This Thing of Ours (The Gamblers Spin-off Novel)

by Sarah Curtis

  He must have recognized Nico because his eyes grew round. Either that or it was a reaction to having a metal muzzle digging into his flesh.

  “Ivan Volkov?”

  The guy didn’t respond to Nico’s question other than a narrowing of his eyes.

  “I’m going to assume you know why we’re here,” Nico continued. “If you don’t, I really don’t give a fuck.”

  Marco’s finger twitched on the trigger. It would be so easy. Sadly, it would also be loud, alerting men to their presence.

  “Out of respect for your position—though you don’t deserve it, fucking with my sister—I’m gonna make your death quick.” Nico shimmied his knife in front of the guy’s face. “I’d ask if you have any last words, but I really don’t give a fuck about those either.”

  Volkov mumble-yelled something unintelligible behind Nico’s hand and started thrashing. Marco placed all his weight on Volkov’s shoulder, and without wasting time, with a flick of his wrist, Nico sliced the guy’s neck, ear to ear. Ivan’s struggles turned frantic. His arms, trapped in the sheets, clawed to get free. Nico leaned over him, placing a forearm to his chest until the fight left him.

  Blood sprayed. So much fucking blood, it was soaking the sheets and Marco’s arm and leg. Nico didn’t fare much better, getting it on his arm, hand, and even some on his chest.

  It didn’t take long for Volkov to lose consciousness, his struggles ceasing completely, and Marco removed the gun from his forehead and stepped back.

  “What a fuckin’ mess.” Nico stood, shaking his hand.

  Marco picked up a corner of the comforter at the foot of the bed and used it to wipe off his hand.

  Nico used the other corner to clean his blade.

  Marco looked around the room. A door stood ajar behind him. “That must be the bathroom,” he said, nodding to it.

  Nico picked up Ivan’s arm and put his finger to his wrist. “No pulse. Let’s clean up and get the fuck out of here.”

  “We just gonna leave him here like that?” Marco asked, indicating the body.

  “Want his men to know what happened to him. Then maybe they’ll leave us the fuck alone.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Nico smirked. “Guess I’ll be slitting more throats.”

  Marco chuckled. “You’re a sick motherfucker.”

  “No more than you, my friend.”

  They cleaned up as best they could in the bathroom then went out to meet Ricky.

  “Any problems?” Nico asked.

  “All quiet here, boss.” Ricky eyed them. “Looks like you two slaughtered a cow.”

  “No. Just an ass,” Marco replied.

  Ricky laughed, then asked, “We checking the other rooms?”

  Nico nodded. “Don’t want anyone at our backs as we’re leaving.”

  An additional two rooms searched, two more men dead, and the place was officially clean.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” Ricky said as they headed downstairs.

  An ice-cold beer did sound good, but Marco thought a steaming hot shower sounded better.

  “Yo, you ladies just gonna stand around twiddling your thumbs all night?” Ricky yelled across the garage to Tony and Sal. “Or are you gonna come over here and congratulate us on a job well done?”

  Ricky was an idiot, but he did get Tony and Sal’s attention, getting their asses in gear so they could get the fuck out of there.

  Movement from the corner of his eye caught Marco’s attention. The fucking front door was opening. Four guys spilled in. Shouting occurred. Rushing feet hit the pavement.

  They were easy targets, out in the open. The good news was, the guys rushing them were in the same boat. Marco raised his gun, took aim, and fired, hitting a guy in the arm before pivoting on his heel in search of Nico. He was in back and to the right of Marco about fifteen feet away.

  But another guy had Nico in his sights and was raising his arm to shoot. Sprinting full speed, gun out, Marco fired, hitting the guy in the chest. But not before the guy took his shot.

  Diving, Marco collided into Nico’s side, throwing him off balance. He felt the burn as the bullet hit. Felt the weightless gravity of his fall. Felt the impact of hitting his head.

