70. Wynter
Wynter
G io’s funeral was lavish.
There were a lot of attendees but not many grieving faces. And I had a feeling the ones that were grieving were fake.
The weather was beautiful and somehow it fit the occasion.
Was it wrong? Fuck no. Gio DiLustro was a sadistic bastard and this world was a better place for it.
I stood next to Bas, his sister on the other side of him.
Dante, Priest, and Franco were here too.
My mother wasn’t. Even in his death, she feared him.
Basilio’s face was an unmoving mask. Many men approached us, giving their condolences. He held my hand with his left, needing to keep his right hand free.
“Just in case,” he said.
Emory was slightly pale, but as the guests cleared out and Dante, Priest, and their father left, it was her turn to throw a rose on her father’s grave, she whispered a hiss.
“Rot in hell.” She threw a scrunched, rotten red rose and left without a glance.
A shudder rolled down my spine, not wanting to know what she endured to hate her father so much.
The funeral wasn’t long and I was glad for it. A few men of the Syndicate rounded off to the side, discussing business and that seemed to take longer. All the while, Emory remained with me.
“How come you don’t get to be there with them?” I asked her, tilting my chin toward the group of men.
“I don’t have a small brain,” she muttered under her breath and I had to stifle my laugh.
Her eyes, as dark as Basilio’s, came to me and she grinned. “I’m happy to see you and Basilio come to terms.”
My eyes gravitated back to my husband to see him already watching me. He winked, I smiled and then his attention was back to the group of men. Yet, I knew the entire time he kept me in his sights.
“You know, he caught me falling off my uncle’s balcony,” I told her with a soft smile. Her raised eyebrow told me she didn’t. “He’s my fairy tale.”
“I didn’t take you for a romantic,” she scoffed.
My eyes found my husband again. “Only when it comes to Bas.”
* * *
It was after six in the evening when we headed home.
Bas sped down the road, covered with flurries. The last visit from mother nature I guess. It wasn’t the ideal road condition for his Bugatti.
I glanced toward him, his body tense and expression dark.
“Basilio-” I started but never got to finish the sentence. Something collided with our trunk and my body jerked forward.
My head snapped behind us to find the headlights of a black SUV. A Land Rover. Bas suddenly floored the gas, but so did the driver of the SUV. Another ram into the back of Bas’ car.
“What’s happening?” I whimpered.
“Fucking Russians,” he hissed.
“How do you know they’re Russians?” I asked him, my eyes glancing behind us.
“They always drive damn Land Rovers.”
“D-do you think it’s my-” I couldn’t quite force the word great-grandparents pass my lips. “Do you think it’s the Pakhan?”
“I don’t know.” Except his body language told me he thought it was exactly them.
I shifted around, my hands shaking. Bas must have noticed it, because he tried to comfort me, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Both of us,” I rasped. He cocked his eyebrow and I clarified, “Don’t let anything happen to both of us.”
“Both of us then,” he agreed. He took a sudden twist of the steering wheel, making a sharp right corner. “Head down,” he barked, his voice tight and cold.
Without delay, I obeyed and leaned forward. No sooner than I did, bullets started flying. The passenger window exploded and so did the rear window. Both my hands covered my head while Bas kept driving.
My face was pressed against my legs, my body jerking with each sharp turn Bas took. The bullets kept flying and I turned my head to my husband’s. Fear choked me. I finally got my fairy tale and now this bullshit.
I kept my gaze on Bas, wishing I could do something to help him. He was in a clear line of fire and it terrified me. He kept his cool but I didn’t. I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes and I prayed we got out of this alive.
Somehow Basilio managed to pull his own gun and started shooting at the SUV. More shots came our way. He kept shooting but he was at a disadvantage, trying to drive and shoot at the same time.
And I felt useless.
He turned another corner and my body slammed against the door, my head hitting the handle.
“You good?” Bas asked, worry laced his voice. He was being shot at and he worried if I was good.
“Yes. Tell me how to help,” I asked.
“Get my phone,” he barked. “Right pocket.”
I reached over and pushed my left hand into his pocket. It was the only thing in his pocket so I pulled it out.
“Dial Dante or Priest.”
I nodded and swiped the phone open, then started scrolling down his phone book. “D. D, D there is not a single name with D here,” I told him frantically.
“Under Cousin,” he clarified, his eyes above me. “Fuck,” he snarled and I followed his line of sight.
