It just doesn’t matter anymore. How does something as inconsequential as rank matter when your father has been killed? And how can he hold it against him?
“You boys will soon understand for yourselves. We have our own way of dealing with these things. There’s a process, and it has to be respected,” Gio says.
“Fuck that,” Wilder snarls. “Blood for blood. That’s how this goes.”
“No, it’s not,” Giovanni says. He looks down at his hands. “I can’t protect you if you retaliate against a made man, Wilder.”
“Let us handle this,” Nico cuts in. “We’ll work this out … we can meet your conditions without—”
“He killed my father on the street like a dog.” Wilder’s tone is lethal, slow and too steady. “He took my girl.”
“And I got her back, brother.”
He snorts. “You’re no brother of mine.”
Nico winces, but he’s unwavering in his position. He’ll rule these streets soon enough, and he holds his head up like a king. No one with royal blood in their veins backs down from anyone.
“I want his fucking head,” Wilder says.
Nodding once, Nico says, “On a spike. But you can’t be the one who does it. It would be a death sentence.”
I feel the vibration of the engine in my feet before I see the car, waiting until the light turns green before turning into the parking garage. Headlights cut across the empty space as it veers left, rolling toward us head-on. Nico and Giovanni darken to silhouettes, and the rest of us become shadows against the wall. Lifting my hand to block the high beams, my blood runs cold at the sight of the black sedan. I’d recognize it anywhere.
Wilder turns around with an expression of utter fear on his face. He urges me toward the service elevator and presses the button. “Go up to the office as soon as it opens. Hide. I’ll find you. I’ll always fucking find you, okay?”
“No.” I shake my head, shoving his hands away from the button. My heart pounds inside of my chest, and panic feels like cotton in my mouth. “Wilder, I’m not leaving you.”
Kissing my forehead, he pushes away and says, “Just go, Camilla.”
Luca doesn’t bother to park the car in a designated spot, bringing it to a slow stop in the feeder lane. He cuts the lights and exits the vehicle with a crew of three. Holding his arms out, he asks, “Why wasn’t I invited to this party?”
Wilder squares up. “I asked the same thing.”
“Oh, you’re mad?” Halting in his tracks, Luca makes a show of holding his soldiers back. “I was never going to keep the whore. I just wanted you to know that I could take her if I wanted to. What’s the big deal?”
Giovanni steps forward, but even I can see that he’s lost his appeal. There’s a chink in his armor, exposing a kill shot. How could he possibly hold on to his crown when his underboss disobeyed him in such spectacular fashion, and he didn’t even see it coming. There’s only one way to right this wrong, and instead of stopping Luca in his tracks, he asks, “Who popped David?”
Luca’s grin falls, as disappointed in Gio as I am. “Since when do we discuss family business in front of associates and prostitutes?”
As if on cue, Luca’s men pull weapons from their jackets at the same time the elevator arrives. Wilder is fearless in the face of certain death, brandishing his own gun and taking two steps forward—two steps away from me. I’ll never understand how he could think that I’d leave him like this. As if I could spend a day on Earth without him. Reclaiming the steps from the space between us, I keep Wilder within arm’s reach.
“Lydia, go,” Talent barks. He moves in front of the gunman who has a scar running down the side of his face before he has a chance to point his gun at her, clearly aware that harming Lydia would hurt Talent more than a shot to the heart.
She stumbles back, and for the first time in our relationship, I protect her. Lydia struggles against my hold, but I squeeze tighter, whispering, “Stay with me. Stay with me.”
A second gunman doesn’t confront Nicolai as much as he blocks his way to his father, still wary of the Coppolas’ position in the family. Nico doesn’t hesitate to spill blood like he does, cracking the traitor over the head with the handle of his handgun. It sets off a domino effect of movement.
Wilder closes in on the male closest to him, and I hold my breath, certain he’s going to shoot. Talent grabs the scarred man by the throat and slams him on the ground, stealing his gun as it spins at his feet. And Luca comes face-to-face with Gio. He’s a couple of inches taller than the boss, and gears up for a confrontation, rolling his shoulder and shaking his arms. Luca is a monster invigorated by violence. “That’s enough, you fucking animals,” he says.
Two of the three people Luca brought with him are disarmed and at a disadvantage, but Luca has Giovanni within reach and holds the upper hand. Apathetic and lazy, the gunman standing off with Wilder chews gum with his mouth open, popping small bubbles between his molars. It’s apparent that he has an idea about how this night is going to end, and it won’t be with a bullet in his head.
La Cosa Nostra doesn’t fear lawyers, and it shows.
But he’s dead wrong.
“Lighten up, Wilder.” Luca pats his man on the shoulder, who then lowers his gun.
“I’m light, motherfucker. I’m real fucking light.” Wilder doesn’t break form, swinging his weapon back and forth between his original target and Luca.