  And then he felt nothing at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dead bodies littered the floor before him, and as Nico crawled to Marco’s side, he prayed his friend’s wasn’t one of them.

  Gutshot.

  Blood was already turning the white of Marco’s shirt red. He reached out a tentative hand, his fingers shaking as he searched his neck for a pulse. Faint, but steady.

  He whipped off his jacket, rolling it into a tight ball before using it to apply pressure to the wound. He looked up and caught Ricky’s eyes. “Call Greene. Have him meet us at our clinic. Tell him Marco’s been shot and it’s a critical hit.” He turned to Tony and Sal who were hovering with concerned looks on their faces. “Help me lift him and get him to the car.”

  Johnny ran in through the back door and came to a halt, panting, “I saw them come in. I got down here as fast as I could.” It took him a second to realize what was going on, then blurted, “Oh fuck. Is he okay?”

  “He will be,” Nico growled. He would not let his friend die. “Johnny, open the door.”

  Tony took Marco’s shoulders and Sal, his feet. “On the count of three. Lift,” Nico said, keeping pressure on Marco’s stomach by sliding his other arm under him and holding his back as he was lifted off the ground.

  Johnny already had the back door open, and once they were through, he ran to Nico’s car and opened the rear door.

  As carefully as possible, they maneuvered Marco onto the back seat with Nico still keeping pressure on the wound by leaning in through the open door. Every little thing he could do to keep Marco alive was crucial. They didn’t have very much time, and they were too fucking far away from help for Nico’s peace of mind.

  He reached into his pocket with his free hand and grabbed his keys. “Ricky, you drive,” he said before climbing in the back and kneeling on the floorboard. “And drive fucking fast.”

  With Ricky going at speeds in excess of a hundred on the freeway and God only knew on the city streets, it took them twenty-five minutes to reach the clinic. But each of those minutes felt like hours as Nico watched over Marco. He kept pressure on the wound the whole way, switching out his coat for Tony’s and then Ricky’s when each one had soaked through. He checked Marco’s pulse every few minutes, only slightly relieved when it stayed faint, yet steady. He woke up for a few minutes, but the pain seemed to get the best of him, and after groaning and mumbling something incoherent, he lost consciousness again.

  When they arrived. Greene met their car with a stretcher, and after carefully transferring Marco to it, they wheeled him in.

  And then it was a waiting game.

  Nico paced the hall, wishing for a cigarette for the first time in eight long months—the last time being when Olivia almost died during labor. His mind flashed back, and like that night, he’d been in the back seat of a car covered in blood. Only then it had been Olivia’s.

  He willed those dark thoughts from his head, not wanting to go there, and pulled out his phone.

  He had a call he was dreading to make.

  The pounding on her bedroom door startled Gabby from sleep. She sat up, adrenaline pumping through her veins, causing her heart rate to spike as she called out to whoever was on the other side.

  Frankie opened the door and stepped in. She knew right away something was wrong. The lines that usually bracketed his eyes appeared deeper, his jaw tense, and his lips pursed.

  He was worried.

  Clutching the covers, she asked in a voice thickened with sleep, “What is it?”

  He said the one name, in her heart, she knew he would say. “Marco.”

  She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to ask—wasn’t sure she was ready for the answer—but knew she had to. Opening her eyes,
she looked at Frankie right in his. “What about Marco?”

  “He was shot.”

  She licked her dry lips with an even drier tongue and cleared her throat. “Is he dead?” Her brain started screaming. Please God, no. Please God, no. Please God, no.

  “No.”

  Her whole body deflated, and she took a deep breath, trying to curb the sudden dizziness that overtook her.

  “But he is in critical condition. Doc’s operating on him as we speak.”

  Her vision grew dark, and she distantly heard Frankie ask if she was all right, before everything then became too bright. Almost blinding. Though the only light source in the room came spilling in from the hall. Something had clicked—as if a switch had been triggered in her brain. All emotion shut down as action replaced it, propelling her out of bed and moving her legs in the direction of her suitcase so she could change her clothes.

