Chapter 29 Tamayo
TAMAYO
Snow packs the roads, slowing us down. My knee jiggles as Darius navigates the car without the sense of urgency that has me in a tight grip.
I want to slam my foot down on his and accelerate into the near-blizzard around us, but I don’t.
Instead, I glance to the street sign, to Darius, to the speedometer, back out the window. We’ll be there in moments.
Zarina will be okay.
She has to be. Because if she’s not, it means I couldn’t protect her from Marcus, from her parents, from me. I will have failed. No matter if I’m a don, it will have been at the expense of her life, and I cannot accept that. That can’t be our end. I refuse it. So she has to be okay.
She has to be.
Darius turns into the gated drive of the Gallo estate.
Snow piles up along the top of the wrought iron fence surrounding it, the trees along it weighed down.
I’ve never been past these walls. Not even when I was a kid working for the Gallos.
A don’s estate is a fortress, meant to protect and intimidate.
Only the most loyal are allowed inside. Soldiers and drug runners don’t often make the cut.
A man jumps out of the small guard house beside the gate. He’s wearing a puffed coat and fur hat pulled down low over his brow, rubbing his gloved hands together against the cold. I feel the weight of my gun on my hip as he approaches the driver’s side window. Darius rolls it down a few inches.
“Name and purpose?” the guard asks.
Cold wind blows into the car. Darius answers, “Andrea Tamayo visiting Zarina Gallo.”
The man’s hand immediately goes to his hip, and his voice hardens. “You’re not allowed on the property.”
I lean over until the man’s gaze flicks to me. “Is Marcus Accardi here?”
His eyes shift to the gate, the house out of sight beyond it, and back to me. A blatant yes.
“If you don’t want your boss to die,” I say, “I suggest you let us in.”
He shakes his head, hand not leaving his hip. “I have explicit instructions from Mrs. Gallo.”
I know if I push harder, he’ll draw that gun he’s palming. I know if we don’t get past him and into the house, Zarina and her family may not make it back out. Marcus is here. There’s no way we’re leaving.
I glance to Darius, exchanging far more than a look. “Fine, we’ll go.”
The guard nods, backing up a few paces to allow the car room to maneuver.
Darius rolls up the tinted window at the same time I draw my gun with a sigh. I would much rather avoid this, but I won’t be delayed any longer. Darius throws the car into reverse, cranking the steering wheel to turn around.
And give me a perfect shot.
I slam the window button and take aim, shooting the man through the hat sitting low on his brow before he can even understand he’s in danger.
The guard collapses into the snow as Darius shifts the car into park and jumps out.
He drags the body out of the drive and ducks into the guardhouse to open the gate.
I rest my gun on my thigh. No point in holstering it when the Accardis are already here.
Darius runs back to the car at the same time three Escalades roll up, their plates marking them as ours.
Simultaneous relief and worry swirl through me.
My capos and soldiers are here to back us up, which puts them directly in the line of fire.
And I still don’t know what that will look like.
I hope to whatever god is listening that this doesn’t result in all our deaths or dismemberments.
The car door slams shut, and Darius leads the entourage down the driveway, pulling up opposite the Accardis’ Lincoln Aviators. Only two of them. That’s good.
Marcus didn’t come here expecting a fight.
I open my door before Darius has fully stopped the car.
My capos, Gemma, Wyrm, and Juno, and their hand-picked soldiers spill out of their SUVs, filing behind me without a word.
This isn’t the first time we’ve done something like this.
Each of them knows their positions. I don’t glance back, don’t pause to wait. I charge the door like a battering ram.
The tension inside almost stops me in my tracks.
“The fuck are you doing here?” someone yells. I give him a cursory glance, noting the sapphire tie clip marking him as an Accardi capo.
“Could ask you the same thing.” I clasp my hands, including my gun, behind my back and tilt my head to the side. “I heard the wedding was canceled.”
A handful of men exchange confused looks around the room, marking them as Gallos, while the Accardis shift on their feet and puff out their chests. Like they’re expecting trouble.
They have no idea.
“What does she mean?” a Gallo man calls.
“Nothing.” The same Accardi capo speaks for the horde. “She’s talking out of her ass.”
I arch a brow. “So, Riccardo Gallo didn’t come home in a wild panic about thirty minutes ago?
