“How badly is he hurt?”
“He wanted to come after you himself, but I forced him to stay behind.”
“Other casualties?” I ask.
“We don't know the extent of it yet,” Mario says. “But we did lose some.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
Donna’s hand closes around mine.
“That bastard Greco,” I growl. “He is going to answer for every one of them.”
Mario’s expression hardens. “He will.”
Before I can say anything else, a shout tears across the street behind us.
“CONTI!”
Everyone turns.
Marcello comes around the corner with a gun in his hand and what remains of his composure gone completely. Two of his men are behind him, but they hesitate the moment they see what is waiting for them.
Diego and Ricardo stand near the front. Matteo, Tomasso, Dante, Edoardo, and Alessio spread out with the security detail, every one of them armed and focused on Greco.
His gaze moves across the group.
Then it lands on Alessio.
Something ugly twists across his face.
I step slightly forward before I even think about it.
Greco looks from my son to Donna, then finally back to me, and I watch the realization settle over him.
He has lost.
Everything he planned, everything he tried to take from me, is standing here alive.
“You think this is over?” he demands.
I raise my gun. “Yes.”
Around me, my brothers, my sons, my nephews, and my people bring their weapons up with mine.
Marcello Greco has nowhere left to run.
Greco’s gaze flicks toward Alessio again, and whatever restraint he had left disappears from his face.
“You should have been the one,” he says. “You should be dead. Not my Angelo. Not my boy.” His voice breaks on those last words.
The man has clearly lost his sanity in his grief. I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
Then I think of my son being targeted and arrested. I think of Donna’s home and office torn apart. Rinaldi lying in the street, trying to call for help. Donna as she begs me not to surrender myself for her while Greco tries to smash through the door.
Whatever sympathy tries to surface dies there.