68. Are You with Me?
ARE YOU WITH ME?
There’s sudden commotion in the hallway outside. Scuffling. A shout.
I jump to my feet as a fresh jolt of adrenaline floods my system, recalling the many men I saw stationed upstairs. I can’t kill all of them, but I can kill as many as I can.
The absurdity of that thought hits like a smack to the face.
I hardly recognize myself, steadily preparing to murder someone, or someones.
Not the sort of unfamiliarity I expected.
I’m not horrified by this version of myself; I can’t believe the me of two months ago would have been cowering, terrified in the corner, with no idea how to fire a gun.
I hear a shot, then, “Carina?”
I freeze, glancing around. It sounded like it came from the hallway, not the speakers.
“Carina!” Closer, this time, accompanied by banging on the door.
It’s Enzo’s voice, I’m certain. And if it’s not a recording, he’s … here.
I run toward the door, keeping a hold on my gun in case this is a trick. I know my family must be looking for me. Enzo might have been captured, and they’re using him to lure me out.
“Enzo?”
“She’s in there,” I hear him say. Louder, “Stand back, Carina.”
“Wait!” I call out. “I have the code: 7-9-3-4-2.”
I hear the beep of buttons being pressed, then a click as the locks disengage. My heart is beating so fast that it feels like it’ll fracture my ribs. I feel dizzy from lack of sleep, and lack of food, and a sudden surge of hope.
The door swings open, and Enzo is there.
He’s wearing a heavy-duty vest and a helmet and is holding a gun five times the size of mine, but it’s definitely him.
Leo is with him, dressed identically. There’s a dead guard—one of Nico’s men—slumped in a chair beside the door.
Blood trickles from a hole in his white shirt.
Both my brothers scan my appearance. I know I look rough—tangled hair, stained dress, bandaged arm.
“Are you okay?” Leo asks.
I nod. “I’ll be better when I’m out of this house.”
Enzo grins. He looks more himself since I’m accustomed to seeing some variation of a smirk on his face as he says, “Wasn’t planning on staying myself. Hospitality sucks.”
Now that I’m outside the white room, I can hear gunfire overhead.
“We’ve got her,” Leo says. “All teams, we have her. Over.” He repeats the sentences in English, then nods at Enzo. “You go first. I’ll cover.”
“Stay between us,” Enzo tells me, then starts walking.
“Where’s Lev?” I ask.
“Upstairs,” Leo replies.
I glance above, where the sound of shots is ongoing, a bolt of fear—not for myself—appearing and settling in my empty stomach.
We walk the reverse route from yesterday, reaching the bottom of the stairs a couple of minutes later. I’m shocked to find my father and Luca waiting there.
“Tesoro.” Salvatore wraps his arms around me, squeezing tight.
“Papà. What are you—”
“Quiet,” Luca hisses, holding a hand up to his ear. He listens, then nods. “Now.”
I’m hustled up the stairs, my father and brothers keeping a tight formation around me. Every light upstairs appears to be on, the windows dark. It couldn’t have been less than a day since I was captured, so it must be the following night.
There are bodies on the floor. Lots and lots of bodies. I hold my breath as I walk through the room where Nico killed Isabella, then through one I have no memory of. I was still hooded.
Finally, we’re outdoors. Death is out here, too, but at least it’s accompanied with fresh air. I suck in greedy breaths, averting my eyes from the fallen figures on the grass. I’ll never take oxygen that’s crisp and cool and absent of any stagnant odors for granted again.
“Where’s Lev?” I repeat.
This time, no one answers. They just keep walking along an immaculately maintained path.
I stop, glancing back at the house. If he’s not out here, he must still be inside. I take a step back, reversing course. The heel of my shoe catches on one of the stones, and I wobble.
Enzo is closest. He reaches out to steady me, fingers wrapping around my bicep. Except his hand doesn’t drop once I remain vertical. His grip tightens, keeping me from moving. “You can’t go back in there.”
I tug my arm harder, and he still doesn’t release me. So, I punch him in the face with my other hand. His head recoils, grip loosening a little, and then he pins my other arm too.
“Jesus,” he grumbles. “Who trained you?”
The question almost makes me start crying. I’m tired and hungry and delirious, and the one person—the one person—who will fix everything is missing.
I employ another technique Lev taught me, kneeing Enzo in the crotch. He grunts, swears, then lets me go. More hands grab me, Leo and Luca each restraining an arm on either side of me.
“Carina”—Salvatore appears in front of me—“you are safe. Stop fighting.”
I lift my chin, holding my father’s worried gaze. “I want Lev.”
