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Her mind blanked as she drew her other arm out of its sling and pulled her second gun. The pain of it settled her. She edged out and shot with both hands, taking down two more and winging a third before they pulled back near the front entrance.
A dozen more fanned inside.
“Shit,” she muttered, taking aim with Dominico. The young soldier wasn’t a bad shot, but the cover he’d found blocked him in, with less maneuverability to aim. The wood in front of her box splintered as all the Lucchese enemies aimed at her hiding space. She ducked as they emptied their guns, some bullets making it through and plowing into the wall past her head.
Her eyes met Dominico’s. “Get the others!” she snapped. His lips firmed, as if he’d argue with her, but then he scrambled behind them to the next cover, racing for the rear door, and she was relieved. They’d already lost at least one Coronella that day.
The Lucchese were still shooting. Vespa took a chance, easing up over the top crate to empty her own weapons. She was better than they were by a mile, and she took out four more before they aimed higher.
She dropped, crab-walking backward to put more crates between them. Their bullets were strafing every goddamn way.
She pulled the gun from her ankle holster, laying it on the ground as she took the time to change the clips in her other two as well. Her shoulder ached like a bitch. More bullets plowed into the wooden crate, and she shoved the ache aside.
It was harder to hit anything from farther back, both for Vespa and for the men shooting at her, but she winged two more, careful in her aim when she pulled the trigger. A sound to her right warned her just in time, and she plowed an enemy in the head, shouting to let loose the burst of adrenaline that was flooding her body and making it hard to think. She was out of bullets again in her dominant hand, the same side that was now screaming in pain at the shoulder. She dropped that gun, switching her preferred gun type between hands and picking up her smaller spare with her nondominant hand.
Bullets were spraying again, and she shoved herself behind the next set of crates. These held more guns, at least. All the ammunition and more interesting items were up front.
Clearly the assailants hadn’t come for the product. They were doing everything they could to get to her. She flattened against the boxes with the next round, squirming until she could shoot around the bottom of the crate. She shot those she saw in the legs this time, but fuck it, at least they hurt worse than she did. She rolled to avoid the returning fire, staring dizzily at a soldier who had climbed the crates before firing her backup gun. The soldier dropped his weapon, clutching at his neck as he fell.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” she screamed, her chest heaving as she shot another just behind him. She only winged that one’s arm and squeezed the trigger again even as Coronella soldiers flooded through the back and front of the warehouse, providing her with some cover.
She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling as gunshots rang in her ears. Their boys were good. It was over in minutes, well before she was physically and mentally able to push to her feet.
In the excitement, they’d failed to leave any of the attackers alive. She checked. It was a damned shame. She would have liked to torture at least one of them for the scare they’d given her.
Vespa made her way to where Giorgio’s body lay. She stared down into his blank eyes, pissed but also confused.
She never would have expected Giorgio to throw himself in front of her. He was loyal, sure, but to Montrell. Plus, he had a family, a wife and a child she’d have to speak to.
Dominico clutched one of his arms as he moved closer to her side.
“You did good,” Vespa told him, reaching for his arm. He moved his hand away to let her look at the wound. It was more of a burn than anything, and she let go of him. “First bullet wound?” she asked.
He nodded, and his eyes were glimmering as they fixed on hers. “You injured all but a few of them.”
“Fuck yeah, I did,” Vespa said, but her voice sounded tired. She gave in and settled her bad arm back into the sling. The material was covered in dust and grime from crawling around on a warehouse floor, but the sling cushioned her shoulder from the pain. “Would you mind getting the gun I dropped? I left it behind one of the crates, and it’s one of my favorites.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Dominico said without hesitation.
She sighed at the term. Montrell and Beatrice were the bosses. Vespa was more of a grunt, like the men. Well, not exactly like them. She kept them in line.
Tonight she praised them, letting them know they did good by not getting dead. Cleanup was a bitch, but necessary. It was especially difficult to make one of their own disappear. She helped that group see to it as the other half moved the weapons to another warehouse, helped by reinforcements from two other capo crews.
She also visited Giorgio’s wife before heading back to the Coronella estate. It was well past dark, and quiet inside, since many were still out working. There were also quite a few men out of commission from the recent hits on the Irish and the Lucchese. Still, the gates were locked, there were soldiers doing rounds, and she seriously doubted they’d get hit again so soon.
That they’d been hit at all wasn’t outside of her cynical expectations, but it hadn’t been high on the list either.
Her aches and pains had faded to numbness. Cold filled her as she remembered the way her name had been shouted. The contempt for her still rang in her ears.
Their focus on her made no sense. Maybe it’d been some sort of retaliation against Montrell. It wasn’t a secret how close they were.
Her good hand reached out, gripping a passing soldier. “Where’s Montrell?”
He nodded toward the stairs, saying what she expected. Her friend was upstairs, cuddled up with his wife. Beatrice had killed her father the night before and was still recovering from Montrell’s mother’s attack. He should be with her.
Vespa could handle herself. She would tell them what had happened in the morning. Let them be happy tonight.
She released the soldier, nodding at him before staring down at her filthy hand. It had dried blood and other things caked on it. She should have washed up before visiting Giorgio’s wife, but she hadn’t wanted to delay the news.
