Chapter Twenty-Two
Venezio
I wasn’t sure anything had ever been as hard as leaving a naked Stephanie all alone in the apartment.
I’d even debated putting off calling in just to have a few more hours with her.
It was more than that, though. It was a safety issue not to have a phone. That was what made the decision for me. Because Steph had been through enough already because of me. I needed to do whatever it took to make sure nothing else happened.
So I walked out the door, down the stairs, and made my way into the bodega.
I’d found the cord in under a minute, but decided to wait for the fresh coffee to brew to grab us a few before heading back up.
When I heard my name yelled into the store, that panicked pitch making my blood run cold, I knew shit had just gone all sideways again.
I didn’t even take the cord.
What the fuck good would it be when we were running for our lives again?
I flew toward the door, grabbing Steph’s hand, and running down the road.
When it came to the boroughs, Brooklyn was the one I knew the least. A long-ass rivalry between the Costas, who ran all the Five Families, and the Lombardis, who ran Brooklyn, meant that most of us didn’t step into enemy turf.
So I had no fucking idea where we were going, just as far away from the safe house as quickly as possible.
Out this way, the streets weren’t as busy as they would be in places like Midtown or other parts of Manhattan.
I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
On the one hand, it meant that no one was in our way.
On the other, it meant there was no one between us and the fucker who was sure to be on our heels sooner or later.
Our best bet would probably be to grab a cab and race back to Manhattan. But as I scanned the damn streets, I didn’t fucking see one.
I knew in less tourist-heavy areas, ride shares were more common than yellow taxis. And the time of night wasn’t exactly helping either.
Last time I checked a clock, it was around nine. Not late, but late enough for traffic to thin in areas not bar or club heavy.
“Which way?” Steph asked, breath panting, creating little clouds around her head, as we neared a cross street.
I had no fucking idea.
So I just dragged us to the left, not sure if it was a good (or terrible) decision as we seemed to make our way into an even emptier, industrial park full of warehouses, chain-link fences, delivery docks, and service roads.
“Do you know where we are?” Steph asked between gasps for breath.
“No. Do you?”
“I don’t know Brooklyn well.”
There were a shit-ton of buildings, most of them looking either abandoned, under construction, or simply closed down for the night.
Did we hide? Take the chance that he would look in each of the buildings? Or, worse yet, just shoot indiscriminately into them?
“Fuck,” I hissed when a shot rang out, landing in a sign to our side.
Without thinking, I pulled Steph with me down a cross street, then a small alley between buildings.
“Down,” I demanded when we ran up to a dumpster. “Whatever you do, don’t get up.”
“Your… gun?” she panted.
I wasn’t about to tell her that I didn’t have it, that I had my fists and scrappy street-fighting skills and nothing else.
“Venezio—” she whispered, trying to grab the edge of my shirt.
“Don’t move,” I demanded.
“No,” she whisper-yelled at me. Then, in a smaller voice, “Don’t leave me.”
Fuck.
Those words nearly cut me off at the knees.
But I forced myself to move away, breaking into a run toward the end of the alley, then cutting up the next one.
My shoes crunched on salted pavement. I wasn’t trying to be quiet. I was trying to lead the fucker away from Steph.
I saw the puffs of the guy’s breath in the air.
He was coming.
I had to be faster.
Because if I was stupid, if I got taken out, there was nothing and no one standing between him and Stephanie.
True, she was innocent.
And he couldn’t use her against me if I was dead.
But some men were sick. And they just wanted to hurt women as punishment.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I ran forward, arms already out, and slammed full force into the bastard just as he broke into the mouth of the alley.
We both flew to the ground.
I landed hard on my shoulder, the pain sparking up my neck and down my arm.
But there was no time to focus on that.
I scrambled up onto all fours and faced the guy.
Only to find an unfamiliar face with wide, panicked eyes.
“The fuck, man?”
“Where’d he go?” I growled, grabbing the guy and dragging him to his feet. “Where the fuck did he go?”
My head was on a swivel.
But I saw no one. Heard no one.
Fuck.
Fuck.
A shot rang out.
My stomach bottomed out.
The stranger yanked away and ran from the gunshots like his ass was on fire.
I ran toward the sound, knowing where it was coming from.
The alley.
Where Steph was hiding behind a fucking dumpster.
Dammit.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I heard no cries of pain, no pleas for mercy.
I didn’t even hear any fucking footsteps.
I ran back down the alley, my heart hammering in my ears.
I saw the spot just above the dumpster where a bullet had taken a chunk out of brick.
I saw the casing on the ground.
My stomach twisted as I got to the edge of the dumpster.
There was no body sprawled out.
There was no one.
I wasn’t sure if it was hope or dread that was stronger.
Maybe she was smart, didn’t listen to me, got away.
Or, yeah, maybe the bastard grabbed her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I flew down the street, looking for footsteps in the slush on the streets, for huffs of hot breath in the cold air.
Something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
I circled back, helplessness spreading through me, making my saliva go acidic.
It was just then that I heard it.
A shot.
Then another.
And another.
That was four shots so far.
From what I could tell, he was using a 9mm subcompact. That meant he had roughly six to ten bullets.
Another shot.
But no screams.
How was she not screaming? Knowing I would come?
I had no idea.
But there was one thing I did know: that the sound was too muffled to come from outside.
They were in a building somewhere.
I moved backward toward the sound, scanning the buildings, trying to figure out the most likely one she’d have dipped into to try to hide.
I pulled doors as I ran.
But everything was locked.
Then, like a fucking beacon in front of me, I saw it.
A partially renovated building.
