6. Chapter 1 #2
I know that expression: the primal look of someone who has already decided he’d rather die than give up his task. “My father’s in there!” he roars.
Even broken by the smoke, his voice is deep and powerful. Something deep inside me clicks, like the tumblers of an old lock catching and finally opening.
“We’ve got him,” I promise. “I need you out of this hallway, now.”
“I’m not leaving—”
“Dash, get him out of here,” Nick says, moving past me and hefting the Halligan bar, a specialized tool used to force open a door in a situation like this. Vinnie takes my ax, joining Nick at the door.
I grip the man’s arm. “Let them do their job, and let me do mine.”
Even with the added height of my helmet and boots, he’s almost a foot taller than me, a giant of muscle and rage. A small part of me panics—if he refuses, or goes down, I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to carry him out of here.
“I can’t leave him.”
“Trust them,” I say, gripping his arms.
He looks down at me. I don’t know how well he can see my face through my helmet, but I can see his: strong and handsome, broad cheekbones, a tapered jaw shadowed with a very short beard.
Dark eyes turned red from the smoke. His gray-speckled black hair, probably so well-tamed before this, is wild and messy.
“Trust me,” I say.
“Dash!” Nick barks as he wedges the Halligan into the doorframe. “Go!”
Not waiting for the tall man’s approval, I seize his arm harder and drag him down the hall.
Cold night air hits like a mercy. I practically drag Lorenzo free from the house, though he strains to look back at the door behind us, a pained expression on his face.
“Lorenzo!” His mother runs over, fighting off paramedics who’d have her stay back. “My son!”
I know I should give them space, should let them have their moment, but I stay with Lorenzo. Why? I don’t know. My job here doesn’t feel done yet.
Lorenzo pulls his mother into a tight embrace, swallowing her in his thick, muscled arms. “I couldn’t get to him,” he says in a choked voice. “He’s still in there.”
“Sir,” I say, “the paramedics need to take a look at you. You could have severe lung damage from smoke inhalation.” I glance at his charred clothing. “Not to mention burns.”
“I don’t need a paramedic,” he snaps, his voice low and dangerous, and turns his gaze to me.
Out here, he’s lit by the infernal glow of the burning house, the flickering lights of the police cars, and the stark lamps of the TV cameras. It’s a circus, everyone here to see the burning house of a mafia don.
Suddenly, I realize who, exactly, I’ve saved from this fire. Lorenzo Diamante. I don’t know much about the mafia, but I know how the media works, and I can see a news anchor along the edge of the property directing her cameraman to point his device at us. At me.
I focus on Lorenzo, trying to think of him as just another person in crisis, not as a… well, as a criminal.
Ripping off my helmet so I can see him better, I say, “You need medical attention.”
He just glowers at me, and—God—he’s handsome.
Even with his clothes charred, his face streaked with soot, his furious eyes bloodshot from smoke, and his black hair damp with sweat, he’s handsome.
Like a Roman statue of a god come to life, all muscle and chiseled feature.
I can’t tell his age—maybe late thirties.
Those deep, dark eyes seem to stare into me. Not just into my eyes, but into my soul. That internal part of me that felt itself unlock when I first saw him grinds again, gears shifting within me, opening themselves to something unknown and a little frightening.
He doesn’t turn his raging glare away from me as he says, “What’s your name?”
I find my voice. “Dashiell. Dashiell Novak.”
“You disobeyed me by taking me out of there,” he says in a dark voice, the rage in his eyes sharpening further.
That thing that unlocked in me opens wider, encouraged by the simmering anger in his eyes and his voice.
Then punish me for it, a voice inside me says.
Shut up, I tell the voice.
Now is not the time for my inner submissive to surface… though every instinct in my body tells me to get on my knees for Lorenzo Diamante.
“You disobeyed me,” Lorenzo repeats, “but you saved my life.” The anger doesn’t go away, but it tempers a bit. “I owe you a debt. A life debt, and that’s not something I will forget.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I quickly respond.
I don’t like the idea of a mafia guy thinking he owes me something. I also really don’t like the idea of cameras capturing this moment, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see that they are. This is going to be all over the local news tonight.
Before Lorenzo can say anything, there’s commotion in the doorway behind us, and then Nick and Vinnie stumble out, carrying an older man between them.
Lorenzo’s mother lets out a wail, and Lorenzo turns away from me, fury and pain in his eyes, and a terrible sick feeling sinks in my gut as I see that the man between Nick and Vinnie is clearly dead.
They call for a backboard, and paramedics rush over, joining Nick in an attempt to save Massimo Diamante’s life, but it’s no use. He’s gone.