Whenever she walks into a room, I want to grab her and hold her to me, protect her, make love to her. I’d love to tell her that I love her, but I don’t know if that will drive her away again.
The chemistry between us warms the air, and I’ll settle for that . . . for now.
“Great.” She gives me a weak smile of gratitude.
I nod, acknowledging her acceptance of help, as no other words are needed.
Thankfully, the trucks that were blown-up are miles away and will keep law enforcement away for some time. The compound is isolated, so it’s only logical that we’ll have the ground swarming with detectives and backup before long.
“I hope we have enough time to get there before they bug out.” Francesca’s voice quivers, partly because she’s been in wet clothes for over two hours.
I fish around in the vehicle and find an old airline blanket, putting it around her, draping my arm over her tired shoulders, and pulling her into me.
She leans her head on my shoulder and seems to find a moment of solitude as I feel her body relax against mine, and it warms my cold heart.
The gates to the compound are closed and what is left of Mario’s men have refortified the compound. This was to be expected.
I give directions to the soldiers in our vehicle, but it’s through our earpieces, so I know Francesca can’t hear what’s going on. It’s logistics. We’ve practiced tactical formations and wall breaching before we came. I left her out of it as it’s dangerous and I want to keep her safe.
The guys in the back bring ropes with grappling hooks on them and we park a half mile away before we make a run for it.
We have to break in, and men will be lost. Francesca might be hit or fatally wounded.
“You sit here, let us get in and I’ll come and get you,” I order Francesca as I sit her on our side of the wall.
I can tell she’d like to make a smart comment about how she’s going in with us but instead she remains silent. This alone tells me that she’s exhausted, and we still have the final confrontation ahead of us.
I wish I could spare her, but I can’t. She must face her demons.
I give the command and fifty of us breach the wall and the gates are open. I send Matteo to retrieve Francesca and he brings her to me. She’s regained her composure and holds her weapon with steady hands once again.
The rain stops just as we breach the house with Matteo and Enzo shooting and bodies dropping. We enter the upstairs office not knowing what we’d find.
One of Dante’s guards, Enzo, is wounded on the way in. I’m not sure if he’s alive or dead, but I pull him out of harm's way as we make our assent up the stairs, bullets raining on us as we take out one man after another and I shield Francesca.
But it turns out Mario and Fausto’s greed made them misjudge how fast we’d get here. We’ve had the place surrounded for the past half hour. Surly he knows an attempt to get away is slim at best.
Matteo and I head to the office upstairs. The office once held by Gio Conti himself. Even though it was a place I had heard about for years and it’s one place I wanted to see—but not as a prisoner. There is no way I ever would have imagined that I’d be standing inside these four walls.
Walls that made deals for years, but I wish the walls could talk since I'm here. The cunning man had his ways about him that threatened every connected family and extended well beyond the borders of Italy.
Rumors precede my vision; however, I find they are accurate. The office is filled with antique furniture, heavy satin curtains that are holding years of cigar smoke and a huge liquor cabinet filled with the most expensive collection a man can buy.
There is also a large gun safe for every weapon imaginable and wines, he loved the best whiskey and the best wines, including boutique wines that are rumored to be rare and exquisite with unique flavors.
And in the middle of the room, behind that large imposing desk are her brothers, with bags of cash holding Sofia.
23
Francesca
I’m cold but it’s more than being wet. Looking at my brother’s makes my bones chill. Part of the freezing cold in my body is because my brothers are bastards, but they are still my brothers, the same brothers I grew up, and ate gelato with on family vacations at the beach.
Before our Dad turned them into monsters. Clones of himself. Maybe I was the lucky one after all. Maybe they spared me being the same as them.
I’m grasping at my mixed emotions. It’s one thing to suspect them of being capable of these things, it’s another to witness the devastation and the trail of treachery we uncovered tonight.
The chills aren’t just limited to my bones and my teeth start to chatter but my hands remain steadfast on my gun.