Chapter 41 Contessa #2
For the second time today, a gun spins toward me—it has slipped from Benito’s victim’s grip—and this time my shaking hands don’t hesitate to reach out and grab it. The threat in the room now is far worse than the threat of Federico. Fed wouldn’t have killed me, but these guys would relish it.
In the corner of my eye, Bambi flies toward me, crouching behind my back as I extend my arms. I rise to my knees and lift one leg so I have a foot on the ground.
Cristiano fires a bullet toward his target but Lorenzo is too fast and ducks out of the way. Another bullet sails past Cristiano and screams ring out from the edge of the room. Augie’s aim catches the other brother on the shoulder, then more bullets rain into the room from the terrace.
There’s more of them?
My heart hitches as Benito runs to the doors, arms outstretched, right into the middle of the chaos.
My instinct to turn my head to the side is strong but I have as much blood in this game as he does, so I keep my focus, and the borrowed pistol, trained on the doors.
More bullets fall like snowflakes through the terrace doors and Benito ducks them like it’s a dance he’s been performing since kindergarten. My heart expands like a balloon when I remember that he has been doing this shit since he was a kid.
Bambi screams in my ear and grabs my dress in her small fists. “Tess, we gotta go. Tess, come on.”
“I’m not leaving him,” I say firmly.
“What?” Her voice is breathy with terror.
“I’m not leaving Benito.”
Cristiano has thrown his gun to one side and is head-to-head with Lorenzo, their hands around each other’s throats. It’s clear from their drawn faces and whitened knuckles, this conflict goes back years.
Benito is firing bullets onto the terrace with Nicolò at his back, the remaining Marchesi brother is running, his gun held aloft defensively.
Then a scream drags everyone’s attention back to the hustle in the center of the room.
Lorenzo Marchesi has a gun driven into Cristiano’s jaw, his finger poised on the trigger, an eerily satisfied smirk on the summit of his lips.
“No…” Trilby’s whisper shakes the room.
Benito spins around, having terminated whatever risk existed on the terrace, and his jaw falls open.
The room is deathly silent—everyone awaiting the click of the Marchesi’s trigger, ending the life of his rival don, my sister’s new husband.
I feel Benito’s gaze land on me and the gun in my hands feels heavy and lethal. I have it aimed right at Lorenzo’s head. The implication in my boyfriend’s eyes is unequivocal. I have the aim. I don’t need to move. I could kill. All I need to do is pull the trigger.
The gun shakes as I extend my finger then press it gently into the thin, curved strip of metal.
My head feels light, as though I haven’t taken a breath in days.
I’ve never fired a gun in my life. And the one time I have the opportunity, a man associated with my mama’s murder just happens to be the target.
It couldn’t be more serendipitous. Yet, I can’t quite go all the way.
My eyes flick to Benito. His gaze is warm and filled with love and… something else. Faith. He believes in me. He believes I can do this.
Lorenzo doesn’t seem to know I’m aiming his brother’s gun at his head, so I have the upper hand.
Then, footsteps, quick and firm, arrive in the doorway to the terrace.
In a blind panic, I draw my finger toward me. The force of the bullet flying from its chamber knocks me onto the floor. Firing a gun is fucking harder than it looks.
Lorenzo squeals in pain and another pop rings through the air.
Then another.
All I can think is my panic has set off a chain reaction and now we’re all going to die.
Bambi’s arm curls around my neck, muffling at least some of the shouts and screams.
In mere seconds, everything stops.
“Holy crap.” Bambi’s gasp of disbelief makes me unfurl from her embrace and twist to face the room. My gaze immediately searches for Benito. When it finds him, his gaze is still on me, as though he never looked away.
Terrified, I pan my focus to Cristiano. Relief floods through my body when I see he’s still standing. And unharmed.
Lorenzo is lying at his feet, blood running from his skull.
Vomit crawls up my esophagus. I did that to him. I killed him.
In a second, and somehow without me even seeing him move, Benito has me in his arms. “It wasn’t you,” he says rocking me into his chest.
“I-I don’t understand.”
Benito presses his mouth to my hair. “You got him in the ribs. It knocked him off balance. You did good, baby.”
Silent tears stream from my wide-open eyes.
I hear voices, distantly.
Luca’s down.
Matteo ran.
Where?
Out the gates.
Gone.
Motherfucker.
“Doesn’t matter.” Cristiano’s voice cuts through the murmurings, with earth-shattering heat. “Lorenzo Marchesi is fucking dead.”
I somehow focus my gaze enough to watch Cristiano kick the corpse laying at his feet. Then he lifts his head and turns toward the door.
It’s only then I realize another stranger has entered the room.
He doesn’t seem to be a Marchesi, since the gun at his side is still cocked and primed to shoot again if he has to.
But neither is he a Di Santo. And I can also tell from his attire—dark jeans, black tee and leather jacket—he’s definitely not a wedding guest.
“You gonna introduce yourself?” Cristiano barks.
Everyone’s gaze coasts toward the man whose frame is filling the doorway. So far, he’s nothing but a lethal silhouette with a sawn-off shotgun adorning his right hand.
Then, from the floor where she lays sheltered by a hulking body, Trilby makes a sound like a dying animal. Nicolò rushes over and pulls the dead weight from my sister’s body. Then he shouts out two words. Two words that change everything.
“Beppe’s dead.”