Lorenzo extricates himself from Salvatore and turns away. “Nothing. Let’s get moving. Tonight isn’t over yet.”
But Salvatore grabs him by the shoulders, turns him around, and shakes him. He’s turned a sickly shade of gray and his brow is clammy with sweat. “It’s not nothing! I nearly killed you. One more millisecond and I would have pulled the trigger.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t.” Lorenzo narrows his eyes, darts a look at me then back at Salvatore. His meaning is clear. Not in front of Chiara.
Yes, in front of Chiara. “What do you mean, you nearly killed him?”
Salvatore thrusts his hands through his hair. “Do you ever feel that another terrifying reality is so close it’s like it could reach out and drag you away? Tonight was a fucking nightmare.”
Lorenzo puts his hands on Salvatore’s shoulders. “I’m fine. Chiara’s fine. The others are safe. This is reality, what we’re standing in right now.”
“It nearly wasn’t.”
“But it is,” Lorenzo insists and then mutters, “Not that this reality can’t fucking suck sometimes, too.”
Salvatore shakes his head. “Let’s not go through that again, okay?”
“It’s not at the top of my bucket list,” Lorenzo says, heading around the car to the driver’s side.
I go to Salvatore and wrap my arms around his waist. It seems like he’s had an even worse night than I have. “What happened tonight? Why did you nearly shoot Lorenzo?”
“Tell her while we drive,” Lorenzo says, getting into the Mercedes and slamming the door.
Salvatore and I climb into the back seat and I hold him tightly, afraid to let go in case he’s ripped away from me again.
He kisses the top of my head. “It’s been a crazy few hours. I’m sorry we left without telling you where we were going.”
“Never mind that now. Tell me what happened.”
“The Black Orchid Killer was meeting De Luca tonight, we assumed so he could give De Luca the video of Nicole’s murder. The killer told De Luca not to involve the police, so he approached us for help. De Luca told us where the meeting was taking place, but a group of fucking armored guards and the killer himself were waiting to ambush us.”
“You’re kidding. He knew you’d be there?”
“He was counting on it,” Lorenzo mutters. “The killer wouldn’t have got the jump on us only Nicole suddenly appeared, staggering around like she was on drugs. I was following her, wondering what the hell a dead girl was doing there, when they grabbed me.”
“Everything went crazy, and then I saw him,” Salvatore says, the blood draining from his face. “He was standing in the back of a van, seeming to suck all the light and warmth out of the air around him. I know that sounds stupid. He’s not a vampire or demon. He’s only human, but he gave me chills.”
“Try having him breathing down your neck,” Lorenzo says through his teeth. “Demon is about fucking right.”
Salvatore’s arm is covered in goosebumps. So is the back of Lorenzo’s neck.
“He grabbed Lorenzo and drove off with him,” Salvatore says. “Lorenzo managed to tell me that there was a grenade launcher in the back of his car first, and I got it out. I had it pointed at the van and I was about to fire. And then—”
“Then I ran the van off the road and crashed it.”
I cover my mouth with my hands in horror. No wonder Salvatore looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“How did you even manage to do that?” Salvatore asks.
“I threw them off me by slamming them against the sides of the van, and then I dove for the steering wheel and twisted it. When we crashed, they all ran off.”
I wrap my arms around Lorenzo’s shoulders from behind and hug him tight. “You nearly died.”
Lorenzo doesn’t look away from the road ahead, but the corner of his mouth tilts up. “Please. You’d have to nuke me from orbit.”
I press my lips against his throat. My men are flesh and blood and they could be ripped from me without warning. I don’t want to forget that because I never want to take them for granted.
I sit back and hold Salvatore as tight as I can. “What a crazy night you’ve had. Where are Cassius and Vinicius?”
“Still back at the abandoned building. Lorenzo’s taking us there now.”
“Why?”
“Because we need your help with a ghost.”
4
Cassius
Panicked breathing emanates from inside the kitchen cabinet. I crouch on the dusty floor, resisting the temptation to rip it open, drag the girl out and demand to know why she’s alive.
Why you, and not my sister?
“Nicole De Luca. What happened to you?” I exchange glances with Vinicius, who looks as confused as I feel. It shouldn’t be possible. Nicole De Luca was killed. I saw the pictures. The sadistic, blood-soaked pictures that were the handiwork of the Black Orchid Killer.
“My name is Cassius Ferragamo. Can you come out and talk to me?”
Nothing.
“I’m going to search the area for Mr. De Luca,” Vinicius says softly. “He hasn’t appeared and I’m worried about him.”
Good point. De Luca was supposedly meeting the Black Orchid Killer here tonight, and the four of us planned to kill him. Then his last victim, Nicole De Luca, suddenly appeared, staggering like she’d been drugged. “Who brought you here, Nicole? Did you see his face?”
Vinicius waits to see if she’s going to answer, then checks his gun and heads outside.
I ease myself down on the floor and get comfortable, my back against another one of the cabinet doors. Salvatore and Scava heard from Scava’s men and they’ve gone to collect Chiara from Strife. They’ll be at least another hour or two as they deal with Acid and the others. Anger burns through me at the thought of their filthy fucking hands all over our woman. I’ve met Acid a handful of times and I’ve always hated his swagger. His arrogance. His constant smirking. I hope they kill him slowly.
The floor beneath me is gritty. The pants I’m wearing are Italian wool and my sweater is black cashmere. I’m sitting in an abandoned kitchen in gang territory, trying to coax a frightened girl into talking to me. I could just rip the cabinet door open and drag her out. Scava suggested doing just that when we realized she’d crawled inside to hide, but even his heart wasn’t in it. Nicole’s been in the Black Orchid Killer’s hands. Who knows how much he’s already traumatized her.
I turn my head and ask her, “You went to Saint Osanna Catholic Girl’s school, didn’t you?”
Silence.
“Chiara’s missed you. She’s talked about you often.”
More silence. Maybe she’s passed out.
“I’m from Naples. Do you speak Italian like Chiara? Come è il tuo Italiano?” How is your Italian?
Finally, she speaks in a frightened whisper, “Bene.” Good.
I continue softly in Italian, “I’m pleased to hear it. When you visit Italy, people will be impressed by the American girl who speaks our language so well.”
“Sì,” she replies, and then whimpers, “Are you going to kill me?”
“No one is going to hurt you. I’m here to protect you. Vinicius is just outside and we’re both armed. Whoever took you prisoner can’t get to you now.”
“But you can.”