Chapter 30
Xavier
“Even after all these years, I still have to chase you down to get you to eat something.”
Viola sets a plate of carbonara on the tablecloth, right on top of the stack of papers I’ve been poring over for the last two hours. As my focus slips, I notice the dim restaurant lights and the cleaning crew bussing the wine-stained linen tablecloths.
With strained vision, my eyes close.
Sophie’s waiting at home .
Burgundy wine sloshes into the glass that Viola is holding from a bottle of aged Merlot. “It never stops, does it?”
“If I don’t sign ‘em, the world will actually stop spinning.”
She eyes the work strewn in front of me with repulsion. She’s been here long enough to understand that what’s on the page holds no meaning. The truth actually exists in the fine line between, penned in the blood of us damned.
“The empire will still be standing if you take a few bites of food, Xavier.” She hands me the chilled glass, then crosses the room to gather up her belongings. “Anything I can help with before I go? I have a talent for forging signatures.”
“Go home, Vi. ”
Viola grins, slipping into her coat. Summer has come and gone. When dusk falls, the temperature drops. “Don’t stay too late.”
I’ll do just one more contract. One more sealed envelope.
While taking bites between page flips, the last of the staff leaves. Without them as a distraction, I sign my name on the dotted line, sighing when it’s finally finished.
As I stuff the ledgers in the safe for Dario to review in the morning, the back door swings open and Dante’s frustrated voice resonates through the empty halls. “It’s fucking freezing out there, man.”
“I'm coming.”
“Sophie’s called me twice already. You’re worrying that girl for no good reason.”
I close the safe, locking it. “Why don’t you come here and do my work then?”
Dante appears at the door, leaning against the frame with a teasing grin. “ Hell no.”
“No, really?—”
He throws up his hands. “Okay, okay. I take it back.”
Only too eager to get the hell out of here, I grab my coat and wallet, squeezing his shoulder as we head out. “We’ll stop for flowers on the way.”
“Good thinking.”
As we step onto the sidewalk, the wind slices through the tall buildings, battering us both. Dante laughs and zips up his coat while I lock the door.
“How’s Mimi?”
When I receive no an answer from him, I shift my eyes to where he stands, tracking his gaze to a car parked a block away.
The headlights are off, but ashen exhaust is pouring onto the empty back street.
Shadows in the driver and passenger seats have me gripping his shoulder, urging his legs to move.
“Get in the car. ”
Dante doesn’t object when I slide behind the wheel of his Dodge, watching the headlights illuminate in the rear-view mirror. He’s already flinging the glove compartment open, grabbing a pistol and a box of bullets. “Recognize the car?”
“No.”
We merge onto the street, weaving around parked cars.
As anticipated, the Mercedes follows suit.
Both of us are obeying traffic laws until the light turns red just before I can cross it, and I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to slow down.
Dante grips the door as my foot dips onto the accelerator, launching us into traffic.
The Mercedes squeals, horns blaring as someone is forced out of their lane.
The skyrises blur as our speed soars well beyond what Dante’s old vehicle can handle, wheels sparking as I navigate streets I’ve owned for longer than I can remember.
When a bullet strikes the back of the vehicle, Dante drops down. The following bullet shatters the rear window. My eyes widen, glued to the road, as I hear his buckle unclip while he turns to aim his gun at the car tailgating us. “Dante, don’t.”
“Just keep driving.”
Dante fires a round, hissing when the potholes disrupt his aim. Every second he’s on his knees, unstable and vulnerable to any mistake I might make, it becomes harder to breathe and think clearly.
You know these streets.
You’re on defense. Find a way to strike, to steal their edge.
Struggling to see the unpredictable roads in front of me, barreling through clouds of pollution, crashing into heaps of trash and discarded furniture, I’m mentally charting the streets around us, orchestrating a blow they won’t recover from.
A turn here.
There.
Right through that light .
And then a left.
I nod, sensing the answer emerging within me, my hands tightening around the steering wheel.
Dante ducks down, evading the bullet that embeds itself in the headrest. “Tell me you have a plan.”
My eyes lock onto the road, seeing our only way out, the only route that leads me home… where Sophie is waiting . “Get your seat belt on.”
He groans, dropping back into his seat. “Fuck, man.”
“Hold on.”
With a twist of the wheel, I veer into an alley, sacrificing a headlight to the edge of the building, executing a turn they can't slow down to make in time.
Dante weaves curses and prayers with closed eyes as they surge in the wrong direction.
He grimaces from the force of the turn I make when I spot the fire escape, the back entrance where line cooks usually gather in a cloud of smoke.
Tonight, as if by divine intervention, the back alley lies completely deserted.
I back the Dodge into the narrow space, barely breathing.
“You’ve got that look in your eye like you’re about to fuck shit up. What are you going to do?”
“Get into the back of the car.”
His eyes widen. “No, X?—”
I pin him with a look that holds all my rage. “The back .”
He jumps into the rear, strapping himself in, and as if he’s pieced together exactly what I'm going to do, he braces himself for impact. When I hear the deafening screech of tires, my foot tenses against the accelerator.
Three.
Two.
One .
A single decision—my foot slamming on the gas—and the world collapses in around me, all clouding smoke and twisted metal as the old Dodge condemns their Mercedes, pinning it against the concrete building, trapping them with no escape.
The damn car didn’t have an airbag. Either that, or it never deployed, so my arms caught my head before it cracked against the steering wheel.
Knowing I’m fucking insane for what I just risked, I lift my head, unable to see clearly.
Rage and rage alone prompt me to shove the door open with my foot.
Behind me, Dante’s shouting for me to wait.
Wait to see who it is.
Wait to make a move.
Snatching Dante’s gun from the passenger seat, too pissed to heed any of his warnings, I step into the frigid air, rounding the smoking vehicles.
Distant voices call from above, spectators to this shocking violence.
My murderous gaze connects with the driver of the Mercedes in the wing mirror, capturing the instant his eyes widen as he rattles the door that’s pinned him against the concrete, preventing him from escaping.
I occupy all of the window’s space, firing a single shot into his skull.
The passenger dives for the road, not entirely unlucky. But that luck runs out when Dante slams into him, nothing short of a giant compared to the man’s slight frame. When Dante’s massive hands seize the man’s jaw, snapping it to one side, the pressure kills the poor soul instantly.
If I weren’t so damn inconvenienced, I’d be impressed.
Pressing a hand to my throbbing head, swiping away the fresh blood that’s scaling, I wrench open the back door of the wrecked Mercedes, the wail of police sirens slicing through the ringing in my eardrums.
And what I see …
Dante chokes on air.
Vito Marin is immobilized in the seat.
With a sinister grin stretching across my face, I lean down, draping my arm over the top of the car—a predator poised to strike. “You’ve just made my night, old man.”