The sound of a gunshot cuts off my words. It echoes from afar, and another one follows immediately after. The sounds of screeching of tires and screams come from the direction of the road, and I glance there automatically. It can’t be my brothers, right? It can’t be another trap. But it does look like everything has been prepared well in advance.
The Mexicans played their cards very well.
“You shouldn’t worry about them,” Nicolas says and looks down at the porch under his feet, carefully stepping toward me. “My boys are going to take care of them. Right now, I want to talk to you, Don Riccardo.”
“Why would I want to talk to you?” I quirk an eyebrow, watching Nicolas limp down the porch, and a few of his guys impatiently shift in their places. What, do they want to shoot me so badly? What an honorable way of killing your enemy-but it’s not like the Mexicans know anything about honor.
But Nicolas ignores the scoffing tone of my voice and only smiles.
“Because you have no other choice.”
He stops in front of me a few seconds later and raises his head. He’s a few inches shorter than me and definitely a lot weaker; no matter what position Nicolas holds in the Mafia world, his age is taking its toll. I feel like I could send him flying into the wall of the shed with just one push, but Nicolas doesn’t have to say anything out loud for me to know that the second something happens to him, they’ll open fire at all three of us.
He is right, I don’t have a choice, so I silently stare back at him. What do you want from me?
Nicolas squints a little as if trying to see something in my eyes before shaking his head with a sigh of disappointment. “Don’t you see it? You’re playing a game too big for you, Riccardo. You don’t even know how to fight. The Messina clan has been losing power for years, and even Cassio couldn’t prevent it.”
“Don’t speak of him.”
“But it’s true! Look around.” Nicolas gestures at his people surrounding us as if it’s supposed to impress me. “You’ve pushed yourself right into our hands, and you have no one to help you. Would a true leader make such a mistake? Would a powerful man stand on his own before me?”
That bastard. A hot wave of rage runs under my skin and leaves my whole body taut and quivering. I’m ready to jump on him, grasp his neck, squeeze the last breath out of him-but I have to hold back. There’s one thing Nicolas is right about: I am all-too-easy prey here. I shouldn’t give them a reason to-
“He’s not alone,” Elena raises her voice all of a sudden, and I look at her over Nicolas’ shoulder with my heart jolting up in distress. No, don’t attract their attention. Stay quiet!
But even if I said it out loud, Elena wouldn’t listen.
“His family is here.”
She gets up from the floor, taking hold of Max’s hand that tries to pull her back down, and her eyes focus on Nicolas. They’re cold like ice, piercing right through him, and Nicolas slowly turns to look at her with a dismissive smile. The members of his gang follow his lead, turning their attention to Elena, and it makes something in my chest freeze.
“Elena, stay out of this,” I try to warn her, but it’s too late.
“Are you ready to call yourself a Messina?” He turns to face her properly, giving me a perfect view of his back, and if only I could hide
Elena and Max from their bullets, if only I could-
“I will always be a Pushkova, whether I want it or not,” Elena says calmly, looking down at him from the porch. “But I have sworn to love and care for my husband till my last breath, and Bratva never throws words to the wind.”
The last part of her sentence drowns in the deafening screech of tires on the edge of the road and a few words yelled out in Russian. Before anyone catches up, Elena drops herself to the ground, pulling Max with her, and it takes only a second before a series of gunshots tear the silence.
That’s damn good timing.
I manage to lower myself at the last moment, and I hear a bullet flying right above my head and missing just an inch from Nicolas’ shoulder. He curses loudly in Spanish and turns around to give orders to his family- but he doesn’t get enough time for that. My bullet reaches him first.
But the Mexicans don’t need any orders to begin a firefight, and in the mess of it all, I hear Max crying and begging for help. One of the Mexicans is already looming over them, reaching to grab Elena’s hair, but I aim at his head and release a bullet a moment before my own arm bursts with pain.
Shit. I have to get them out of here.
“Elena!” I grasp her wrist as soon as I reach them, and Elena instinctively tries to yank it away before she realizes that it’s me.
I don’t have time to talk, so I just tug her and Max closer to me, keeping my eyes out for any Mexican willing to stop us. They’re too busy looking for a place to hide, but one of them notices us, yelling out something to others. Shit, shit. I fire at him and cover Elena and Max as much as I can, guiding them to my car.
Max stumbles in his step at some point, Elena screams, but I pull him up and close to my body, keeping the gun away from his shoulder. The scratch on my arm bleeds on Max’s t-shirt, but he says nothing and pushes himself closer to me, making something in my chest roar. Is that what Elena was talking about? Because right now, I feel like I could do anything just to keep them alive.
“Drive as fast as you can,” I yell over the thunder of gunshots, pushing my keys into Elena’s hand as we get close enough to my car. “Wherever you want. Just be safe.”
I help Max get into the passenger side while Elena takes the driver’s seat and only then pauses to look at me. “What about you?”
“I’ll find you later.”
Her eyes widen. “You can’t stay here!”
“I’ll find you-”
A bullet cuts me off, piercing the door of the back seat, and both of us instinctively bow down. Without pushing myself up, I shut the door and bang on it. Hurry up! And only when she finally takes off do I breathe out and look around.
Bratva’s cars keep circling the boat rental in a clear attempt to lure the remaining Mexicans out of their hideaways. The shock and chaos they brought have already dissipated, giving way to methodical gunshots and hurriedly arranged tactics. Well. I wipe the blood off my elbow and grip my gun tighter.
That only means there’s plenty of dirty work to do here-but I know I can handle it. Especially when the rumble of engines lets me know that my family is near.