Chapter 14
ELENA
T he door slammed open like a warning shot, and I flinched. Another Malatesta I assumed, who was older and meaner-looking, stormed in, his voice already raised. "You're going to blow the deal with the Donatis over this bullshit?"
Behind the angry Malatesta, a second guy slunk in—younger, barely out of his teens—clutching a duffel bag to his chest like it would save him from whatever storm he was stepping into.
Alfeo didn't answer right away. His jaw twitched, but his grip on the gun didn't waver. I could see Jackson's face paling as he held his wounded leg.
Ivy's eyes met mine, a silent conversation passing between us. We'd survived foster care together. We'd survived my mother's diagnosis. We'd survived everything life had thrown at us. We could survive this too.
Ivy's fingers found mine, squeezing hard enough to hurt. I squeezed back, the small connection our only lifeline in this nightmare.
She still clutched her pepper spray in her free hand, keeping it out of sight.
Could we do something? I was trying to figure that out, studying Alfie, deciding on what options we had. But there weren't many openings. Not with a loaded gun trained on Jackson. He'd seen me looking around, trying to find a way out of this, had given me the smallest shake of his head.
I couldn't just let Alfie, whoever the fuck he was, stop me from seeing my mom again.
"They won't let this slide again," the older man snapped. "You think they'll show mercy twice?"
Jackson's face remained masked. "He's right," he stated. "You start this war, you won't survive it. The Donatis will burn you down to ash."
For a second—just a second—Alfeo hesitated. His eyes flicked to Jackson, then to the man. Doubt cracked through his bravado like a hairline fracture.
Hope flickered in my chest, fragile as a candle flame. I glanced at Ivy, whose wide eyes reflected the same desperate wish. Maybe we'd get out of this alive after all. We wouldn't need to do anything, no crazy, dangerous moves that could end with blood. Maybe Alfie would just walk away.
"You already fucked this up," the man said, stepping closer. "You think Leo Donati's going to let this go?"
Jackson's voice was low, but steady. "Walk away now, and I'll make sure they don't retaliate. You can still fix this."
Would the Donatis really let this slide? I doubted it. Jackson was probably saying anything to get us out alive, making promises he couldn't keep. I couldn't blame him—I'd have promised the moon if it meant saving our lives.
Alfeo's laugh was sharp and bitter. "The Donatis don't run this city. They're not gods."
"They don't have to be," the older man muttered. "They just have to be pissed."
The tension snapped. The older guy reached for something—maybe a weapon, maybe his phone—but Alfeo was fast and trigger friendly. One shot. Loud. Final.
Blood sprayed across the floor as the man dropped like a sack of meat. I jerked back, my heart slamming against my ribs as I stared at the body on the kitchen floor now.
Ivy screamed, the sound piercing the air before she slapped her hand over her mouth.
"Shut up or you're next!" Alfeo snarled, swinging the gun toward her.
The blood pooled around the dead man, spreading in a sick, shining puddle across my apartment floor. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears, fear crystallizing into something cold and heavy in my stomach. This was real. This was happening. Someone had just been murdered in my living room.
All my planning, my attempts to figure out what to do, it had come to a screeching halt with the reality of a dead man.
The other Malatesta—barely more than a kid—stared at the body, pale and shaking. I wondered if it was his first body, like it was mine.
"You're out of your mind," the young man whispered. "I'm done. This is too far."
Alfeo turned the gun on him. "You're not done until I say you are. Give me your gun, nice and slow, slide it across the floor. Then tie them up. You're going to help me load them in the van."
The kid hesitated. I saw the war in his eyes—fear, disgust, survival. Finally, with trembling hands, he pulled a small handgun from his waistband and slid it across the floor toward Alfeo. Only then did he reach into the duffel bag, pulling out coils of rope, his movements jerky with fear.
"Wait," I said, my voice cracking as my mind finally began turning once more. I needed to do something. Jackson was our best chance now. "Let me stop the bleeding. He's no good to you dead."
I glanced at Jackson, whose jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles jumping.
His hands were still pressed against his leg, blood seeping between his fingers.
How much pain was he in? How much blood had he already lost?
The thought of him dying… no, he couldn't. Not like this. not on my shitty apartment floor.
Alfeo stared at me, his eyes unreadable.
"Please," I begged.
