Chapter 41 – Gabriella
Ella: Gabby! Come home.
Ella: It’s bad.
Ella: Get over here! This needs to stop.
***
Pain threatened to crack my heart in two.
My sister didn’t need to say more, but as Finn drove the SUV, the terrible truth tumbled out.
Text after text. Family dinner turned into Papa going out with the guys and coming back wine-drenched.
He was such a sloppy drunk that it wasn’t surprising to hear how he’d turned violent.
Something’s happened.
Finn slowed for a yellow light.
“No! Step on it,” I choked.
Surprised, he pressed the break hard. The SUV jolted. The guys in the back seat murmured, but I couldn’t hear them over the buzzing in my ears.
“Please, there’s no one in the intersection,” I begged.
Finn looked nervously left, then right.
The opposite light stayed green. I would have been better driving myself at this point.
“Please—”
“Alright, alright, missus!” Finn slammed the gas. The SUV shot through the intersection, followed by the second vehicle of guards.
Ten men.
Not a single one of them would be able to help me once I walked through the front door. My father was in a blind rage. Ella was texting me from the first-floor landing after I ordered her to stay out of it.
Ella: I can’t hear mama
Shit. Shit!
The moment the SUV pulled up to the curb, I was out of the car. The wheels hadn’t stopped moving. I ran blindly across the concrete, unsure of what I was going to do. The gun Liam gave me was tucked in the waistband of my jeans.
I didn’t want to use it.
But defending the innocent was justifiable. If a judge, the don, or even the saints condemned me—fuck them.
Ella said she’d unlocked the door, but it swung open faster than I anticipated. In the rush of adrenaline, I pitched into the house.
“There’s my little whore,” Papa snarled.
I barely had time to straighten before he was on me. There was no time to dodge.
The front door slammed closed, sealing us inside. There might have been a frenzied, brogue-laced shout. Or maybe it was just the neighbor’s dog.
Meaty hands grabbed my shoulders, shaking me hard. “What’d you do with that tracker, huh?”
“I did as you asked,” I bit out.
Papa wasn’t being subtle. Anyone could hear what he was saying. If the secret got out…. It didn’t matter. I just had to survive this first. Worry about the repercussions later.
“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” I tugged.
It was useless.
Grabbing me by the hair, Papa hauled me through the entry and down the hall. I caught sight of Ella, crouching by the banister. Giana was with her.
Dio buono.
There was no hiding what a monster our parent was.
Tossing me in his den, Papa kicked the door closed. “You and I are going to have a little chat.”
I moved to the wall, keeping my distance.
Papa went to the shelf, took his decanter of brandy, and tried to pour some in the stout, fat glass. His body shook with rage. The squat glass wobbled between his fingers. I saw the thing slip before it happened.
The crash sent a bolt of panic through me.
“That useless bitch,” he seethed.
He meant his wife—my mother.
“Where is she?” I demanded, leaning against the wall for support. “Where’s Mama?”
Papa snorted. “Why don’t you start by explaining how you fucked up?”
“Where is my mother!” I wasn’t playing this game.
I pulled out the gun. Although I couldn’t hear past the blood pumping through my veins, even as my vision tunneled, my hands were steady.
I could do this.
You’ve done it before.
A soft, strained whisper moaned. That sound was powerful enough to snap me out of the killing rage. My gaze cut to the lounge chair. Two small feet in kitten heels poked out from behind the desk.
“You had one job.” Papa walked leisurely around the room, taking a swig from the brandy. “One simple thing I ask of you, and you can’t even do that.”
“Mama,” I croaked.
She was barely visible. Her slight frame was wedged in an awkward position. Her Sunday dress was askew as if—
O, dio.
Bile rose up my throat. No, no….
“Don’t you have enough children?” I spat, swiveling to keep the gun trained on my father.
He crossed his arms, decanter dangling from his fingertips. “You have no right to discuss what happens between a man and his wife.”
I was going to be sick.
Latching onto the rage in my chest, I fired at the far wall. The bullet whistled past my father’s head.
Watching the bastard duck was priceless.
“The next one goes between your eyes,” I snarled.
Papa looked at me. Really, truly looked. It was as if he finally realized I had a gun. That I was capable of unleashing twenty-two years of pent-up anger on him, and I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep.
Fortunately for him, the door crashed open.
Ella stood there, kitchen knife in her hand.
“No,” I wheezed. “Get back! Ella—no!”
But Papa was too fast.
He batted the weapon away, snatching my sister by the hair. I was a fair shot when the target was alone, but this? Him holding her? I was going to miss.
