18. Gio
Gio
The diesel engine of the transport vessel rumbles a low, vibrating note through the steel floorboards beneath my boots.
We are slipping through the dark waters of the Boston harbor, the skyline of the city nothing but a silhouette against the freezing sleet.
My eyes are locked on the rusted crane structures of the private slipway fifty yards ahead.
My hand rests on the grip of my SIG, my thumb flicking the safety off, then on, then off again.
"The dock is clear, boss," Dante’s voice crackles through my earpiece. "Marco has the vehicle running at the end of the pier. We have four shooters covering the perimeter."
"Keep the engine running," I say into the mic. "I want us off this boat and in the vehicle in under sixty seconds."
I turn back to check the small, wood-paneled cabin behind the bridge.
Lina is sitting on the narrow leather bench, her knees pulled to her chest, my heavy black wool coat draped over her shoulders.
She looks exhausted, her face pale in the dim blue light of the console, her dark hair curling damply against her neck.
She catches me looking and offers a small, stubborn tilt of her chin.
"I can hear your teeth grinding from here, Gio," she teases, her voice dry but quiet.
"I am merely analyzing the terrain," I reply, stepping into the cabin.
"You are being paranoid," she tuts, pulling the coat tighter around her throat. "We are in Boston. Your men are everywhere. We are safe."
"Safety is a temporary state, piccola," I tell her, reaching down to take her hand. They're cold, her skin soft against my scarred palms. "When the boat touches the timber, you stay behind me. Do not stop. Do not look back."
"I know the drill," she murmurs, her fingers curling around mine with a sudden, tight pressure. "I trust you."
The word trust hits my chest like a lead weight, the guilt beneath my ribs rotting a little deeper.
The boat collides with the wooden pylons of the slipway with a heavy, scraping thud. The engine idles down, the dark water churning white against the dock. Dante drops the heavy iron ramp onto the timber, the metal clanging loudly in the freezing night.
"Move," I rasp, pulling her to her feet.
We step out of the cabin, the freezing sleet hitting my face like needles. We are halfway down the wooden pier when a high-pitched, metallic ping echoes off the steel ramp behind us, followed immediately by the deafening crack of a rifle from the top of the cargo containers to our left.
"Ambush!" Dante roars, his Beretta already barking three quick rounds toward the containers.
"Gio!" Lina gasps.
Before I can grab her waist, a second volley of automatic fire erupts from the darkness. The wooden planks of the pier explode into a shower of splinters around our boots. I lunge forward, trying to spin her behind my back, but my wet boot slips on the icy timber.
My grip on her sleeve breaks.
"Lina!" I bellow, my voice a raw, desperate roar that doesn't sound like mine.
A stray round punches straight through the wooden support post beside her head. The impact sends her flying backward. She hits the edge of the pier, her body tilting over the dark, freezing water of the harbor.
For one black, agonizing millisecond, the world goes completely silent.
My heart stops. The air in my lungs turns to ice.
She's gone. I lost her.
The terror is like a hand wrapping around my throat, suffocating me, paralyzing my muscles with a primal, absolute panic I have never felt in my entire life. If she goes into that black water, she dies. If amything happens to her, my life is over.
"Gio!" she screams, her fingers clawing at the icy wood of the pier’s edge.
The panic evaporates, replaced by a cold rage that burns away every ounce of my control.
I drop to my knees, sliding across the wet timber.
My hand shoots out, catching her wrist just as her boots slip off the edge.
I yank her upward with force, hauling her small body back onto the pier and pinning her beneath me, my chest taking the spray of splinters as another volley of bullets chews through the wood.
"I have you!" I roar over the sound of the gunfire. "I have you, Lina! Stay down!"
I roll to my side, pulling my SIG from my holster.
A shooter in a dark coat emerges from behind a cargo container thirty feet away, his rifle leveled at us. I don't analyze. I don't breathe. I pull the trigger three times.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
All three rounds hit him in the chest, the impact flinging him backward off the container. He hits the concrete slipway with a heavy, wet thud and doesn't move.
"Dante! Left flank!" I order, my voice a gravelly rasp as I pull Lina back to her feet, shielding her body completely with mine.
"Clear!" Marco shouts from the end of the pier, his Beretta raised as he covers the road. "The driver is dead! Get her in the car, Gio! Now!"
