51. JOEY
JOEY
W hen Ben gave me the signal that William had crossed over into Staten Island, a surge of venom coursed through me. Coiled and ready to strike. Paul and Marco intercepted him and spun him a story, claiming they knew exactly where Adriana was hiding after he’d gone around, asking if anyone knew where he could find her. They promised to take him right to her. He followed without question right into the trap I had waiting. Now, he was mine. And I was waiting and ready in the warehouse.
I stood, flexing my hands in black leather gloves, the seams stretching over my knuckles. My gaze locked on William, slumped and tied to a chair, his face a swollen mess from the “ conversation ” we’d had earlier. A thin line of blood trickled from his temple, staining the collar of his sweat-drenched shirt. “You made your choice, William,” I said. “No one puts their hands on Adriana and gets away with it. No one. ”
He strained against the ropes, attempting to free himself. A bitter smile tugged at his bloodied lips. “You’d kill me over her?” he sneered. “Hate to tell you, but she’s just a stupid?—”
I struck before the word could poison the air, my fist connecting with his cheek. His head whipped to the side, blood spraying across the ground below him in dark, jagged streaks.
“You’re not very smart, are you?” I growled. “I don’t let things go easily—not when the people I care about get hurt.”
He coughed, spitting blood, then smirked again. “You think you’re some kind of hero? You can’t save a whore! She’s always needed saving. You’ll find out?—”
The words hit like a slap, and I froze, my jaw tightening until it ached. I reached into my waistband and drew my small revolver.
“I’m afraid I can’t let this go,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. “I thought maybe I’d take the high road—let you walk if you signed the papers. But some stains only come out when you cut them out. Some messes don’t go away on their own. They need cleaning up.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t scare me,” he spat.
A cold smile crept across my face. “Good,” I said, tilting my head. “It’s more satisfying when you don’t see it coming.”
I pressed the muzzle against his knee and pulled the trigger. The crack of the gunshot echoed, followed by his anguished screams. He thrashed against the chair, his cries ricocheting into the air.
“That’s for Adriana’s tears,” I said, stepping back.
William gasped, his face twisted in agony as blood soaked his pants and pooled beneath the chair. His chest heaved, eyes wide with terror, as I lifted the gun again, this time aiming for his chest. I crouched, bringing myself to his eye level. His breaths were shallow, broken by the weight of pain and fear. “When you meet the devil,” I said, tapping the barrel against his sternum, “tell him Joey ‘The Shark’ Romano sends his regards.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I stood back and fired again, a deafening crack shattering the air. I unloaded every round into his body. I straightened, rolling my shoulders as if shaking off the weight of what had just played out before me. I’ll live with it. Whatever weight it adds to my conscience, I’ll carry it. Some people need saving, and some people need burying.
Paul and Marco took care of the mess. Ben would handle the rest—the falsified papers, the cover-up. William would disappear from the records, leaving Adriana a widow.
But not for long.
Adriana was always meant to be mine. I wouldn’t stop—not until the day she shared my last name. And that day was fast approaching.