My body couldn’t channel the adrenaline.
Air wouldn’t fill my lungs.
“Lower that gun,” Papa boomed.
Before I could react, a lilting voice, filled with a deadly calm, interrupted.
“Gabriella, are you alright?”
It took three painful heartbeats before I could look away from my father and sister to face Connor. The shadow who’d been tailing me every time I left his master’s fortress.
“No, I’m not fine,” I ground out.
His jolly blue gaze swept over me. “Sure seem fine.”
He smirked at the gun as if he thought I was cute. I should shoot him. See how cute I was then.
Huffing out a disgusted breath, I returned my focus to my father. “Release her.”
Papa seemed…confused. His grip must have loosened because my sister pulled away, rushing to our mother.
This was bad. This was oh, so fucking bad.
Carmela’s interruption guaranteed future abuse from our father. He wouldn’t bother hiding what he was, blaming her for revealing his ugly side. There was no turning back. No saving her. Unless….
I tightened my grip on the pistol. I could do it. One shot, and it would all be over. I just had to slide my finger down, from the safety position, and curl it around the finger. A quick squeeze, and it would all be over.
Connor moved faster than light itself. The flicker in the corner of my eye barely registered. He rushed me, snatching my wrist, and pointed the barrel at the ceiling.
“No!” I wailed. “Let me kill him!”
“He’s your father,” Connor snapped and tugged the gun free from my fingers.
Pain tightened my chest. “He deserves to die!”
“Well, it won’t be you, Gabby. You’re leaving.” Connor put the weapon in his waistband. He grabbed my arm and began hauling me from the room.
I dug my heels in, leaning away from him. “He’ll hurt my sisters—my mom!”
“That’s not my problem,” the mobster hissed. “You are. I’m tasked with keeping ya safe.”
“But they’re not—”
“I don’t fecking care!” he spat. “You’ll not be startin’ a street war without the boss’s say so.”
How could he do this? Just walk away from something that was clearly wrong? There was an abused, hurt woman on the ground. A madman on the loose! And Connor ignored it in the name of protecting me.
I struck him.
The muscle under his eye twitched. But he continued to move.
The bastard didn’t care! Hatred bubbled inside me. It seeped from every pore. I was going to kill Connor. This kind of monster, the one who ignored the plight of others, didn’t deserve to live.
I battered him with my fists. With a grunt, he hauled me through the front door. He practically had to drag me down the steps. I used the clumsy, awkward moment to reach around his thick trunk. My fingers gripped the pistol. I almost had it!
But Connor whipped me around. “The fuck, cailín?!”
“I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill you,” I shouted. Or tried to. My voice cracked, and it came out as a desperate wail.
I felt the gaze of the ten other guards.
If I had any shred of control, I would have realized that I could appeal to them. But Connor hauled me to the SUV, around the back.
“Pop the boot,” he snapped.
Someone jumped to help.
“Connor? Connor!” I screamed.
He ignored me, lifted me, and none too gently tossed me in the trunk. “Give me the keys. I don’t trust you to drive carefully enough.”
Those were the last words before the trunk closed.
***
I could have climbed over the back seat.
I didn’t have to stay in the trunk. But as the SUV drove through the streets of Boston, I shrank into myself.
Tucking my knees to my chest, I let the pain wash over me.
It was hard to say if I cried. My chest didn’t work, and I couldn’t bring in enough air to sob.
My cheeks were numb, and if there were tears, I wasn’t able to feel them.
“We’ll use the service lift,” Connor said, breaking the heavy silence in the vehicle as it came to a stop.
Shaking myself, I sat up and dashed a hand under each eye. The skin was dry.
The driver’s side door cracked open then slammed shut. Other doors opened and closed as I waited. When the trunk finally lifted to reveal the spawn of Satan, I was ready to fight.
Connor kept his hands on the lid, arms stretched high above his head as he leaned casually forward. “Ready to play nice?”
“Go to hell.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
The mobster sighed. “Look, Liam is in a meeting with some investors. I would rather not haul you past the boardroom over my shoulder.”
That told me two things. We weren’t at the construction site where my husband spent his days. And Connor hadn’t kidnapped me.
I hadn’t really thought the latter was true, but in the mob, being kidnapped was always a possibility.
Connor was loyal, though. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.
He’d rescued me from a terrible situation, and like the faithful dog he was, he’d brought me straight to his master to deal with.
“Won’t you lose a hand for touching me?” I sneered.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Fear.