"Fine." He said with a single nod, and relief swept through me for only a moment before my heart continued to hammer against my ribs.
One wrong move and we'd all be dead. But if Jackson bled out, we'd lose our strongest ally.
I tried to keep my breathing steady, to not show the terror that was making my hands shake.
"Can I get a clean cloth from the kitchen?" I asked as I raised my hands in surrender. "I need something to press against the wound."
Alfeo shifted the gun between targets—me, then Ivy, then Jackson, then the kid—never letting his guard down. Both Ivy and I couldn't help the sharp intakes when it lurched our ways. Seeing the gun aimed at me was not something I knew how to process.
It would take just one slip of the finger.
"Make it quick. No funny business."
I backed toward the kitchen, making sure my hands were still visible, not wanting to set him off and get shot on a whim.
"I'm just getting a dish towel. That's all.
" I knew saying my intentions aloud would help keep him calm, I'd watched enough cop shows to know that talking through my actions was a good thing.
I carefully grabbed a clean dish towel and made my slow return. "Can I use his belt for the pressure?" I asked, nodding toward Jackson's discarded pants on the floor.
"Fine." Alfie's eyes darted between us all as I slowly collected the belt and returned to Jackson's side, kneeling beside him.
Jackson's eyes met mine, pain mixed with gratitude in their depths. I wrapped the belt around his thigh, above the wound, leaving it loosely buckled. The bullet had gone clean through, leaving an entry and exit wound that were both bleeding steadily.
From what I'd seen in far too many movies, that was supposedly a good thin.
Supposedly.
"This is going to hurt," I warned, wrapping the cloth against the entry and exit wounds while tightening the belt. I was grateful the dish towel was able to go all the way around to cover both. Jackson hissed through his teeth but gave me a small nod.
"I need to keep pressure on his wound," I said as the kid approached with rope. "Let me keep my hands in front. Please."
Alfeo considered this for a moment, and I was almost sure he'd decline my request, but then he nodded. "Fine. But if you try anything?—"
"I won't," I promised quickly. "I just want to keep him alive."
"Something tells me it's more than just for my leverage," Alfeo scoffed, the edge of his mouth curling before he glanced at the body on my floor again.
My stomach lurched as my eyes involuntarily followed his gaze. The dead man's vacant stare seemed to accuse me, even though I hadn't pulled the trigger. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the edge of carpet where it met the tile of the kitchen.
Copper. It smelled like copper now, and I shuddered.
I swallowed hard and looked away, focusing on Jackson's labored breathing instead. One death was already too many.
The kid bound my wrists in front of me while Ivy and Jackson had theirs tied behind their backs. My hands trembled as I pressed them back against Jackson's wound, trying to steady my breathing.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Stay calm. Stay alive.
Alfeo gestured toward the door with his gun. "Move."
Walking down two flights of stairs was a nightmare.
My heart hammered against my ribs with each step, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps that I struggled to control.
The kid helped Jackson, who leaned heavily against him, face clammy with pain.
And yet he was silent, not a single grunt or groan escaping him.
Just keep breathing. One step at a time. We'll get through this.
But the mantra felt hollow with Alfeo's gun trained on Ivy and me as we descended, the weapon never wavering.
My mind swam with panic and potentials exit ideas, but the fear of taking a bullet to the back kept me from making any kind of move.
As we reached the first-floor landing, a door cracked open, a woman's startled eyes widening at the sight of us as I glanced at her.
Alfeo swung his gun toward her door, and I felt my heart stop as the door quickly slammed shut.
Someone had seen us. Someone knew. But would they call the police? And would they get here in time? I silently prayed the woman would stay inside where it was safe. The last thing I needed was another death on my conscience.
When we reached the van parked in the alley behind my building, Alfeo ordered Ivy and me into the van, before the kid helped Jackson in.
The interior was stripped down to just the metal, and there were stains all around that made my stomach lurch. The roll of black plastic at the far end made me bite my lip.
This was a van where people died.
I moved and sat against the beside Ivy while the kid helped Jackson over.
"Thank you," I mumbled to him as he set Jackson down beside me, and I instantly returned to applying pressure on his leg.
"Don't thank me," the kid muttered, unable to meet my gaze.
He turned and exited the van, only for Alfeo to suddenly turn his gun on him.