  Her fight or flight instinct had kicked in. And she was a fighter.

  Oh, sure she might be fleeing to Marco, but she was arriving armed for battle. She wouldn’t let him die. Not when he was finally hers.

  She stripped off her oversized t-shirt, uncaring that Frankie was in the room, and threw on the first items her fingers encountered—a fuzzy cream sweater and jeans. She scrounged around until she found a pair of socks, sat on the bed to pull them on, then shoved her feet in her boots.

  She stood and ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  The trip back to Vegas was conducted mostly in silence with Gabby only asking Frankie for more details after the call she’d tried making to Nico went to voicemail. She needed answers, damn it, but Frankie didn’t know much more than what he’d already told her. He did inform her that Marco had been shot in the stomach, which sounded a lot worse than if he’d been shot in the leg or shoulder, but better than being hit in the head or heart. Though, in the state she was in and not knowing his current condition—because Nico wouldn’t pick up his damn phone—it was hard to be grateful the hit hadn’t been an automatic killing blow. Dead was dead whether it happened right away or a few hours later.

  Her thoughts were as tumultuous as her emotions. And the contents of her stomach weren’t faring much better, twisting and swirling nauseatingly and threatening to make a reappearance. She swallowed down the bile and closed her eyes, praying for good news upon their arrival.

  Nestled in the corner of a south-side industrial park, not far off The Strip, they neared what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, but what Gabby knew in reality disguised a high-tech medical facility, equipped with everything a doctor could need when it came to emergency medicine.

  She was opening her car door before Frankie came to a full stop, jumping out and rushing to the glass double doors. They were locked, and she started banging, although no one was in sight. Her blows didn’t make much noise, so out of frustration, she started kicking.

  A hand on her shoulder halted her frantic attempts to get attention. “Let me call Nico. Let him know we’re here.”

  Hand plastered flat to the glass, Gabby hung her head. “He hasn’t been answering.”

  “Then I’ll call one of the other guys. Don’t worry, polpetta, we’ll get you in.”

  Little meatball, Nico’s pet name for her, that’s what had her looking up and giving Frankie a small smile. She nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  She wearily rested back against the glass doors as she waited for Frankie to make his phone call. Whomever he called, picked up because Frankie started talking. It was a short, terse conversation that amounted to, “We’re at the front door. Open it.”

  Not a minute later, Ricky rounded a corner, coming into view. She waited impatiently as he turned the key in the door and pulled it open.

  She rushed inside and gripped Ricky’s arm. “Where’s Marco?”

  Ricky shook his head. “He’s still back with Doc. We haven’t heard anything yet.”

  “Where’s Nico?”

  Ricky removed her hand from his arm and clasped it. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

  The place was blindingly white—the walls, ceiling, floor. There wasn’t even a fleck of dark to mar the whiteness of the grout between the floor tiles. The overall effect left Gabby feeling colder than she already was.

  Ricky directed her around the same corner she’d seen him come from, and up ahead, she saw Nico pacing in front of a row of chairs in a makeshift waiting area. She lost Ricky’s hand when she quickened her pace. Nico saw her coming and braced when she threw herself into his arms.

  Frankie and Ricky stayed a respectful distance away, in view but out of hearing range. It didn’t matter because they didn’t say anything, just held on to each other tight. After a few minutes, Nico pulled away, cupping her shoulders and looking her right in the eyes. “He’s going to be okay.”

  Gabby only nodded, unable to speak through the thickness in her throat.

  Nico saw her struggle. “A Conti never cries. A Conti inspires tears.”

  She swallowed and nodded. “Right.” She got herself together. There were questions she wanted answered, and now that she had Nico cornered, he could no longer avoid her. “Tell me what happened.”

  Nico took a deep breath, took a few steps away, then gave her his back. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair. It continued down to land on his nape where it stayed planted, squeezing his neck. His other hand landed on his hip as he bowed his head. All signs he was troubled. Signs that pointed to the fact, she wouldn’t like what he had to tell her.

