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I turn my gaze back to Miguel, and staring at the fucker, I let out a sigh. “All you had to do was listen, but no, you had to be stubborn and come into our territory.”
“There’s a lot of money to be made in New York,” he says. “The deal still stands.”
I notice the sweat beading on his forehead.
Carlo places a tumbler of whiskey down on the table, and picking it up, I take a sip.
When I set the tumbler down again, I murmur, “As good as a thirty percent share sounds, I have to decline.”
My eyes narrow on the fucker, and unable to hold back a second longer, my arm flies up, and I pull the trigger. I watch as the bullet hits him right between the eyes. His head snaps back, and his mouth drops open.
Intense satisfaction pours into my chest as I watch him drop dead to the floor.
As the bullets start to fly, Dario plows into me, and the fucker tackles me off the chair. Hitting the floor, his knee slams into my thigh.
The gunfight doesn’t even last a minute, and when the last of Miguel’s men drops dead, Dario moves off me and slumps down on the floor beside me.
“Christ,” he mutters.
I lift my hand and hold my thumb and pointer finger an inch apart. “You came this close to kneeing me in the balls, fucker.”
Dario lets out a burst of laughter, then says, “I’m pretty sure I took a bullet for you.”
“What?” I snap, and darting up, I check him for gunshot wounds.
Just as I see the blood on his side, he says, “Flesh wound on my back.”
I shove him before climbing to my feet, “That’s not taking a fucking bullet.” I glance around the area, then ask, “Everyone okay?”
“Yeah, just need to visit the clinic,” Vincenzo, one of Renzo’s men, mutters. “I took a bullet in the leg.”
One of his friends moves closer to help him down the stairs.
I glance at Miguel’s body.
He won’t be the last enemy I have to face, but I’m taking today as a win.
“Let’s go,” I mutter.
“Someone going to give me a hand?” Dario asks where he’s still lying by my feet.
I glance down at him, and shaking my head, I grab hold of his hand and haul him to his feet.
As my friends and men head down the stairs, I reach for the tumbler of whiskey Carlo poured before I killed Miguel and down the amber liquid.
“One down. God only knows how many to go,” Carlo mutters.
I pat his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 27
Gabriella
I startle awake when I’m picked up off the bed.
Grabbing hold of broad shoulders, it takes me a few seconds before I realize Damiano’s carrying me out of my room.
“You’re home,” I say, my voice hoarse with sleep.
