Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Bruno
Isit in the back seat. Every muscle fiber burns. Nothing matters except the woman they took from me.
The woman carrying my child.
Valentino drives. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his jaw set in that hard line I've seen before every fight we've ever been in together. Nico sits beside me, checking his weapon for the third time in five minutes.
None of us speak.
The radio crackles. Liam's voice cuts through the silence.
"All teams in position. North entrance has four guards visible. East entrance has two. South entrance appears clear but thermal shows two bodies inside the loading dock."
I press the button on my earpiece. "What about inside?"
"Eight total, like I said. Four on the main floor, two in the loading dock, two more in what looks like a basement level." A pause. "That's where they're keeping her."
"Breach in three minutes," Pietro's voice comes through. "All teams hold for my signal."
Valentino takes a hard left, and the industrial district spreads out before us. Abandoned buildings. Empty lots. The kind of place where people disappear and no one asks questions.
"Liam's contact came through," Nico says quietly. He's not looking at me. His eyes are fixed on the window, scanning the streets for threats. "The Castellanos haven't called for backup. They're confident we won't find her."
"Confident." The word tastes like ash in my mouth.
"They think they covered their tracks." Nico finally turns to look at me. "The phone was a decoy. They cut off her ring in case we'd put a tracker in it."
My hand curls into a fist.
"How many men do we have?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"Twenty." Valentino's voice is flat. Controlled. "Five per entrance. We hit all four points simultaneously. The building comes down in three minutes."
Three minutes.
That's how long Antonella has to survive before I reach her.
The SUV slows as we approach the south side of the meatpacking plant. The building looms ahead, a hulking mass of rusted metal and broken windows. It looks abandoned. Dead.
But I know better.
I know my wife is inside. I know she's scared. I know she's hurt. And I know that the man who took her plans to kill her regardless of whether I deliver the ledgers.
Scar.
Liam told me his name. Told me his reputation. Told me he kills for pleasure, not profit. That he made a promise to someone that Antonella wouldn't survive this.
I'm going to tear him apart.
"Bruno." Nico's hand lands on my shoulder. "Can you do this?"
I turn to look at him.
"I walked across Pietro's office," I say. "I'll walk through that building if I have to crawl."
Something shifts in Nico's expression. Not pity. Not doubt. Something that looks almost like respect.
"Then let's get your wife back."
The SUV stops.
Valentino kills the engine. Through the windshield, I can see our men moving into position. Dark shapes against darker shadows, spreading out around the building like a noose tightening around a throat.
"Thirty seconds," Pietro's voice crackles through the earpiece.
I check my weapon. The weight of the gun feels right in my hand. Familiar. Like an extension of my arm.
"Ten seconds," Pietro says.
I reach for the door handle.
My legs protest. My spine screams. Every part of my body that spent two years in a wheelchair begs me to stop.
I ignore all of it.
"Five seconds."
Valentino exits the driver's side. Nico moves around to my door, ready to provide cover.
"Three."
I push the door open.
"Two."
I step out onto the cracked asphalt.
"One."
My legs hold.
"Breach."
The night explodes.
Gunfire erupts from three directions simultaneously. The north entrance goes first—a flash of light and the sound of a door being blown off its hinges. The east entrance follows a half-second later. Shouts. Screams. The sharp crack of automatic weapons.
Valentino moves ahead of me, his weapon raised. Nico flanks my right side. Two of our men fall in behind us, covering our approach to the south entrance.
The loading dock doors are closed. Rusted. Heavy.
One of our men steps forward with a breaching charge.
"Clear," he says, and we all step back.
The explosion tears through the metal like paper.
Smoke billows out. Through it, I see movement. Two shapes. The guards Liam's thermal imaging detected.
Valentino fires twice.
Both shapes drop.
We move through the smoke, into the building. The smell hits me first—old blood, rotting meat, industrial chemicals. The meatpacking plant hasn't been used in years, but the stench of death still lingers in the walls.
Or maybe that's fresh.
I walk.
Every step is a victory.
Gunfire echoes from somewhere above us. Pietro's team engaging the guards on the main floor. More shots from the east. Nico's men clearing their sector.
We reach the corridor.
Dark. Narrow. The kind of place where ambushes happen.
Valentino goes first. I follow. Nico covers our rear.
