Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
LUCA
“ A nd we’re sure that she’s there?” I ask Slate.
He’s got a map of the city on the table, and all of us men he’s assembled, Ricci and Bianchi, lean over it.
“Yes, I sent Dante last night while we had dinner to scope the place out after we got wind of movement. He’s holding her there. It’s one of his safe houses.”
No wonder it had taken them so much time to find him, then.
Safe houses are kept close to the chest, no matter which family you’re in.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Father?” Dante asks, his eyes flickering with unease at the thought of me being there.
He’s worried I’ll be a liability. I don’t care, though. I won’t let them find her without me present. She needs me.
“I’m going. Also, stop calling me Father.”
Dante shrugs. “Old habits die hard, Fath—Luca,” he finishes.
I roll my eyes. Brynne is next to Slate, with a bulletproof vest over her shirt and two guns tucked into her waistband.
She looks like something straight off a cop show.
I’m sure she has more weapons on her person, ones I can’t see. It’s unnerving. But I need her back like I need my next fucking breath.
“We’re going in fast and heavy. I don’t want anyone coming out of this breathing on their side. If they do, it’ll spell war. It still might. But if we take out Matteo, it’ll eliminate him from the board completely, and I’m hoping it keeps the other families from making a move.”
I swallow. “And if they do?”
“If they do, we go to war. We can’t just sit around while one of our own slowly dies,” Slate answers without a second thought.
Hope and gratitude grow in my chest towards the man, and I give him a look, trying to convey them both.
He nods, never saying a word.
“Dante, get Luca some weapons and show him how to use them. We leave in ten.”
Dante protests, saying he can’t teach a saint to shoot in ten minutes; little does he know I’m the furthest from a saint, and the woman I’m going to save will attest to that fact.
Once I’ve shot each weapon once and stowed a knife in my boot, Dante and Slate have me load into a van with them and Brynne, leading the charge of four blacked-out SUVs to the safe house to get Sloane.
The closer we get, the more anxious I get.
It had taken so long to find her, to get to her. What if she isn’t alright?
My brain is spiraling when I hear Brynne clear her throat. I look up.
“Don’t do that. She’s tough. She’s going to be okay.”
Even though she doesn’t know that, I try to take her words as gospel to calm my heart.
When we pull up, a flurry of movement happens all at once.
I follow behind Dante as I was instructed to, keeping close, my finger on the trigger of my gun and my footsteps as silent as I can keep them.
We go in just as Slate said we would, hot and heavy.
Dante blows the lock off the door, and Brynne and Slate enter, guns and heads on swivels as they clear room after room.
Seconds tick by as I hear men in my ear whisper, ‘ Clear. ’
When we get to the second floor, all hell breaks loose. Men come out of every nook and cranny, bullets fly, and I try my best to duck into a room to avoid the spray.
I slam the door, panting as I hear footsteps approaching.
“What’s happening?” a female voice says, fear lacing it.
Instincts kick in, and I go to the bed, where I’d heard it come from. “It’s going to be alright. Get into the closet or somewhere safe,” I whisper.
She gets out of bed quickly, and I realize it’s Sloane in the full moon’s glow.
“Fuck, Sloane?” I holster my gun, going against everything Slate told me to, shoving her into the closet and clicking on the light once I find it.
I look her over.
She’s too thin—a mix of bruises, healing, and fresh littering her body. Broken blood vessels around her eyes suggest she’s been recently asphyxiated, and anger is coiling in my stomach with each new thing I find marring her perfect skin.
“Luca?” she whimpers as I tug her to me.
“Fuck, Sloane. God, I’m so sorry.” My sobs make my body shake against hers as I hold her tight.
It takes a moment before she realizes she’s not dreaming and wraps her arms around me, melting into me.
The com in my ear goes off. “I’ve got Matteo, Boss.”
It’s Dante.
“Eliminate him ,” is the answer his boss gave in reply.
“I want her to see the body,” I tell them.
I’ve witnessed too many abuse victims who are still tormented by the thought that their abuser still lives in their nightmares, even while they rot beneath the earth.
“Boss?” Dante asks.
“Tell us where you are,” Slate replies.
“Kitchen.” He keeps the com live as we hear gunshots ring over the waves.
I look at Sloane, who’s hugging herself tightly. Her eyes are different, haunted.
“It’s over, little dove.”
She shivers at the term, but nods.
I grab her arm, and she winces before I make the connection.
My soul aches as I drop my hand away. “Come with me?”
She nods again.
I lead her down to the kitchen area of the safe house.
Brynne stands over a dark lump on the floor as Dante clicks the kitchen light on.
“Sixteen men are down inside, another ten outside,” Dante relays to Slate.
Slate crouches down, feeling Matteo’s lifeless body for a pulse.
