Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Enzo caught a glimpse of Bianca disappearing into a room at the end of the hallway. His pulse spiked. He hit the doorway at a run and skidded to a stop. Behind the open bookcase lay a hidden stone staircase that spiraled downward.
Enzo drew a slow breath, steadied his grip, and started down the stairs with his gun raised.
Voices echoed up the stone shaft.
“This is your fucking mess!” Rocco roared. “You were supposed to help me! You were supposed to take care of Valardi! Now it’s all fucking ruined!”
“Shut up,” Vitale snapped, his voice ringing cold and sharp off the rock walls.
Other sounds floated up as Enzo descended. Water. Waves slapping against stone. The scrape of something heavy being dragged.
At the bottom of the winding staircase, Enzo dropped into a low crouch and eased forward just enough to take a look around the curve of the wall.
A speedboat sat in the center of the cavern, its hull bobbing gently in the dark water. Vitale stood near it with one security guard, both struggling with heavy duffel bags. Rocco and Bianca hovered off to one side, the tension between them thick and volatile.
“You are a fucking disaster!” Rocco screamed. “You owe me!”
“I owe you nothing,” Vitale shot back. “You want Valardi dead, kill him yourself.” He waved sharply at his guard to move faster, irritation etched into every line of his face.
“That’s your problem. You don’t have the stones.
You want Valardi dead, you want your sister gone, but you don’t have the balls to do it because you’re still afraid of your grandfather. ”
Rocco snapped.
He shoved his gun straight into Vitale’s face.
“Get out of my fucking way!” Vitale screamed, knocking Rocco aside.
Enzo rose smoothly, gun steady.
“Stop.”
The single word cracked through the cave like a gunshot.
Every head snapped toward him.
“Shoot him!” Vitale shrieked.
The security guard dropped the bags and went for his weapon.
Too slow.
Enzo fired once.
The man flew backward, his body slamming into stone, lifeless before he hit the ground.
The shot thundered through the cave, echoing and multiplying until it felt like the walls themselves were screaming.
Silence followed.
Rocco stared at Enzo, chest heaving.
“Drop it,” Enzo growled.
Rocco let out a howl of pure frustration, spitting curses in Italian, but his hand shook as he released the gun. It clattered uselessly to the stone floor.
Bianca suddenly surged forward.
“Oh, thank God,” she sobbed, lunging at Enzo. “You came to save me—”
“Get off me,” Enzo snarled, shoving her back. She was in the worst possible place, between him and Vitale, and he didn’t have time for her hysteria.
“Bastard!” she screamed, then lunged again.
He pushed her more forcefully, and she fell hard at Vitale’s feet, sprawling on the wet stone.
Vitale straightened slowly. Then he smiled.
“Well,” he said, lifting his hands, far calmer than any man had a right to be.
“It has come to this.” He tilted his head.
“What now, Enzo? The police will be on their way with all that gunfire. You and your friends broke into my home. You shot my men.” He shook his head sadly.
“I was afraid for my life. A tragic misunderstanding. A sad day when your own friends turn against you.” His smile sharpened. “You should run while you still can.”
“I don’t think so.”
Vitale held his hands higher, palms out. “You’re going to shoot an unarmed man?”
Enzo stared at him.
The urge to pull the trigger roared through him, hot, immediate, irresistible. Then Kathleen’s face rose unbidden in his mind. Her voice. Her eyes. The disappointment he’d see there.
He held.
Vitale laughed. “That’s what I thought. You only think you’re tough.” He leaned in slightly. “Deep down, you want to be the good guy. That’s your weakness. You don’t have the killer instinct.”
Vitale’s hand dropped.
Enzo fired.
The bullet punched cleanly between Alessandro Vitale’s eyes.
He crumpled without a sound.
“You’re wrong,” Enzo said quietly. “And it cost you.”
Rocco stared down at Vitale’s body, his face twisting as the reality finally hit.
“Look what you did,” he screamed, his voice cracking. He lunged for the gun he’d dropped earlier, fingers scrabbling against wet stone.
“Don’t,” Enzo warned.
The word was low. Deadly.
Rocco straightened slowly, his chest heaving, hatred blazing in his eyes as his glare bounced between Enzo and Bianca. “You both are—”
“Get in the boat, Rocco,” Enzo said quietly.
The calm in his voice stopped Rocco cold.
“I hate—what?” Rocco’s rant collapsed into confusion.
“Get into the boat and get out of here,” Enzo repeated. “Vitale was right about one thing. The cops will be here soon.” His gaze hardened. “Go now. Before I change my mind.”
Rocco hesitated, torn between fury and survival.
Enzo’s attention flicked to Bianca. “Go with him.”
“No,” she hissed. “He wants to kill me. You need to keep me safe.”
Enzo snapped. “Get in the fucking boat,” he roared, the sound echoing violently through the cave. “Both of you. Now.”
There was no mistaking it this time. No bargaining. No theatrics. Just finality.
Rocco flinched. Bianca recoiled.
They scrambled for the boat, Rocco shoving her ahead of him as if afraid Enzo might change his mind mid-step. The engine coughed, then roared to life, the thunderous sound filling the cavern as the boat peeled away into the darkness, vanishing into the open sea.
Enzo didn’t watch them go.
The moment the boat cleared the cave’s entrance, he turned and headed for the stairs.
He had to find Kathleen. Make sure she was safe. Do whatever he needed to convince her to take a chance on him. To start slowly, with a proper date, a short courtship, a quick marriage. Because he wanted that more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.
Everything else could wait.