Chapter 27 Luca #2
I break from cover, sprinting toward better position as I fire. I hit Romano but he fires back. The bullet catches my thigh, and my leg gives out. Fuck me.
I hit the concrete hard, sliding behind another column as he keeps shooting. White hot pain licks through me, and I have to bite my lip to keep me from screaming.
“Luca!” Gigi’s scream is raw terror.
“Stay down!” I roar back, gritting my teeth against the pain radiating from my leg. The bullet went through—I can feel the exit wound—but it’s bleeding bad. Really bad.
Romano’s circling, trying to flank me. I can hear his footsteps, steady and calculated despite the gut wound I gave him. How the fuck is he still standing? How is he still fighting?
If I make it through this, I’m making Danny train me more. Clearly, I can’t shoot for shit.
It hits me that Romano’s got nothing to lose. And that makes him the most dangerous kind of enemy.
I lean out and fire twice. One shot goes wide. The other catches him in the shoulder—his left, not his gun hand. Goddammit. He grunts but doesn’t slow down, returning fire that forces me back into cover.
“You’re dying, Marchetti,” Romano calls out, his voice strained but steady. “I can see the blood trail. That leg wound—you’ve got minutes before you lose consciousness.”
He’s right. I can feel the weakness spreading through my body, the edges of my vision starting to blur. I’m losing too much blood.
But I’ve got minutes. And minutes is all I need.
I fumble through reloading my gun, my left arm barely responding. The wound in my shoulder has gone from burning pain to a deep, throbbing ache that tells me I’ve probably got nerve damage. My leg is worse. I try to put weight on it and nearly collapse.
I can’t fucking run. I can’t chase him down. I have to make him come to me.
“You know what I’m going to do after I kill you?” Romano’s voice comes from somewhere to my right. “I’m going to take your wife and fuck her senseless. She’s a hot piece of ass. I’m going to fill her up every fucking day and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it.”
Rage burns through the pain, hot and sharp and clarifying.
I force myself to move, dragging my wounded leg, using the columns for support. Every step leaves a smear of blood on the concrete. Romano will follow me by the blood trail and will know exactly where I’m going.
Good. Let him follow.
His shot comes from behind. I feel the bullet crack past my head, so close it parts my hair. I spin, firing blind, giving away my position but forcing him back into cover.
“That the best you got, old man?” I rasp out, tasting blood in my mouth. “Marco lasted hours under your torture. I can do this all fucking night.”
“Marco was strong,” Romano agrees, and I can hear him moving again, getting closer. “He died protecting you. I wonder if you’ll do the same for your whore?”
He wants me to be angry and stupid. He wants me to charge him while I’m wounded and he has the advantage.
Not fucking happening.
I’m behind a stack of old machinery now, giving me cover but also boxing me in. Romano knows it too. I can hear his footsteps getting closer, more confident. He thinks he has me trapped.
My hand finds a piece of metal pipe on the ground. Heavy, solid. Not much of a weapon but better than nothing if this goes hand-to-hand.
And it’s going to go hand-to-hand. My gun’s nearly empty—maybe three rounds left—and I can barely hold it steady.
If I make it out of this, I’m seriously going to order Danny to train me every fucking day.
Romano appears around the corner of the machinery, gun up, that cold smile on his face. “End of the line, Marchetti—”
I throw the pipe.
It’s not a great throw—my shoulder can barely manage it—but it’s enough to make him flinch and throw off his aim. His shot goes wide and I’m on him, using the last of my strength to tackle him before he can fire again.
We go down in a tangle of limbs, both guns skittering away across the blood-slick concrete. Romano’s older but he’s been doing this longer, and he’s not as badly wounded. His fist connects with my face once, twice, and I feel my nose break.
I can’t see or breathe right. Everything’s pain and blood and the desperate need to survive.
His hands find my throat, squeezing. Fuck, what’s with the choking? Black spots crowd my vision as I claw at his hands, trying to break his grip.
“I’m taking you with me,” Romano hisses, his face inches from mine, blood and spit flying. His own wounds are bleeding—the gut shot, the shoulder—but he’s running on hate now. “If I die here, so do you. Then there’s no one to protect her. No one to save your precious wife and—”
My right hand is useless. But my left finds his wounded side, where my bullet went into his gut, and I dig my fingers into the wound.
Romano screams, his grip loosening just enough. I suck in air, still digging, feeling hot blood and torn flesh, pushing deeper even as he tries to pull away.