” I watch each of the Gallo faces change from confusion to suspicion.
They aim harsh glares at the Accardi men, who aim theirs at me.
I only smile. The more flames I can fan into a soaring, roaring bonfire, the more likely they are to turn against each other. “Want to know why?”
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you,” the Accardi capo growls.
“Let her speak!” someone calls.
I stand still, quiet, and let the resentment already rooted deep between these two families finally burst out of the ground like tree roots cracking through concrete.
An Accardi snaps, “Get her out of here.”
“Whose house do you think you’re in?” a Gallo growls. “Gallos rule here, not Ass-cardis.”
“The fuck did you just say?” the Accardi capo barks.
“Whether Miss Gallo marries Marcus or not, we’re still Gallos,” a Gallo says. “We don’t answer to him or Alonso or you.”
The Accardi capo throws his hand toward me. “Get this bitch out of here. Now.”
“Fuck you!” a few Gallos yell back.
“You’re gonna regret those words.”
A Gallo pulls a gun, his brooch shaped like a noose with a drop of ruby red marking him a capo. “I think all of you need to leave.”
The other Gallos pull theirs. I hold my breath.
“Boss’s son is upstairs. We’re not going anywhere.” Accardis pull their guns.
My hand tightens around mine, my people and I poised on the edge of a knife, ready to slice through them the moment an opportunity presents itself. Somewhere in this house, Marcus is with Zarina doing god knows what. Will he kill her? Torture her? Or worse, still force her to marry him?
Zarina’s words from our last conversation reverberate through my head. I will not survive Marcus Accardi!
I can’t have been her downfall. She must survive.
The urgent terror that’s gripped me since the moment Alonso stormed out of Saint Christopher’s heightens to a crescendo with the rising tension in the room.
Zarina is so close. I can’t be stuck here, in the foyer, feet away from her, while she faces the brutal prince of Louredo alone.
But I also can’t storm through the dozen men in here despite having a dozen of my own at my back.
“Hank.” The Gallo capo with the brooch speaks again. “Go get the little prince so our… friends can be on their way.” One of the Gallo men backs away from the crowd, up the stairs, gun aloft and aimed at the Accardis. The capo doesn’t look at us as he says, “Tamayos, get out.”
“We are not here to fight.” My voice lowers. “But I will not leave until Marcus does.”
“We’re not leaving at all,” the Accardi capo snaps.
The Gallo capo looks between me and the Accardi capo, his face hardening into deadly decision. I see it coming before he says a word, stepping backward into the entryway.
“Then we’ll make you,” he says.
And with those words, the tension that felt as solid as a stone wall finally explodes into violence.
As if synchronized, the Gallos and Accardis raise their guns and fire into each other. Their numbers are even, their weapons similar, and each group stands on either side of the grand staircase. The sound echoes around the room until there’s no beginning or end of the ricocheting bullets.
Immediately, three men fall as my people and I retreat into the entryway to take cover.
We’re not much of a target, it seems. Stray bullets hit the walls ahead of us, the large potted plants on either side of the archway.
Hank, the Gallo ordered to retrieve Marcus, tries to escape up the stairs, but gets caught with a bullet to his chest.
The two factions take cover in opposite hallways, hiding in doorways, behind sculptures, on either side of the grand staircase. A stray shot hits the chandelier, and crystal tear drops fall to the floor. They can’t keep this up forever, but I don’t have time to wait them out.
I have to make a break for it.
Keeping my eyes on the foyer, on the two soldiers on either side of the staircase and therefore with the clearest shot of us, I speak to Darius. “This isn’t our fight. You all should go.”
“But you’re staying.” He ducks down to avoid a bullet aimed for his head. Plaster shatters, spraying us with dust.
I check my magazine—eight bullets left—and replace it in its chamber. “I’m going to the library.”
“Not alone.”
“Your choice.” I don’t elaborate, because I don’t have to.
After years of being cornered in dangerous situations, whether it’s a gun fight or a brawl, Darius and I have developed a shorthand.
He knows that I mean there’s no order here.
Darius has a choice, and I won’t hold it against him if he chooses to leave.
Unsurprisingly, he ignores me. “Cover us,” he orders the capos. “We’re breaking for the stairs.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Wyrm shakes their head. “The stairs are wide open.”
“When we make it”—Darius ignores them—“you all get the fuck out of here.”