  “He saved my life. The bullet had been meant for me.”

  Gabby’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp. Conflicting emotions warred within her. Relief and gratitude that her brother was all right, along with anger and resentment that it had to be at the cost of the one she loved—her soulmate. Her mind in turmoil, she didn’t know how to react, so ended up plopping onto one of the chairs, saying nothing.

  But Nico wasn’t finished. “I still don’t know how he got to me so fast. One second he was at least twenty feet away, the next he was pushing me to the floor.” He paused again before he said, “It was all a fucking blur.”

  Gabby stared at the floor as she leaned over, elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped. “What happened to the guy? The one who shot him.”

  She felt Nico’s presence and saw from her periphery as he took the seat next to her. “Marco got a shot off before he fell. Killed the fucker.”

  Gabby nodded, then asked the one question she was dreading hearing the answer to most. “What are his chances?”

  She heard Nico sigh. “I don’t know, polpetta. He lost a lot of blood.”

  Was he bracing her for the worst? She felt her eyes fill, but she sat up and tipped her head back so they wouldn’t fall. She fingered her engagement ring, worrying it around her finger. Would a wedding band ever accompany it?

  Unable to sit still a moment longer, she got up and started pacing. The same path Nico had traversed.

  After a few minutes, Nico reached out, taking her hand. “Sit down, polpetta. You’re making me dizzy.”

  She didn’t sit, but she did stand still, crossing her arms and hugging her stomach. “How long has he been in there?”

  Nico pulled out his phone and woke it. “A little over an hour.”

  An hour! “That’s a long time, right?”

  “Not really. Try not to worry. That we haven’t heard anything yet means he’s still…”

  “Alive?” Gabby filled in his blank when he hesitated.

  “Yeah,” Nico breathed out on a sigh. “Alive.”

  Chapter Thirty

  They waited and then waited some more. Gabby paced. Sat. And paced again. She drank two cups of coffee, used the bathroom, then drank another two. She was edgy, jittery, and friggin’ scared.

  And still, they had no news.

  The rest of the guys had finally joined them, they did the sitting, standing, pacing thing, too. It had been Frankie who’d gone on the coffee run. He’d als
o come back with donuts, but her stomach had been too knotted to even think about food.

  The mood was solemn. She would catch pieces of whispered conversations, but it was all just background noise to Gabby. Her mind was with Marco, reenacting their time together.

  Then suddenly, the doctor appeared, and Gabby’s stomach dipped, not sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. She couldn’t tell the status of the news from looking at him. He looked tired, and fresh from the operating room, still dressed in aqua scrubs with a surgical mask hanging from his neck. The little bootie things even still covered his shoes.

  All eyes in the room turned to Greene as he stopped to grab a coffee and down a big swig.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  That remark had come from Ricky, and Gabby was in complete agreement. She wasn’t sure her heart could take a second longer of anticipation.

  Finally, Greene said, “He’s in recovery.”

  Gabby heard a smattering of, thank Christ, fuckin’ A, and thank Gods throughout the room, but she needed more reassurance. “He’s going to be okay?”

  “He’s a lucky bastard. Only nicked his kidney. That's why there was so much blood but able to hold on for so long. Found the bullet and sewed him up. Barring infection, he should make a full recovery.”

  Relief. A wave of it rushed through her so swiftly, she had to sit down because her whole body started to shake, and she wasn’t sure her legs would support her.

  She distantly heard Nico ask, “When can we see him?” And Doc’s reply of, “He’s still under but should be waking soon. Depending on his reaction, he could be groggy for a while yet, but you can go in and see him at any time.”

  Gabby jumped up. “Where is he?”

  Greene looked at her with a critical eye. “You sure you’re okay? Maybe you should sit back down.”

  Nico took hold of her arm. “She’s fine. Just tell us where Marco is.”