Chapter Twenty-nine
Sailor
Crouching in the closet, I sent one last text. Thank God for autocorrect, because my fingers were shaking so badly I couldn't type properly on such a tiny screen. I knew Matteo’s thugs would find me in there, but I wanted the chance to finish saying what needed to be said first.
Deep down, I knew I couldn't stop loving Noah. Despite what my brain kept telling me, my heart overrode all common sense. Maybe I was destined to be lonely and heartbroken for the rest of my life, wishing I could somehow change the past and make things right.
I couldn't deny he’d done horrible things, but neither could I put the blame solely on his shoulders, just as I couldn't blame my father for his cousin’s actions. It was wild to think I’d been born into the same world as Noah, when our morals ran in completely different directions.
The door opened abruptly, and I dropped my hands to look up into the mean eyes of a large, broad man.
“Come now, did you really think this was a good hiding spot?"
He grabbed my arm, hauled me to my feet, and pulled me to a standing position in front of him. Tears sprang to my eyes when he yanked my arms behind me and tied a rope tightly around them.
“I thought Matteo wanted me kept safe,” I said shakily.
He snorted. “Sure, go ahead and believe that.”
My stomach twisted into knots. I didn't want Noah to get hurt, but he’d said they were on their way. If that meant they were coming here, how could this end in anything but a shootout?
My father had been right all those years ago. Matteo was unwell and had no business being in charge of anything, much less a deadly mafia gang. He wanted murder and mayhem, while the other families had agreed on peace deals.
Another guy came into the room, and I recognized him as one of the men from the van. “They’re here.”
Who did he mean? Was it my rescuers or was it my crazy relative?
The one in front of me squatted to tie my ankles together, then threw me over his shoulder. “Get that gag for me.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said in a panic. “I’ll stay quiet.”
Ignoring me, the second guy tied a piece of cloth around my face, stuffing it into my mouth so that I tasted dusty fabric. I felt my throat trying to close up and took slow breaths through my nose.
Together, the three of us left the only sanctuary I’d had since this began earlier in the morning.
Down a long hall, I bounced up and down, closing my eyes so I didn't get nauseous.
We entered the garage, and the scent of exhaust overwhelmed my senses.
Blinking, I saw that the cargo van was running and knew they were about to toss me in the back.
Once the door closed behind me, I tried to sit up and regain my bearings. The bindings at my feet proved to be a problem, and all I could manage was to rest on my hip. The garage door opened, and the two men up front glanced at each other.
When we pulled out, I realized there was another van parked in the driveway.
We followed it down to the guard shack, and I thought maybe my cousin was in that one.
After we left the compound, the lane stayed narrow for a little while.
Craning my neck, I tried to look out the front windows in case there was a pertinent landmark.
And then my watch vibrated with the notification that it was disconnected from my phone. Nothing I could see or hear would help me anymore.
We reached the main road, and I spotted an SUV parked in the bushes. My heart rate increased, my palms becoming sweaty. Was that Noah? Was Benito with him? Were they in time to help, and could they even manage to stop the plans of a madman?
We sped up, and I lurched forward. The wheels bumped hard over something, and I let out a cry into the gag. Faster and faster, the engine whining the entire time, we headed to the place I feared was to become my grave.
“They’re closing in on us,” I heard one of the men say.
“So shoot them,” came the response over the radio. It sounded an awful lot like Matteo’s voice.
Gunfire erupted out of the passenger window, and my eyes watered at the noise.
I tried very hard not to let the memories from the worst day of my life take over my consciousness, but it was almost impossible not to make comparisons.
No one screamed except maybe me, and no holes opened up in the windshield.
The driver was still alive, and his passenger was shooting at the vehicle following us.
It had to be Noah. He wouldn't let anyone else take on the responsibility of coming for me, that much I knew.
My stomach was already in my throat, and then my heart tried to join it there.
Overwhelming nausea crawled up to choke me, and I felt the sharp turn we took as I gave up and let myself topple over.
There was no return fire, and I worried that in their attempt to save me, the Costas would end up dying instead. Swearing loudly, the guy up front leaned out the window and let loose a rapid-fire barrage of bullets.
In my head, we flipped over and over, my mother screaming my name. A violent headache claimed me as I tried to push the past back where it belonged. Surely, there was something I could be doing to help myself, and maybe it would take my mind off the memories.
Scooting to the set of double doors at the back, I looked at the handle to see if there was some way for me to twist around and open it. I’d gladly roll out onto the pavement if it meant getting the fuck away from those two deranged assholes.
Glancing up front, I made sure the men were preoccupied before turning my back to the doors.
My angle was off by about five city blocks, and I grunted in frustration.
I needed to move up onto my knees, so I shifted my bound feet until I could lever myself up.
I nearly faceplanted, but managed to end up in a deep prayer position while the van turned another sharp corner.
More gunfire made me whimper, but I locked down my muscles and sat up, moving closer to the door. Just as I felt the handle under my fingertips, we came to an abrupt stop, sending me forward again until my nose touched my knees.
Was I really destined to be stuck here with these loonies until one of them won the war?
“Why the fuck won’t they get lost?” the driver grumbled, checking his mirrors before gunning the engine backward.
We slammed into something, and my teeth tried to clatter together, but all I bit was the cloth in my mouth. Still, my head rattled with the force of it, and the two up front were merely laughing.