The stairs appear ahead. Metal. Descending into darkness.
"I'm going down," I say.
I grip the railing and take the first step.
Antonella
The door slams open.
I jerk awake, my head pounding where the water bottle connected with my temple. The room spins. Dim light. The smell of rust and decay.
Scar stands in the doorway.
His face is twisted with rage. Something has gone wrong. I can see it in the way his shoulders are tight, the way his hand keeps moving to the gun at his hip.
"They found us," he snarls.
My heart leaps. Bruno.
Scar crosses the room in three strides. His hand fists in my hair and yanks me up from the chair. Pain explodes across my scalp as he drags me to my feet.
"Let me go!" I scream.
His palm connects with my cheek. The slap sends my head snapping to the side. Stars burst across my vision. Blood fills my mouth where my teeth cut into the inside of my cheek.
But I'm not the same woman who walked into this building.
I'm Bruno Sartori's wife.
And I'm carrying his child.
My knee comes up hard between Scar's legs.
The impact is solid. Perfect. His grip on my hair loosens as he doubles over, a strangled sound escaping his throat.
I run.
My bare feet slap against the cold concrete. The door is ahead. Freedom is ahead. Bruno is ahead.
Three steps. Four. Five.
My foot catches on something. A pipe. A crack in the floor. I don't know. I don't care.
I fall.
The concrete rushes up to meet me. I hit the ground hard, my shoulder taking most of the impact. Pain shoots down my arm.
I try to scramble up.
Too slow.
Scar's shadow falls over me.
I roll onto my back and see him standing above me. His face is red. Veins bulge in his neck. His leg is already drawing back.
He's aiming for my stomach.
For my baby.
"NO!"
The scream tears from my throat as I twist my body. I curl around my belly, protecting the life inside me with everything I have.
The kick lands on my back.
The force of it drives the air from my lungs. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except lie there, gasping like a fish pulled from water.
Above me, I hear gunfire. Distant. Getting closer.
I hear the sound of metal sliding against leather. A knife being drawn.
I try to move. Try to crawl away. But my body won't cooperate. The kick to my back has done something. Damaged something. Every movement sends lightning bolts of agony through my spine.
Scar grabs my shoulder.
I feel the cold bite of steel against my back.
Then fire.
The knife slices through my dress, through my skin, through muscle. The pain is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Worse than the slap. Worse than the kick. Worse than the hours of fear and waiting.
I scream.
"Cazzo!"
Bruno's voice. Bruno's curse.
A gunshot explodes through the room.
Something warm and wet sprays across my back. Scar's weight disappears. I hear a body hit the floor somewhere behind me.
"Antonella!"
Bruno's voice again. Closer now. Desperate.
I try to respond. Try to tell him I'm here, I'm alive, I'm okay.
But the words won't come.
The darkness is pulling me under.
The last thing I hear is Bruno screaming my name.
Then nothing.
Bruno
Blood.
So much fucking blood.
It pools beneath her body, spreading across the concrete like a dark tide. Red soaks through the white fabric of her dress, turning it crimson. The metallic stench fills my nostrils, mixing with gunpowder and sweat.
I can't tell whose blood it is.
Mine. Hers. The motherfucker's.
My legs give out. I crash to my knees beside her, the impact sending shockwaves of pain through my spine. I don't care. Can't care. Nothing matters except the woman lying face-down on the filthy mattress.
"Antonella."
Her name tears from my throat. Raw. Desperate.
She doesn't move.
"Antonella!"
I grab her shoulder, my hand shaking so violently I can barely grip the blood-soaked fabric. Her skin feels cold beneath my palm. Too cold. The basement air bites at us both, but this is different. This is wrong.
"No. No, no, no—"
I turn her over as gently as my trembling arms allow. Her head lolls to the side. Eyes closed. Face pale beneath the dirt and bruises. A dark purple mark blooms across her temple where someone hit her.
Blood smears across her cheek. Her neck. Her back.
I press my fingers to her throat, searching for a pulse. My own heart pounds so loud I can't hear anything else. Can't feel anything except the slick warmth of blood coating my hands.
"Come on, baby. Come on."
Nothing.
I adjust my fingers. Press harder.
Still nothing.
Hot tears burst from my eyes. They streak down my face, dripping onto her ruined dress.