I don't wait as I scoop her up in my arms, her face burying into my neck as I sprint the remaining twenty yards of the pier. I toss her into the back of the armored Suburban, sliding in right behind her as Dante slams the heavy door shut. The lock clicks with a solid, armored thud.
Marco hits the gas, the tires screaming against the wet asphalt as we rocket out of the harbor.
Inside the vehicle, the silence is thick, broken only by our heavy, ragged breathing. I pull Lina against my chest, my hands shaking as I check her arms, her neck, her face for blood.
"Are you hit?" I demand, my voice rough, my jaw clenched so hard my back teeth grind. "Lina, look at me. Are you bleeding?"
"N-No," she gasps, her fingers clutching the wet fabric of my sweater. She is shivering violently, her eyes wide and dark with shock, but her skin is unbroken. "I'm not bleeding. Gio, you're shaking."
"I am fine," I hiss, pulling her head back down to my shoulder.
But I am not fine.
The brush with losing her has burned away the last of my hesitations. The war is here. Matteo is desperate, his mercenaries are sloppy, and the thin wire of my deception is stretching to the breaking point. I can't keep waiting for the perfect moment.
I need her locked to my side.
I need her to be mine legally, under the protection of both houses, before Matteo can find another crack in my perimeter.
Two hours later, we are back in my Maine apartment. The building is dead quiet, surrounded by six of my best New York shooters stationed in the shadows of the alley.
Lina is sitting on the edge of my bed, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, staring down at her bare feet. The fire in the hearth casts a warm, orange glow across her pale face, making her look incredibly small.
I walk in, holding a cup of warm tea. I set it on the nightstand, then sit beside her on the mattress.
"Drink this," I whisper softly.
She doesn't touch the cup. She slowly raises her head, her amber eyes holding mine with a fierce, terrifying intensity. "I almost died tonight, didn't I?"
My throat goes dry, and the weight of my secrets feels like a hand squeezing my heart.
Tell her, the small, desperate voice in my head whispers. Tell her what her mother sheltered her from by running. Tell her Salvatore is her father. Tell her she is a mafia heir, and that you have known since day one.
The words are right there, hot and heavy on the back of my tongue. I open my mouth to speak, my chest rising and falling fast.
"Lina," I murmur. "There is... there is something I must tell you."
She leans closer, her fingers reaching out to touch my cheek, her skin warm and wet with my sweat. "What is it, Gio? Tell me."
I look into her eyes, seeing the absolute, unyielding trust shining in her gaze. If I tell her now, the trust dies. She will look at me like I am a monster. She will run out of this building, out of my perimeter, straight into the dark where Matteo’s men are waiting with knives.
I lose my nerve, and I force the words back down into the dark.
"Nothing," I whisper, my hand rising to cover hers on my cheek. "Just that I will never let anyone hurt you."
She sighs, a soft, disappointed sound, but she doesn't push. She slides her hand down to my shoulder, her fingers sliding under the collar of my shirt.
"I don't want to talk about the war anymore, Gio," she whispers, her lips brushing the edge of my jaw. "Just… hold me. Please."
I slide the heavy wool blanket off her shoulders, letting it pool around her hips on the mattress.
She is wearing a thin, white cotton camisole, her pale skin glowing like warm gold in the firelight.
The sight of her, unbroken, breathing, and looking up at me with those wide, amber eyes makes a raw, violent need claw at the back of my throat.
The image of her body tilting over that freezing harbor water is still burning behind my eyelids, and the only way to put the fire out is to feel her naked and pinned beneath me.
I reach down, my hands wrapping around her waist, and lift her effortlessly onto my lap. Her thighs open, draping over my hips, her center pressing hard against my trousers.
"G-Gio..." she gasps, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, her chest heaving against mine.
I don't answer. I grab the hem of her white camisole and slide it up, pulling the fabric over her head and tossing it onto the floor.
She shivers as the cool air hits her skin, her small, perfect breasts exposed to the firelight, her nipples already dark and rigid.
I cup one with my palm, my thumb dragging across the peak with a heavy, agonizing pressure that makes her let out a sharp whimper.
"You're so hot," I growl, my voice a gravelly, low vibration against her mouth. "Every fucking inch of you."
I shift her back onto the mattress, my hands sliding down her thighs to part them.
I drop to my knees between her legs, my chest heaving as I look down at the wet, slick heat of her core glistening in the firelight.
She is already completely ready for me, her breath coming in shallow, frantic gasps.