in a dream.
“But…” She’d placed a hand on my chest, and my heart had surged to life. “You don’t have to be…”
Two more steps, three, I kicked the door open and fired as bullets whizzed by my ear, and when one struck true against my leg, and I collapsed to the ground, I swore up at the barrel of the gun.
I’d live.
For her.
I’d choose life.
I wanted life.
Not this.
They surrounded me.
I wasn’t afraid.
I’d cheat death.
With a bloody smile, I crawled to my knees and yelled as I fired rounds into the ceiling, as my screams of pain filled the room.
As the broken…
By finally shattering…
Became whole.
“You’ve made your choice,” he whispered, closing his eyes and turning his gun to my head. “And this was it.”
“I don’t choose me.” Blood trickled down my chin. “I choose her.”
Nixon pulled the gun away, leaned down and whispered, “Right. Fucking. Answer.”
“What?” I hissed in pain. “What the hell are you talking about?”
My eyes fell to Luciana. She was bleeding, badly, but she was alive, with a fucking knife sticking out of her thigh.
They hadn’t finished her.
I knew what that meant.
Mercy.
But why?
Anyone taking my sins deserved death.
Pain choked my throat, threatening to close it up completely.
Her eyes met mine; they were unfocused, full of pain. “Am I dead?”
“No…” My voice cracked. “…no. You’re not dead.”
“But how are you here?” She looked down at her thigh. “Why is a knife sticking out of my leg?”
“Why isn’t she yelling anymore?” I asked to no one in particular.
“Morphine,” Nikolai answered. “It has a delayed release. She felt it all, and then she felt nothing. It’s my own concoction, my own brand of mercy to those who truly deserve it. You feel it all, and then you lose all feeling, as you watch yourself slowly bleed to death.”
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