Page 92 of Accidental Alliance

Matteo whispers, “Mom.”

“I know.”

I shove the metal latch away from the window and try again. Pain sparks through my hands as the frame jerks, then rises with a shriek that feels loud enough to wake the dead. It catches halfway, something farther up the channel blocking it from fully opening.

A voice outside the interrogation room snaps, “What was that?”

I bend, gather Matteo into my arms, and lift him toward the open window.

“Feet first,” I whisper.

I hoist him higher, guiding his legs through the narrow opening. Cold night air rushes in, damp and earthy compared to the room behind us. Matteo whimpers when his knee catches on the frame. I angle him with one hand on his back, the other bracing his thigh. He slips through and dangles on the other side.

I lean through the window as far as I can and lower him until his sneakers find something beneath him. I cannot see clearly in the dark, but I feel the tension leave his body once he finds solid ground. I let go of his hands slowly before moving back to turn my body around and hook my leg through the opening.

Behind me, the interrogation room door slams against the inside wall.

My body goes cold.

Giovano’s voice cuts across the room, suddenly loud. “Took you long enough, you useless bastards.”

I look back and see one of the enforcers step inside, gun half-raised. The plastic between us blurs the scene, but not enough. Giovano remains slumped in the chair, his head angled toward the man as the gun is slowly turned toward him.

“You planning on finishing the job, or are you just going to stand there all night?” my uncle says. Even half-dead, he sounds irritated.

The guard snarls and moves toward him. “Sounds like you’re begging for a bullet in your skull.”

My stomach clenches violently.

I can’t watch.

Instead, I turn back to the window and force myself through the small opening. The frame bites into my ribs, the old wood warped from years of damp weather and neglect, the sill jagged beneath my palms. Splintered wood catches my sweater, tearing the fabric near my wrist. A sharp edge scrapes skin, and heat blooms there, but I bite back a curse and wiggle harder.

Behind me, laughter erupts out of Giovano. “Go on, then. All you Contis are cowards, anyway.”

The sound is cut off by the sickening crack of the butt of a gun hitting flesh. My uncle lets out a choked sound from the impact.

Panic becomes momentum. I twist hard, ignoring the hot rip of pain across my side, and tumble out through the window. The world drops beneath me faster than I expect. For one weightless second, cold air rushes over my face as my hands reach blindly for something that isn’t there. Then I hit the damp ground on the other side. Pain flashes white-hot through my hip and shoulder. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, the world blurring instantly.

Matteo drops beside me immediately. “Mom!”

“I’m okay,” I gasp out.

I lift my head up to look at him. His face is pale in the dark, eyes huge, cheeks wet. His little hands hover over me like he wants to help but does not know where to touch without hurting me. Then a quick flash of light shoots through the dark, following the sound of a gun going off.

For a second, I cannot breathe.

The sound of the shot seems to stretch endlessly, bouncing off the side of the safehouse and ripping through the night. My fingers dig into the wet earth as tears form and fall from my eyes. I clamp one hand over my own mouth, forcing air back into my lungs through the pain rippling through my body.

Matteo flinches so hard, he nearly falls into me. I grab him with my good arm and pull us both up from the ground, pressing his face into my shoulder before he can look toward the window as I stand.

Shouting erupts from inside.

I do not have time to look back and see if there is blood splattering the plastic sheets. I only have time to move. We move beneath the line of windows, keeping our bodies low toward the wet earth. The open grounds stretch somewhere ahead, but I cannot see enough through the darkness and fog to know which direction gives us the best chance of getting out of here.

We reach the corner of the building, and I press him flat behind me. My breath comes hard and fast, but I force myself to look around. The supply drop is still in motion near the opposite side of the building. Men are walking back and forth with crates in their arms surrounded by three transporter trucks. Two SUVs sit with their rear doors open as another set of enforcers continue to pack the trunk with wrapped boxes.

I pull back and look at Matteo. He is crying silently, tears tracking down his face while he bites his lower lip to keep from making noise. That sight goes through me with such force, I almost double over.