Gio hovering over Vito’s prone body. My consigliere is groaning, his hand pressed to a bullet wound in his neck. Blood pools like black ink under him.
“There are medical supplies in the cabin,” I instruct Gio. “Go. Quickly!”
He takes off and I move to Vito, pressing my hand over the wound. The blood gushes against my palm and I squeeze as hard as I can to try to stop it.
“Hey, Gabe,” Vito says, smiling weakly.
His face is pale with a waxy, grayish hue, and shines with sweat.
“Hey, Vito.” I smile back at him, trying not to show my concern. “I killed Patrick Walsh.”
His smile grows. “Hey, good for you.”
“Blew him up with a grenade.”
“That’s awesome.” Vito laughs, but it comes out as more of a choking sound. He coughs, and more blood slicks against my hand.
“Hey, hey,” I soothe. “You just need to keep still, okay? We’re going to get you wrapped up and take you to a hospital.”
“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” Vito croaks.
“Don’t say that, of course you are.”
My chest is tight, and I try to swallow the lump that has grown in my throat. He doesn’t look good. His eyes are unfocused, staring vaguely around where my face is. His lips are pale, almost blue. And the blood—the blood won’t stop.
“Tell Corie and Nuri I love them,” Vito says, his voice shaking a little. He tries to take in a breath but struggles, sputtering.
“Tell them yourself,” I order. “Don’t you dare die on me, Vito.”
His lips curve into a smile, but there are tears in his eyes. “It’s just like you—” He coughs. “It’s just like you to try to control death itself.”
His eyes flicker once, then close.
“Vito!” I roar.
Gio’s footsteps thump back up the ladder and he appears with a medical kit. He opens it and begins to pull out long strips of gauze, but I can no longer feel Vito’s pulse against my fingers. I check on the other side, hoping to bring him back to life by sheer force of will, but his heart has taken its last beat.
“No,” I whisper.
I have seen death many times, even faced that hooded creature down myself once or twice, but it has never felt like this. I feel Vito’s loss like a cold hollowness in my bones. My best friend. My right-hand man. The person who has been with me from the beginning, who helped me climb to the top and has worked tirelessly to keep me there.
And now he’s gone.
My eyes sting, but I blink away the tears, gritting my teeth. I need to get up. I need to go make sure Alexis and Harry are safe. But I don’t want to leave Vito here like this, splayed out on the deck, cold, lifeless.
I have to. I have obligations, both as a leader and as a father.
“Get us back to the dock,” I bark.
Gio glances at the corpse of the driver slumped in front of the controls and swallows, but doesn’t argue with me.
My hands are sticky with blood and I wipe them on my chinos, leaving brown streaks over the light material. I climb down and head into the lower cabin, pulling back the rug over the trapdoor and knocking.
“It’s me,” I call.
“Who is me?” I hear Alexis call back.
I’m glad to hear she is being cautious.
“It’s Gabriel,” I say. “I told you not to let anyone but me in. So let me in.”
I hear the hatch click open and a second later, she pushes up the door.
“It’s safe,” I say, offering her my hand.
Alexis’ eyes widen at the sight of the dried blood, but she takes my hand and climbs out with Harry pressed tight to her hip.
“What happened?” Alexis asks.
The boat’s engine rumbles to life and we begin to move. I walk to the sofa and sink onto it, running a hand through my hair. My gut quivers, an uncomfortable sensation that I worry will not go away for a long time.
Alexis joins me on the couch. She is pale, sickly looking, and takes shaky and uneven breaths. Harry’s face is red. I wonder if he cried the entire time.
“Patrick Walsh attacked us,” I tell her.
I don’t even think of censoring myself. After what I put her through today, she deserves the truth.
“He betrayed our alliance,” I continue. “I don’t know whether there were ever Irish rebels in the first place or if it was part of his plan the whole time, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s dead.”
Alexis’ eyes