“He’ll be out soon. He’s dealing with Morello.” Salvatore looks at the makeshift bandage on my arm. “Dr. Ricci is waiting at the house. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I shake my head. It’s the correct answer to his question, but also because, “I’m not leaving without Lev.”
“Our orders were to get you out,” Luca says. “Morello might have more men en route. We need to go. Now.”
I glare at my father. “Nico Morello only knows who I am because of you. This is all your fault.”
Genuine pain crosses Salvatore’s features. “Tesoro, you were never—”
“How dare you try to abandon the one person who helped me escape him?”
Salvatore appears conflicted.
“We have orders.” Enzo does not.
“Change the fucking orders!” I shout at my father.
He steps closer. “They are not my orders, Carina.” To the men holding me, he says, “Put her in the car.”
My brothers have to half carry, half drag me to the SUV, but my lack of compliance doesn’t slow anyone down very much. Enzo slides behind the wheel, Salvatore takes shotgun, and I’m sandwiched between Leo and Luca in the back seat.
I’ve never ridden in a car with all my immediate family before. Never had them all surrounding me, protecting me. Part of me recognizes it’s a sensation I should appreciate, cherish, but most of me is watching the house shrink in the rearview mirror.
A line of four other vehicles follows behind us.
A dozen more cars remain in the driveway.
Some might belong to Nico or his men, but still, the size of the operation to retrieve me is staggering.
I’m grateful, obviously, but I feel nauseous, recalling all the bodies we walked by.
My life shouldn’t be any more important than theirs.
And Isabella …
My hands were released once we were in the car. I lift a palm to muffle the cry that wants to escape my mouth, the loss hitting me all over again.
“They stopped talking,” Luca says.
“Must be close,” Enzo replies.
“You can hear Lev?” I ask. “What’s happening? Why the fuck aren’t you helping him?” My voice gets progressively louder with each question, until I’m basically yelling.
“We did all we were allowed to,” Enzo tells me testily.
I frown. Why wouldn’t Lev want as many men assisting as possible?
“Isabella’s dead,” I state.
“We have her body,” Salvatore says. “Her family will be able to have a proper funeral.”
That doesn’t feel like it matters much, but I hope the ceremony will be some comfort to Isabella’s parents. They’re as religious as she is. Was.
“Comms are off. They must have him,” Leo comments.
“Or they switched to their own gear,” Luca says. “Not like we speak Russian anyway.”
I frown again, then ask, “Who’s Lev talking to in Russian?”
“He has his own team here.”
“Who?”
Enzo flings an impatient look over his shoulder. “They weren’t wearing name tags. A bunch of Russians.”
“Why aren’t we helping them?”
“Because your Russian put a no-kill order out on More—”
“Lorenzo,” Salvatore snaps.
“A no-kill order? On Nico? Why?” I feel stupid, asking the question, but I assumed, out of everyone, he would be the most likely target.
Silence.
“Why?” I repeat.
Salvatore sighs. “He will kill him. Not with bullets.”
The meaning registers, and my stomach roils with a fresh wave of nausea.
I hate Nico Morello more than I’ve ever despised another human being.
I’ll never forget how callously he pointed that gun at Isabella and fired.
Or his crimes against me. But I have some sense—or maybe I really don’t—of how he’ll be tortured, and the possibilities are horrendous.
Endless. There are so many ways humans can hurt each other.
“Can I talk to Lev?”
“Comms are one-way,” Leo answers. “He was notified once you were located.”
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. Of course, now that I can sleep, I can’t.
I’m still wide awake when we pull into the circular driveway. My steps are sluggish as I’m ushered inside. Dr. Ricci is waiting in the dining room. She appears alert, despite the time, greeting me with a kind smile before disinfecting and covering the cut on my arm with a clean bandage.
The graze took off several layers of skin. I’ll have another scar. This one won’t have any positive connotation, like the one on my palm from my wedding day.
Sienna hovers in the entryway, wrapped in a silk robe, offering coffee to the men as they return. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing no makeup. It’s the least put together I’ve ever seen my stepmother. The sight is jarring rather than comforting. Another example of how wrong everything feels.
I don’t belong here—I’ve never felt like I did—but this is the first time it feels like I should. Everyone knows I’m Salvatore’s daughter. These people are my blood, plus those who’ve sworn allegiance to them, and they all just risked their lives for mine. Yet I feel like a foreigner.
After Dr. Ricci finishes, I pass them all and head upstairs.
In my room, I shower the best I can, one-armed to avoid wetting the bandage.
Some of the water runs pink down the drain.
Not all the dried blood was mine, which makes it worse.
I’ve killed three people now. I wonder if I’ll ever lose track, like Lev has.