More shots rang out, the deafening sound of bullets against the metal of the car. I couldn’t stop flinching, my eyes darting around with fear. The terror gripped my throat and the fear of losing Bas to death was the biggest part of it.
A loud hiss to my left had me whirling my head. Bas never slowed down the car and kept shooting at the men after us, but he was hit.
“Bas, you’re hit,” I cried out.
He didn’t slow down. He kept firing another round of shots.
His sleeve was soaked with blood and I straightened up to help stop the bleeding.
I couldn’t bear the thought of him in pain.
My hands shook, our eyes connected. There was still so much I wanted to say to him. So much I wanted to do with him.
“Bas, I-” His hand landed on my head and pushed it down just in time to hear a bullet fly by my ear. In agonizingly slow motion, I watched the bullet graze his head and blood spurt on my face and all over him.
The car spun out of control and with the last sense of reason, I pressed the call button to his cousin. The faint ringtone mixed with the firearm and screeching tires. The car shot toward a guard rail and I was certain this was it for us.
I turned my head to see him one last time.
“I love you, Bas.” Our eyes locked, my mouth moved but I couldn’t hear my voice. Something flickered in his eyes and I had to believe he knew what I said. I couldn’t die without saying those words one more time.
An ear shattering noise sounded as we crashed against the rail. The car tumbled and my body jerked back and forth, flying through the air. The safety belt cut into my neck, digging into my collarbone. My head hit something hard, and then a loud explosion split my ears.
My vision turned black, my ears rang, my whole body hurt. But I could hear voices. Russian voices in the distance. My body lay limp and my eyelids refused to open. The sudden silence was deafening. Eerily scary.
For several heartbeats, I remained still. Listening.
A car engine roared, but it didn’t move. Whoever attacked us was still here. Ignoring my throbbing headache and pain, I forced my eyes open. My vision was blurry and dots swam in the air everywhere I looked. I blinked once. Twice.
My sight cleared and I noted the smoke surrounding us.
I turned to the driver’s side and my breath was cut short. Bas was slumped over the steering wheel. Blood soaked his whole sleeve, dripping down his fingers. There was also blood on his temple and fear unlike ever before took hold of my throat.
Was he dead?
I felt panic rise in my throat but I choked it down. Instead I listened for any sound from him. Anything. I held my breath, praying silently to anyone who was listening.
Don’t let him die. Don’t let him die. My throat was raw, so many emotions choking me.
That was when I saw it. His fingers twitched. Like he wanted to keep on fighting.
He’s alive, my mind and heart sighed in relief.
The harsh Russian words neared and I looked frantically around Bas for his gun. I couldn’t let them finish us. The smell of gasoline traveled with the smoke and drifted into my lungs. I kept still while my eyes darted around, panic spread through every single cell of me.
Smoke and heat filled the car, and I feared we’d burn alive if we remained here.
Gun! I spotted Bas’ handgun by his foot. I couldn’t waste any time. Ignoring my aching body, I unbuckled my seatbelt and shifted forward to the left. Then I grabbed the gun and shifted around to the right.
Two men stood ten feet away from the car and without thinking about it, I put my finger on the trigger and pulled it.
Bang.
I missed. Fuck! I forced myself to calm down and aimed. Just the way Sasha taught me.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I hit them. They stumbled. One fell down to his knees. The other followed. The latter raised his gun but I pulled the trigger again. Bang. Bang.
He fell over, blood quickly pooling around him.
I killed a human. The realization hit hard but I didn’t regret it.
Sparks popped under the hood. With no time to waste, I grabbed the door handle and started pushing. It wouldn’t budge. I picked up my legs and placed the bottom of my Chucks against it, then applied all my strength into pushing it open.
Thank God I changed out of my clothes before heading home after the funeral. It was an odd thought while you tried to get out of a wrecked car.
“Come on,” I grunted. I kicked the door. Again and again. The hood of the car was burning and panic rose inside me. I started kicking frantically, then alternated to using my shoulder.
The door swung open. My hands and legs shook and tears streamed down my face. My muscles burned, but I couldn’t stop. I rushed out of the car and around toward Bas’ door.
The fire was spreading quickly, reaching the windshield now. I gripped the car door and tugged hard, grunting while my muscles screamed in protest. The door flew open unexpectedly and I fell back on my ass.