"Don't do this to me." My voice cracks. Breaks. "Don't you fucking do this to me, Antonella."
Behind me, Scar groans.
The sound cuts through my grief like a blade. I turn my head slowly. The bastard lies crumpled against the wall where my bullets drove him. Blood bubbles from his chest with each labored breath. His eyes find mine, and even now—even dying—he has the audacity to smile.
"Too late," he rasps. "Told her... she wouldn't survive."
Something snaps inside me.
I raise my gun. My hand steadies for the first time since I entered this room.
I pull the trigger.
The bullet tears through his shoulder. He screams.
I fire again. His knee explodes.
Again. His other shoulder.
Again. His stomach.
I empty the entire magazine into his body, watching him jerk and twitch with each impact. The screaming stops after the second shot. By the sixth, he's nothing but meat.
I keep pulling the trigger anyway.
Click. Click. Click.
The gun is empty. Has been empty for several seconds. But I can't stop. Can't make my finger release the trigger. Can't make my arm lower.
"Bruno."
Valentino's voice reaches me from somewhere far away.
"Bruno, she's alive."
The words don't register. I stare at Scar's ruined corpse, at the holes I've torn through his chest and face and throat. At the blood painting the wall behind him.
"Bruno!" Valentino grabs my shoulder. Shakes me hard. "Listen to me. She's alive. I found a pulse. It's weak, but it's there."
I turn back to Antonella.
Valentino crouches beside her, his fingers pressed to her neck where mine failed to find anything. His face is grim but focused.
"Pulse is thready. She's lost blood, but most of this isn't hers." He gestures at the spreading pool. "It's his. You hit an artery when you shot him."
I drop the empty gun. It clatters against the concrete.
"The baby." The words scrape out of me.
Valentino's expression tightens. "We need to move her. Now. Nico's clearing the upper floors. Pietro has a medical team waiting."
I reach for her. My hands won't stop shaking.
"Let me—"
"No." Valentino pushes my hands away. "You can barely stand. I'll carry her."
He's right. I know he's right. My legs are screaming, muscles spasming from the effort of walking down those stairs. I can feel the weakness spreading through my body, the familiar numbness that means I've pushed too far.
But watching someone else lift my wife—watching Valentino cradle her against his chest like she weighs nothing—
It breaks something in me.
"Careful with her head," I manage. "She was hit. Temple."
Valentino adjusts his grip. "I've got her. Can you walk?"
I don't know. I honestly don't know.
I grab the doorframe and haul myself upright. My legs buckle. I catch myself against the wall, breathing hard through the pain.
"Bruno—"
"I'm walking out of here." I force the words through gritted teeth. "I'm not being carried out while my wife—"
My voice breaks again. I swallow hard.
Valentino watches me for a long moment. Then he nods.
"Stay behind me. If you fall, I can't catch you and hold her."
We move through the basement corridor. Each step is agony. Each breath burns. But I keep my eyes fixed on Antonella's pale face, on the slight rise and fall of her chest that proves she's still breathing.
Still alive.
Still fighting.
Gunfire echoes from somewhere above us. Nico's voice barks orders. Footsteps thunder across the floor.
"Clear!" someone shouts.
"South entrance is secure," another voice reports.
We reach the stairs. Valentino pauses, looking back at me.
"Can you make it?"
I grab the railing. Pull myself up the first step. Then the second.
My legs give out on the third.
I crash against the wall, barely catching myself before I tumble backward. Pain explodes through my spine, white-hot and blinding.
"Fuck." I slam my fist against the concrete. "Fuck!"
"Bruno." Valentino's voice is calm. Steady. "Look at her."
I lift my head.
Antonella's eyes are open.
Barely. Just slits of green beneath heavy lids. But she's looking at me. Seeing me.
Her lips move. No sound comes out, but I read the word anyway.
Bruno.
"I'm here." I drag myself up another step. "I'm right here, baby."
Her eyes close again. But her hand moves. Reaches toward me.
I grab it. Her fingers are cold and weak, but they curl around mine.
"Don't let go," I tell her. "Don't you fucking let go."
She squeezes my hand.
It's barely any pressure at all. A ghost of a grip. But it's enough.
I climb the rest of those stairs holding my wife's hand, my legs screaming with every step, tears still wet on my face.
I don't let go.