25. Lina #2
"He wants the ledger," I speak up, my mind clicking the pieces together instantly. "He knows the proof of his treason is in my mother's box. If he burns the harbor, he burns the truth."
Gio’s hand goes to his holster, his eyes locking onto mine with a hard, protective shadow. "Dante, take Marco and get her to the SUV. I am going to slip four."
"I am coming with you," I say, my voice rising as I step straight into his space, my eyes burning.
"Lina, the pier is a bottleneck," Gio snaps, his gravelly voice dropping to that low, warning tone. "There is no cover out there. It is a death trap."
"Slip four has an emergency fuel shut-off valve behind the bait shop," I counter. "If we close it, his boat’s engines will starve in thirty seconds. You don't know where the valve is, Gio. I do."
"Fine. Keep up."
"Okay," I reply.
We slip out of the rear door, stepping directly into the freezing Maine fog. We move quickly, our boots silent on the wet wood, Dante and Marco shadowing us from the edge of the shipping containers.
"The valve is right there," I whisper, pointing to a rusted red pipe sticking out from the side of the weathered shingles of the bait shop. "Behind the bait tanks."
"Dante, watch the slipway," Gio commands, his SIG Sauer raised as he covers my back. "Lina, close it."
I scramble behind the smelly wooden tanks, my hands gripping the heavy, rusted iron wheel of the valve.
It is freezing, the metal biting into my palms, but I throw the full weight of my body against it.
The iron lets out a loud, wet groan before it finally turns, clicking into place as the fuel flow stops.
That’s one lock he can’t bypass.
Suddenly, a sharp, metallic ping echoes off the bait tank beside my head, followed immediately by the deafening sound of a rifle from the end of the pier.
"Ambush!" Marco roars, diving behind a stack of lobster traps as his Beretta barks three quick rounds toward the harbor master's office.
"Gio!" I gasp, dropping to my knees as another volley of automatic fire chews through the shingles of the bait shop, showering my hair with cedar splinters.
He steps in front of my wooden barrier, his SIG barking twice, driving a shooter back into the shadows of the boat deck.
"We have to move to the office!" Gio shouts over the roar of the wind and the gunfire. "Matteo is cornered! He’s going to shoot his way out!"
We sprint across the open timber, the bullets snapping through the wet air around us like angry wasps. My heart is slamming against my ribs, but I don't look back. I just keep my eyes on Gio’s broad, dark shoulders.
We reach the heavy wooden door of the harbor master's office. The glass of the window is already shattered, a single yellow light bulb swaying inside, casting long, dancing shadows on the brick walls.
Gio kicks the door open.
Standing near the desk at the back of the room is an older man. He has thick white hair, a sharp nose, and a face lined with deep, heavy creases. It is Matteo. He is holding a heavy silver revolver, his chest rising and falling fast under his dark wool coat.
Three of his men are dead on the floorboards, but two remaining shooters are crouching behind the metal filing cabinets, their weapons raised.
"It’s over, Matteo," Gio announces, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that carries no fear. "Your men are dead. Your boat has no fuel. You have nowhere left to run."
Matteo lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, his head tilting back as he stares at Gio. "You think you've won, Giovanni? You think because you brought Salvatore's little lost princess back, you have a claim to my throne?"
"The Commission is already pulling your captains back, uncle," Gio drawls, his gun steady. "The merger is signed. The Palermo seat belongs to me."
"Your father was a fool, Giovanni," Matteo sneers, his small, dark eyes shifting to me, then back to Gio. "He thought he could hand an empire to a boy. He thought I would sit on the side and watch him give away our legacy."
"Do not speak of my father," Gio growls, his jaw clenching.
"I am the one who put the bullet in his spine, Gio," Matteo says, a bloody, desperate grin spreading across his face.
"I didn't wait for a setup at the docks.
I shot him myself, as I had planned for years, and then I burned the warehouse to cover my tracks.
I have wanted to get him out of the way for years.
When Don Salvatore came to betroth his daughter to you, I made my move, hoping to pin it on the visiting Don, but the plan failed.
And the adorable Maria Salvatore? She overheard my plans, and I swore her to silence if she wanted her little bitch to live. That's why she ran."
My breath is knocked clean out of my lungs. My mother. She didn't just run to break the contract. She ran because she knew about Matteo’s plan to murder Gio's father.
The realization is a devastating truth that makes my stomach do a violent, painful drop. The silence in the room is thick, broken only by the steady drum of the rain against the roof.
Gio's face goes completely white.
"You killed him," Gio whispers, his voice dropping to a low, terrifying rasp.
"He was weak," Matteo spits. "Just like you are weak for this girl."
Matteo’s hand moves in a blur.
He doesn't aim at Gio. He swings the heavy silver revolver to the right, the barrel pointing directly at my chest, his finger already clenching the trigger.
He’s going to shoot me.
"Lina! No!" Gio bellows.
He doesn't look at his sights. He doesn't think. In a fraction of a millisecond, Gio throws his massive frame directly into the path of the bullet, his body completely covering mine.
Bang.
The impact of the bullet hits Gio’s chest with a sickening, heavy thud. He lets out a low, guttural grunt, his body stiffening as his weight flings backward, knocking us both onto the wet floorboards.
"Gio!" I scream, my voice cracking in pure, primal terror.
Matteo lines up a second shot, his face twisted into a mask of pure malice as he steps over the desk. "It’s over, Giovanni"
A sudden, hot, blinding rage explodes through my panic, completely swallowing the fear. My mother spent her whole life running from this monster, and the man I love just took a bullet to keep me breathing. I am going to end this.
Before Matteo can pull the trigger, I lunge forward. I grab Gio’s fallen SIG Sauer from the floorboards, my fingers steady as I lift the heavy black steel with both hands. I don't analyze the distance. I just pull the trigger.
Bang. Bang.
Both rounds hit Matteo directly in the chest. The impact flings his body backward, his silver revolver slipping from his fingers as he crashes against the heavy desk.
He slides down the wood, his eyes rolling back, his body collapsing into a limp, heavy pile on the floorboards, sliding through a puddle of dirty engine oil.
I drop the gun, my hands shaking violently as the adrenaline begins to drain, leaving me cold and empty. I scramble back to Gio’s side, dropping to my knees in the blood and the soot.
"Gio," I sob, my fingers frantically ripping at the fabric of his dark sweater. "Gio, look at me. Open your eyes."
He is terrifyingly pale, his breath coming in shallow gasps that rattle against his chest. The blood is pouring from his chest, a thick, dark crimson flood that is already staining my hands and my yellow sweater red.
"Piccola," he murmurs, his dark eyelashes fluttering, his eyes snapping open but looking glassy, unfocused.
"Don't you dare close your eyes, Giovanni," I command as I press my hands hard against the wound to stop the flow.
"Dante! Marco! Help me!" I scream, tears of anger and grief finally spilling over my eyelashes, hot and burning against my cheeks.
Dante and Marco burst into the room, their faces completely devoid of color as they look at Gio’s limp body.
"We need a medic!" Marco shouts, already pulling out his phone. "Enzo, get the car to the end of the pier! Now!"
I lean my forehead against Gio’s cold cheek, my fingers clenching the wool of his sweater as I apply the full weight of my body to the wound.
"I love you," I whisper against his skin, my throat tightening as a devastating, suffocating agony makes it hard to draw a breath. "Gio, please. Don't leave me in the dark."
He doesn't answer. His chest rises and falls one last, shallow time, his eyes slowly closing as his body goes completely limp beneath my hands.