There was a chain-link fence around it, but the gate was thrown wide.
Even if the doors were locked, she could have possibly used the scaffolding to get inside on the second floor.
As I started to run, there was another shot.
Six, right?
That could be it.
Or there were four left.
It was anyone’s guess.
One thing was for sure, though.
Steph was still alive if he was still shooting.
Hope soared as I grabbed a piece of rebar before running toward the door.
The door wasn’t even fully latched.
And on the ground beneath me, before the darkness inside swallowed the evidence up, there were wet footprints.
Bingo.
Everything inside me wanted to run, to charge into whatever the situation was. The other part forced me to take it slow, to rein in my impatience.
I needed to be smart.
The inside of the building was disorienting. Most of the windows were blacked out with old newspaper, creating nothing but cavernous darkness.
I forced myself to focus on keeping my footsteps quiet as I moved through the building, painfully aware of how the sound could carry in a big, empty space. The last thing I needed was this asshole to know I was coming and to be lying in wait. Especially if he still had bullets.
I was cocky enough to know I could win in any fight, that I’d always walked away from every altercation I’d been involved with. But there was no amount of instinct that could save you when staring down the barrel of a gun.
My blood was rushing through my ears.
I was shocked I could hear anything past it. But as I neared a set of stairs to go up a floor, I heard something toward the back of the building.
I doubled back, taking slow, deep breaths, and adjusting the rebar to hold it like a bat with both hands.
I put one foot in front of the other, forcing myself to take my time even as a slamming sound got louder and louder.
As I drew closer, I could hear a grunting sound that had my stomach clenching.
Fuck it.
There was no more taking my time.
I flew forward, expecting the worst.
But it was just the guy with both his hands on a door handle of a square cinderblock room.
I didn’t stop to think.
I blew at him.
Something crunched under my feet as I rushed forward. So when I swung, he was quick enough to scramble back, making me catch him in the thighs instead of the knees, which I knew would debilitate him and allow me to overpower him and swing the rebar until his fucking head burst open.
Then it could all finally be over.
Stephanie would be safe.
For good.
A yowl of pain escaped the guy as he moved back another step. Then another.
I ran forward, swinging out again, landing a blow to his stomach. But when I aimed higher at his head, he threw up his arms to block it.
My foot kicked something that slid across the dusty floor.
The gun.
It was just a few feet from the guy’s foot. Judging by the way his gaze slid to it, yet he didn’t lunge for it like a lifeline told me I was right; he was out of bullets. Or it jammed. Either way, it was of no use to him.
I advanced again, swinging.
He ducked, and the rebar swooshed through the air just an inch from his damn head.
Squatting down, he charged forward, coming at me low and sending us both flying to the ground.
I landed hard, the air knocked out of my lungs as pain moved across my back.
I cushioned his fall, allowing him to recover just a second before I did.
He struck out, landing a blow to my cheek.
Then my nose.
I felt the rush of blood, tasted it slipping in between my lips.
But the pain was just fuel.
I pulled the rebar up between us, slamming it into his throat, the force making him choke.
His hands flew to his throat as he gasped for air.
I slid out and away, getting back to my feet.
But as I raised the rebar to finally bring it down on his head with full force, he turned and fucking ran.
I followed for a moment.
But as he made his way out of the building, I paused.
I’d left Stephanie alone once before and look what happened. I couldn’t abandon her again.
With that in mind, I ran back toward that cinderblock room, rapping my hand against the door.
“Babe, it’s me. Open up. Quick.”
“Venezio?” she called, and I heard slamming and crashing sounds inside before, finally, the door opened.
And there she was.
With watery eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
But okay.
She was okay.
“He was shooting at me,” she sniffled as I reached for her, pulling her against my chest for one quick moment, needing to feel her against me to know she was genuinely alright. “I thought that maybe the cinderblocks were safe.”
“Safer than being out in the open, that’s for sure.”
“I barred the door. But he shot in. The cinderblocks were crumbling.”
“Yeah, they aren’t the rebar-enforced ones. But he wasn’t smart enough to know to keep shooting through the same hole.”
“Well, it’s good that… you’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine, but we gotta move,” I said, offering my hand to her once again.
“You see another piece of rebar or pipe as we go, grab it.”
“Where’s your gun?”
“At the fucking safe house,” I admitted.
I considered circling back.
But it was too risky.
“Where did he go?”
“Probably somewhere to try to catch his breath. Caught him in the throat with the bar. He’ll recover. Unfortunately. And he’ll be madder than ever. We gotta get moving.”
“Where?” she asked as we moved outside, going hesitantly at first as I glanced around.
“We gotta get back to Manhattan,” I said.
I knew my way around, sure. But it’s also where my people were. I had to get some fucking backup. Or, if nothing else I had to stash Steph with someone who could protect her and take off on my own.
Then deal with this once and for all.
“We could get a cab,” she suggested, even as we got back toward one of the main roads.
Steph threw her hand up in the air, but as the driver slowed near us and caught sight of me, he gunned it and took off.
“Shit. No, we’re not gonna get a cab with me looking like this.”
“Ferry?” she suggested, nodding toward the Naval Yard.
“Too late. Nothing’s going out now.”
“Subway then.”
Would people stare at me? Clutch their bags? Keep their distance? Yeah. But they’d mind their business too. You had to love that about New Yorkers.
“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding toward the subway steps at the next cross street.
“Venezio!” Steph yelped.
Then there he was.
Moving between us and the subway steps.
Not only that.
But barreling down toward us.
With something long and sharp in his hand.
We didn’t have to say anything.
We turned in unison and ran.