Chapter Twenty-Five
BECCA
Elizabeth, New Jersey
I nstinct screams at me to stall him. So, I do the only thing I can think of… I laugh.
Declan’s hand stills, his gaze dropping to the floor. “What the fuck is so funny?”
“You.”
“I’m not the one zip-tied on the floor of a warehouse,” he snaps.
Stay calm. Reel him in. Catch him off guard.
“No, you’re the pathetic idiot who’s still doing a dead man’s bidding.”
The insult hits the mark. His expression darkens, his arrogance deflating as if I’d shot an actual arrow at it. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“No? Whose idea was it to threaten my father with me ending up in the very place I am now?” I glare as his jaw tics.
“That’s what I thought. We both know it was Marcello’s brainchild,” I add, digging the knife in as deep as it’ll go.
“I’ll give the bastard credit; it worked.
And here you are like a good little soldier, carrying out a twenty-two-year-old mission. ”
“That traitor would’ve been nothing without me.
He’d still be in jail, facing multiple life sentences.
” The syringe forgotten, he slams the hand holding his gun against his chest. “I’m the one who called my brother’s bastard son and convinced him to get assigned to Gianni’s case.
I’m the one who told him to make those audio tapes disappear by any means necessary.
Instead of showing an ounce of gratitude, Marchesi tried to steal Providence out from under me and pin it on his son. ”
I try not to flinch at his admission. Gianni was right to suspect Henry had a deeper tie to all this. Marcello was a shrewd criminal, but I guess suspicion gave way to desperation once he found himself behind bars. “So you were only trying to get Gianni thrown out of WITSEC?”
He scowls. “Until Henry attacked you in that parking garage, trying to prove himself to Marchesi like an idiot. It set off a chain reaction that led us here…” He spreads his arms, syringe clenched in one hand, gun in the other.
“Gianni blamed the wrong man for it and killed Dice.” His eyes glint with anger.
“That kid was like a son to me, and your fucking husband set him on fire like he was nothing. So, I returned the favor.”
He’s talking about my office fire. That was him I saw.
Holy shit. Everything has been a perfectly layered chain of events—one tragedy influencing the next until it grew into something inescapable.
I shiver, the dizziness returning as a countdown kicks off in my head.
Ten, nine…
“If you wanted to kill me that day, why change course?” I demand, unsure why it’s so important. It won’t change anything, but something in me can’t leave the story unfinished. “You nearly succeeded just a few days ago. Why revert to following Marcello’s plan now?”
Eight, seven…
His twisted smile chills me to my core. “I can’t get revenge on that bastard, but I can destroy his son. How quickly do you think Gianni Marchesi’s mental state will deteriorate once he realizes his wife is in a foreign country being raped like a street whore?”
Six, five…
Holding tightly to the pen, I watch him slip behind his own malice. “It doesn’t matter what you do or where you take me; Gianni will find me. That, I can promise you.”
He glares at me with disgust. “What makes you so sure?”
There are a hundred reasons I could give him, but none he’ll understand.
Four, three…
“Love.”
He tucks his gun into his waistband. “Keep telling yourself that, bitch.” Time slows as he lowers to his knees and straddles my hips.
“Not that it matters. That son of a bitch’s time is ticking, too.
” Gripping my throat, he pins me to the floor with his free hand, while the other brings the needle toward my neck.
Two, one…
Gritting my teeth, I jerk my wrists apart with every last ounce of energy I have.
The zip-tie snaps and falls away. Blood rushes toward my hands, sending pins and needles shooting through my fingers, but I don’t have time to care.
The sudden movement stuns Declan, and his grip on my neck eases.
He draws the needle back for a few seconds, but that’s all I need.
We both come alive at the same moment.
He lunges.
I swing .
He roars.
I hit concrete.
For a moment, I’m not sure what happened, then a warm, wet splash hits my cheeks.
I swipe the back of my hand across my face and see Declan’s eyes frozen in shock, the pen lodged deep in the hollow crevice where his shoulder meets his neck.
The moment he tips to the side, I don’t wait for him to fall.
I go for the gun tucked in his waistband.
My fingers are on the grip when he swings his arm, sending my chin flying over my shoulder and the gun skidding across the floor.
There’s a loud bang as the weapon goes off, and everything narrows into a spinning blur.