“Now they’re fucked.”
My escape route had just banged into the front end of the rescue vehicle. Wild laughter erupted from my chest, bubbling up my throat until I feared I’d had a mental break. Nothing could ever be easy for me, could it?
Since I was already on the floor, I rolled over to my back and stretched out. Never mind escaping; I was destined to be a damsel in distress, apparently. That was what it took to be involved with the mafia, but I wasn't sure it was worth it.
I heard the racking of a shotgun and realized the men had exited the van. They were changing their tactics to one-on-one combat, and I could easily become collateral damage if I didn’t get out.
Trying the door again, I realized it was jammed.
There weren't any windows in the back, so I couldn't even tell what was happening outside.
Since the men weren't in their seats, I shuffled forward until I could see out the windshield.
Water lapped against the docks in front of me, warehouses lining the wharf as far as I could see.
The boom of a shotgun made me jump and scream.
Son of a bitch. The console between the seats proved to be an obstacle, and I felt it dig into my stomach as I shimmied over it.
All the air left my lungs as I felt the bruises forming over my scars, but I forced myself to keep moving.
Unsure which door would be safest, I craned my neck to check for the bad guys.
If only my hands weren’t tied behind my back. If only my feet weren't bound together like a pig being brought to the slaughter.
Instead of dwelling on all the negatives, I tried to think.
I was smart; surely I could figure something out.
Gunshots rang out, and I heard the distinct difference of the return fire coming from farther away.
Deciding the passenger side was as good an escape route as any, I fought my way forward, twisting into a pretzel when I lost my balance and landed in the seat.
“Fuck.”
I had to turn around to get my hands on the door handle. Sucking in a breath, I squeezed my muscles tightly and made the move. Feeling the handle behind me, I pulled on it and tried not to fall backward.
But there, on the ground just outside the van, was a crumpled body. It wasn't moving; I didn't see any signs of air moving through the chest. With my head pounding and nausea still overwhelming me, I shoved myself out the door and fell on top of the man.
There was no groan, no move to shove me off of him. Neither was there silence, because the living men were doing their utter best to kill each other.
Staying low, I rolled off the corpse and just stayed put for a second. Looking around me, I saw that men lined the rooftops with their own high-powered weapons. That must have been what happened to the guy from the van. Were they Costa men, or were they with Matteo?
Logic told me they shot him because they were loyal to Benito. Fear told me not to trust anyone, to keep close to the van and out of sight. Maybe I could even crawl under it to hide fully.
“Sailor?” I heard someone call.
I didn't see anyone, and it wasn’t a voice I recognized. Keeping my mouth shut, I edged closer to the vehicle. Matteo had consistently called me Sara, so maybe it wasn't someone coming to do me harm.
Regardless, I belly crawled beneath the van, hoping the gunshots would stop soon.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, but I couldn't wipe them away. Curling into a ball, I tried to remain small and hidden. Closing my eyes, I pictured Noah’s face the first time he told me he loved me.
Bullets pinged off the metal body of the van, some of them too close for comfort.
Squeezing my eyelids tighter, I went back to my peaceful visualization.
Unfortunately, it was overtaken by the fury and pain on his face when he discovered I’d deceived him.
Try as I might, I couldn't bring back the serene beauty of his handsomeness when he was happy with me.
Over and over, he told me to get the fuck out, and I knew that meant from his life as well as from his room.
“Sailor!”
Oddly, Noah didn't sound as angry anymore. Opening my eyes, I squinted into the smoky atmosphere. There were a pair of legs a few feet away, turning in all directions. That was about the time I realized the only thing I heard was ringing silence.
“Noah?” I whispered, then cleared my throat. “Noah!” I said more loudly, hoping he could hear my garbled voice around the gag.
His face appeared in front of me when he crouched beside the van. “Oh, thank God!”
I struggled to get out from under my hiding spot, but then, as soon as I was partially clear, he picked me right up.
Burying my face in his tuxedo jacket, I tried not to worry that he smelled wrong.
The acrid scent of propellant filled the air, coating both of us.
There were plenty of other voices, all of them shouting, but I kept my eyes closed until we stopped moving.
Finally, when I looked around us, I saw the carnage. Men from above had obliterated the men below, and their wrecked bodies covered the asphalt. I wretched, thumping my head on Noah’s chest. He set me on my feet, holding me steady as I swayed.
“Here,” I heard Benito say, and I blinked up into his bloodied face. He held out a knife, and Noah took it to cut off my gag first, then the ropes around my arms and feet.
Once I was free, I did the only natural thing. I threw my arms around Noah, feeling the stiffness of his arms as he awkwardly patted me on the back.
Stepping back, I coughed as I felt tears pouring down my face. Benito held his palm over his heart, and that was when I noticed the amount of blood pumping from a bullet hole in his chest.
“Sit down,” I ordered, and his legs gave out before he could comply willingly. “He needs the hospital,” I said, immediately yanking his jacket off to press against the wound.
“Will he be okay?” Noah asked frantically.
“I don’t know. It seems you were too worried about finding me while your dad was over here bleeding out,” I snapped. “Unless you have an ambulance in your back pocket, I suggest you dial 911.”
I lowered Benito to the pavement, steadily putting pressure on his bullet wound and hoping like hell I could keep him alive.