“We’re not leaving you,” Gemma says. Her face is no longer swollen, the bruises yellow tinged with green. I hope she doesn’t do anything stupid to prove herself.
“You will follow orders,” I snap back. “Get out of here.”
The capos scowl but don’t argue further.
I turn back to the barrage that’s slowed to a trickle.
A part of my brain that’s not analyzing the best time to dart across the foyer is wondering where the fuck the Gallos’ backup is.
There have to be people at the perimeter, in a security room, somewhere in this house, who can come help their comrades.
But no one’s showed up. And that’s more disconcerting than anything else.
The shots have slowed, the men likely realizing they only have so many left.
I suck in a breath. Insults are flying across the room in place of bullets.
Each one makes me want to knock all their heads together for how fucking petty this shit is.
The Gallo princess is in danger, but sure, waste time calling the Accardis bastard sons of whores like it fucking matters.
“On three.” I hold up my fist, counting down the seconds.
One. My eyes flick between the groups still hunkered down for cover.
Two. I lock my gaze onto the Accardi man on the right of the stairs, because I know, without a doubt, Darius will go left. And I trust that my people will distract everyone else.
Three.
We dart out from the entryway, keeping our heads low and sprinting across the tiled foyer. Gunfire rattles the space, tiles and walls bursting with each missed shot. I keep running. The moment I hesitate is the moment I die, and I can’t allow that.
Zarina is too close to fail now.
My guy beside the stairs lifts his arm to shoot, but I fire first. He ducks down, and I don’t let up.
I want him too scared to stand or incapacitated.
I pull my trigger in quick succession, counting the shots as I take the stairs two at a time.
I don’t wait for Darius, don’t even look to see where he’s at or whether he’s okay. I can’t help him. Not yet.
I keep low below the railing, forcing anyone shooting to aim through the swooping and curling wrought iron latticework.
Air burns through my lungs. Pain flares across my bicep, my hand spasming around my gun.
But I keep going. Keep firing at the man beside the stairs.
Keep ignoring everything but the overwhelming desperation to get to Zarina.
And then I roll into the hallway, slamming into the far wall. Darius is moments behind me. He grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet. We start down the empty hall without hesitation.
“You know where you’re going?” Darius mutters.
“Nope.” I only knew we had to go upstairs because Hank did.
The house is huge, but I can’t think about that.
Darius doesn’t react, simply trying each door as we pass.
I do the same, clearing each empty room.
My arm is throbbing, and blood sticks between my shirt and skin as it trickles from what is likely a graze.
I don’t have time to stop and check. I can’t.
“Where the fuck is everyone?” Darius asks the question that keeps circling the back of my mind. “We got in here too easily. No backup has arrived. This can’t be all of them.”
I throw open a door to bathroom, empty. “Maybe they were keeping things small today.”
“Stupid,” Darius mutters.
“Or maybe they can’t afford their payroll anymore.”
“Or maybe”—Darius stands at the corner of the next intersection, back to the wall and gun aloft—“the Accardis made demands.”
“Definitely possible.” I press my back against the opposite wall and crane my neck to check the hallway as Darius does the same.
About halfway down, a figure is slumped to the floor, legs sprawled, head lolled.
Their bald head immediately rings a bell—G.
Riccardo’s personal guard. I point my chin. “There.”
Darius clocks him, the lack of any other people, the quiet of the hallway. “How do you wanna play it?”
“Charge in?” I check my magazine again—one bullet left.
Darius gives me a look full of pleading disbelief. “Can we at least listen first?”
I don’t answer; it’s a stupid question. Because now that Zarina is within reach, there’s no way I’ll wait at the door, listening through the keyhole to whatever horrific bullshit Marcus is doing to her.
I sprint down the hall without a word, and Darius curses.
G doesn’t stir as we approach. Either he’s dead or concussed or playing opossum. I don’t care.
I grab the handle, and it gives under my grip.
Darius is steps behind me as I throw the door wide open.
I feel a hand grab at my thigh for a moment before a loud snap precedes a grunted gasp.
But I don’t have ears or eyes or thought to spare for the obvious scuffle between G and Darius behind me.
Not when the sight that greets me as I stumble through the door into the library is enough to frost over my veins.
Because fifteen feet in front of me, Zarina Gallo is covered in blood.