He turns and looks up at me, shaking his head, confirming the death.
“Sloane,” I call as I turn and find her soulless eyes.
I step out of her way, allowing her berth so she can see what everyone’s looking at.
“He’s dead,” Slate tells her.
My heart nearly claws its way out of my body when she drops over his body, straddling him in the silk shorts she’s in.
She leans over him, looking down into his lifeless eyes as they’re pinned to the ceiling above.
She puts a hand out to her left, where Brynne and Slate stand.
Slate looks confused, flicking his eyes toward me in question.
I shrug.
Brynne, however, seems to know just what Sloane needs.
She bends down, unsheathing her knife from the inside of her boot, and hands it over.
Slate opens his mouth to question the move, but Brynne shakes her head at him.
We all stand around where Sloane straddles the dead man solemnly, waiting for what she’ll do next. Slate’s shifting on his feet. He knew we’d need to get out of here quickly after we got her; he told us as much. But he also knows whatever she’s doing, she needs to.
Respect makes my chest ache at the way this group of people wait for Sloane’s cue, as if she is, for the moment, their Don, their leader.
“Fuck you!” Sloane screams, lifting the blade with both hands on the hilt and slamming it home between Matteo’s eyes. “Rot in fucking hell!”
It unleashes something in her.
Sobs tear out of her petite frame like the shriek of the fabled banshee as she stabs and slashes Matteo Barone until he’s unrecognizable.
When she finally stops and lets the blade skitter to the floor, where Brynne picks it up and wipes it on her pants before placing it back in her boot, she seems defeated.
Slate moves to help her stand, but I step forward, shaking my head.
The way she shrank away from me in the closet means she’s not ready for that yet.
Brynne takes up in front of her husband, grabbing under Sloane’s arms to heft her up.
“Come on, we need to go,” she tells her. “You’re safe now.”
Sloane is shivering, the after-effects of emotion and fear leaving her, adrenaline still in overdrive.
We all file out of the safe house, leaving behind two men to clean up what they can and stage it to look a certain way.
Dante is shoving a small female into the back of an SUV behind where Brynne is helping Sloane and my brows furrow.
Walking over, I ask, “Who is that?”
“Hannah, or so she says. She cared for Sloane, but Slate told us to leave her alive. It’s likely Barone kidnapped her, too. We will try to get her back home where she belongs.”
“I belong nowhere,” the girl says, eyes just as devoid as Sloane’s.
What the fuck.
When I get inside the SUV, sliding in beside Sloane, she shoves closer to her door, sinking into herself as shivers continue to wrack her body.
Slate makes eye contact with me, silently comforting me as I stow my emotions.
Brynne reaches over and clicks the heater on.
“We’re going to keep you safe,” Brynne says, reaching back and placing a hand on Sloane’s knee.
Shockingly, Sloane covers Brynne’s hand with her own, and I’m thankful more than I’ve ever been for Slate and his wife. For human kindness and the fucking mafia.
There’s a long road ahead, but I know Sloane’s tough enough to survive.
And with her safe, so am I.
After Slate’s doctor looks Sloane over and gives her the go ahead, I get her back to my apartment, against Slate’s advice. He worried that taking her some place else she didn’t recognize would spiral her out of control. But we need her somewhere that no one can find her. We need to let the dust settle.
Slate isn’t certain of the repercussions from tonight or when they’ll come.
We need to lie low.
“This will be your room,” I tell Sloane, leading her inside.
The things she left at the rectory are piled up in the bed, waiting for her to decide what to do with them.
She turns toward me, her lifeless eyes looking me up and down.
“This is my new place. After I left the church, I didn’t want to move in with my mother, and I knew we needed somewhere to land after all this shit… Sorry, anyway, I wanted to ensure you had your own space, so I got a two-bedroom. I know you have your apartment, and once this is over, if you want to go there, you can…” Fuck, I’m rambling. “We need to lie low for a bit. Let Slate and Brynne assess the damage.”
She nods. “I understand.”
In a déjà vu moment, she hefts her shirt over her head and slips out of her shorts.
Her body is battered and bruised, and it has me wishing she’d have stabbed him a few more fucking times.
“Burn these?”
I nod. “I’ll handle it.”
“The bathroom is in there, and all your clothes from the rectory are there.” I point them out, letting her head into the shower of her own volition. She stands in the empty room longer than I should have, unsure of what to do.
“I’m here if you need me,” I mutter, knowing she can’t hear me. But I needed to say it.
I bag her clothes and hide them on the balcony, where I will burn them tomorrow, as I listen for her in the shower.
Brynne told me to keep a close eye on her, but I don’t want to invade her newfound privacy.
Though, even from here, I can hear her sobs.
Closing my eyes, I pray to the man I besotted by breaking my vows for the woman I broke them for.
Hoping he’ll answer.