because I don’t have much time. Peering around the chair, I curse as the mystery of the shooter is solved—it’s Santo.
I have so many questions, and I refuse to die until I know how he got here so fast. Someone double-crossed me.
“Vincenzo!” Fausto bangs on the door. “You stupido! What did you do?”
Okay, so it seems Fausto wasn’t privy to this plan. He was double-crossed by the Macrillos—no surprise there.
“I would never let this bastardo live!” Vincenzo screams. “He killed my son!”
“Your son was a cunt,” I wheeze, the room beginning to spin.
When I hear footsteps, I grab my gun and fire around the chair. They didn’t know I was carrying, so this should fend them off for a bit.
“Surprise,” Santo says. His voice sounds distant, so I assume he’s taking cover behind the desk.
“I hate surprises,” I call out, trying to gauge where he is. I need eyes on him.
Gunshots sound from above me.
“No,” I murmur, shaking my head.
There are so many people who need my protection, and I’m utterly useless to them.
This is my fault for being so certain Santo wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. I shouldn’t have let my guard down. But how the fuck did he get here so fast?
“I know you’re hit. I can smell your blood,” Santo says pleased. “I should put you out of your misery, but you must suffer, just how Frank did.”
“And Christian,” Vincenzo adds.
This buys me some time, so I decide to humor him. “Give it your best shot, долбоёб.”
The door bursts open, and I frantically aim my gun at the entrance, but what I see has me realizing no gun can ever protect me from this.
Saint is being led into the room at gunpoint by some goon. He is followed by Max and Pavel in the same predicament. They were only able to capture them because we were caught unaware. The perfect ambush tactic in any war.
Where are our weapons? This isn’t like Pavel to come unprepared.
Ella enters, flanked by two Macrillo boys. She has her hands raised and doesn’t shed a tear, that is until she sees me, bleeding out behind the chair.
“Alek!” she cries, attempting to run to me, but is dragged by her hair, kicking and screaming toward Santo.
“Let her go!” I roar, and with all my might, I come to a shaky stand.
Tossing my gun into the middle of the room, I raise my hands in surrender. “You won! You can have it all. Just let her go,” I plead, locking eyes with Ella.
I know this isn’t an option, but I have to try.
“This bitch killed our brother,” says Lorenzo, Frank’s older brother. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Santo’s sons don’t know how personal this is for their father. He would never tell them. He reaches out and strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers.
“Bambina, why did you have to ruin everything?”
In response, she spits in Santo’s face. My brave girl doesn’t cower. Santo wipes his cheek with a handkerchief, smirking.
Fausto stands by the door, watching on and probably wishing he married into a different family. Where is Sascha and the children? I can only hope they managed to escape.
All of my allies are being held captive in this room. I’ve never been more fucked than I am right now.
My legs threaten to give out, so before they do, I kick the chair around and take a seat, facing Santo. He knows I’m fatally wounded, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumple.
“Don’t you want to know our grand plan?” Santo mocks, relishing in the limelight.
I yawn in response.
He continues. “I knew you’d expect me to arrive tomorrow, which would make you complacent. You Russians aren’t the only ones with a secret island,” he reveals. “I charted a plane there and then sailed the yacht to Tura. The island is only a stone’s throw away.”
And I would have known that if I came to this fucking island more than once.
Clenching my fist over my wound, I flinch as I reposition myself because I can’t get comfortable. Ella keeps looking at my gunshot wound, the worry etched all over her face. She knows what this is too. As do Saint, Pavel, and Max.
There is no coming back this time. This is the curtain call. What a show it’s been. But if I’m going to die, I’m going to make sure I go out with a bang.
As I pondered earlier, is blood really thicker than water?
“You may have outsmarted me there, but you didn’t really