I scramble to my knees, fighting for focus. Through the haze, I can see Declan jerking the pen out like an idiot, turning a steady drip of blood into a gushing waterfall.
“You … fucking … bitch…” he wheezes. “I’ll … kill…”
But I’m not listening. I’m already crawling an unsteady path toward the gun.
I hear him behind me, swearing and grunting, blood loss and shock slowing him down.
I reach it first and wrap my fingers around the grooved surface of the grip.
But even injured, size and strength close the gap.
I barely find the trigger when I’m dragged backward by my ankle.
“I should’ve killed you a long time ago,” he snarls, clamping his hand around my wrist before flipping me over onto my back. His face is a splotchy patchwork of blood and rage as he pins my wrist to the concrete, his other hand squeezing my throat.
As the edges of my vision darken, I’m startled by how mortal he looks.
How breakable .
With one final surge of strength, I drive my knee toward his balls, which does little more than stun him for a moment. While I’m losing the battle, I’m not sure either of us will win the war. Blood flows faster and heavier from his wound, staining us both as his face turns from pale to ashen gray.
I may not be long for this world, but neither is he.
He pries the gun from my hand with a snarl, the blackness around my vision swallowing more light as he presses the muzzle to my forehead. “Give my regards to your bitch mother.”
I close my eyes and wait for the blast.
Only it never comes.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear rapid footsteps, then the hand on my throat disappears.
It’s like breaking the surface of depthless water. I cough violently as muffled curses slice through the haze, along with shouting and the unmistakable sound of bone hitting bone.
Find your center. Survivors fight. Victims fall.
Pushing myself into a seated position, I focus on the tangle of fists in front of me. I know who it is in an instant. I crawl over to him, my head clearing with every swing of his fist. “Gianni,” I call out, but it’s barely a whisper, my traumatized larynx revolting against the charge.
Every inch closer brings another spray of blood. Gianni isn’t just punching with his fist; he’s hitting Declan with his own gun—hard, fast, and with intent.
My pace quickens. “Gianni!” I scream, shattering what voice I have left to get his attention. “Stop! You’re going to kill him.”
He stills, his bloodstained arm lifted in mid-strike. Slowly, he turns his head over his shoulder, rage and confusion mangled together and smeared across his face. “I have to.”
No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand right now, but he will.
I point to the shipping containers. “There are women in there. They’re drugged. Get them out.”
“Doc…”
“Get them out,” I repeat, my composure a thin wire bent to its breaking point.
Gianni just stares at me as if he’s trying to solve an equation that doesn’t add up. I can’t fault him. I’m not acting at all rational. I’m stilted, robotic, and much too calm. The man who tormented my family for two decades is a whisper away from death, and I’m preventing it.
It makes no sense…
And yet it does.
“Gianni…” We both turn to find Anton standing in the open doorway of the warehouse, Owen right on his heels. They both have their guns drawn, their stances ready for a fist or a bullet. “Is everyone all right?”
Gianni tips his chin back. “What the fuck are you two doing here?”
“Tony called me from the ’Boo and said you made him give you his phone, then took off in a crazed panic. I figured you could use the backup.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Anton shrugs. “Ask ‘boy wonder’ over there. He’s the one slapping trackers on everybody’s cars.”
All eyes turn toward Owen who glares at the Marchesi underboss with murderous contempt.
“You tracked my fucking…” Gianni clenches his teeth, his eyes shifting back to me. “Forget it. It’s not important right now. How much transport capability do we have on hand?”
The two men exchange looks.
“Between my car and his SUV, probably nine, eleven max,” Owen offers, his expression cooling.
“Good.” Gianni gestures toward the shipping container, waning adrenaline drawing a heavy breath from his lungs. “Call a doctor who knows how to keep his mouth shut, and have Paulie get a couple stash houses ready. We have a long road ahead of us.”
Anton nods at the man lying bloody and motionless behind him. “What about him?”
My husband gives me a slow side-eye, and I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t turn the spotlight on me. My reason for Declan still having breath in his lungs is valid, but deeply personal. It’s not a vein I care to open in front of an audience.
“Let him bleed out a little longer,” he says coldly. “He’s not going anywhere.”
It took twenty minutes for three men to coax ten drugged and frightened women out of the shipping crate and get them loaded into their vehicles.
In the end, it was Owen flashing his Marshal’s badge that tipped the first domino.
After that, they all followed like dazed lemmings off the side of a cliff.