He releases my throat to grab my wrist, trying to pull my hand out of his guts. We’re both screaming now, both covered in blood—his, mine, impossible to tell anymore—rolling across the concrete like animals.
I get my leg up between us, plant my foot against his chest, and shove. He flies backward, hitting a support column with a sickening crack. I’m scrambling, crawling, reaching for my gun—
Romano’s faster. Even wounded, even bleeding out, he’s fucking faster. His boot catches me in the ribs, breaking something with a wet crunch. I go down, gasping, my hand just inches from the gun.
He kicks the weapon away, then drops on top of me, his knee on my chest, pressing down on the broken ribs. The pain is indescribable. I can’t breathe or move. I can’t do anything but stare up at him as he pulls a knife from his boot.
“Should’ve done this three years ago,” he rasps, raising the knife. “Should’ve killed you after I killed Marco.”
Time slows down. I can see the blade coming down, and I can see my death in Romano’s cold eyes. Gigi’s face flashes through my mind—her smile, her tears, her laughter, the way her lips felt against mine when we kissed.
I’m not dying here. Not like this. Not now.
My hand finds something—a shard of metal, broken glass, I don’t even know—and I swing it with everything I have left.
It catches Romano across the throat.
Blood sprays, hot and copper-smelling. He drops the knife, his hands going to his throat, trying to stem the arterial spray. But it’s too late. There’s too much damage. His eyes go wide with shock and realization.
I shove him off me, rolling away, coughing blood. My ribs are screaming, my leg is numb, my shoulder ruined. But I’m alive. For now.
Romano’s on his back, hands at his throat, blood pumping between his fingers. He’s trying to speak, but only wet, gurgling sounds come out. His cold blue eyes find mine one last time.
I crawl to him, every movement agony, until I’m close enough to see the life leaving his eyes.
“That’s for Marco,” I rasp, my voice barely working. “And for my wife. That’s for everyone you’ve ever hurt.”
He tries to say something again, but then his hands fall away from his throat. The blood stops pumping. His eyes stare at nothing.
Romano’s dead.
I slump beside him, unable to move, and barely able to breathe. The warehouse is spinning, or maybe that’s just me dying. My eyes are heavy, and it takes everything in me to not close them and drift off to sleep.
“Luca!” Gigi’s voice, distant. “Luca!”
Damn, why is everyone screaming so loudly? Can’t I just take a fucking nap? Have they not seen what I just did?
“Boss!” Danny’s there, his massive hands on me scrabbling along my body, checking for injuries. “Jesus Christ, Viktor, get that medic over here now! He’s—fuck, he’s got at least three gunshot wounds, broken ribs, possible punctured lung—”
“Gigi,” I manage to get out, blood bubbling on my lips. “Is she—”
“She’s fine. She’s right here.” Danny’s voice is tight with fear. “But you need to stay with me, boss. You hear me? Stay awake.”
I slowly turn my head and I can see Gigi now, crawling toward me despite her own injuries, her face swollen with tears. “Don’t you dare,” she’s sobbing. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me, Luca Marchetti. I need to tell you—we’re going to—”
The darkness pulls me under before I hear the rest.
When my eyes flutter open—seconds later? minutes? who knows—Danny is staring at Gigi with an expression I’ve never seen before. Wide-eyed. Shocked. His mouth slightly open.
Why’s he…why’s Danny looking at my wife like that?
“Don’t…don’t look at her,” I try to say, but the words come out wrong, garbled and slurred. “M’wife…Danny, don’t…”
“Boss, I’m not,” Danny starts, but I’m gone again, consciousness slipping away like water through my fingers.
The next time I surface, Gigi’s face is right above mine, her tears falling on my cheeks. “Luca, please, I’m—” What she says is incoherent and I have to strain to understand her. “Do you hear me?” she asks, but it sounds like she’s underwater. “We’re having a—”
Again, I can’t hear the end of her sentence, which is starting to piss me off. I really can’t hear her through the fog. She really needs to speak up.
“You have to stay,” she concludes, her voice high with fear. “Please Luca!”
We’re having a what? A party? A dog? What the fuck is she talking about?
But I’m sinking again, the darkness so heavy and so inviting. And I’m so, so tired…
“Stay with me!” Her voice follows me down. “Luca, please!”
I force my eyes open one more time, just to see her face. Beautiful. Even crying, even terrified, she’s so fucking beautiful.
“Love you,” I manage to whisper, the words thick and wrong in my mouth. “Forever.”
I’m not sure if she hears me. Or if the words even made it out.
The darkness takes me completely.