over my shoulder and I glanced back to the guy taking off toward the passageway.
“Go,” he breathed with difficulty. The life was draining away from him before my very eyes.
“Fuck, FUCK!” I let out a guttural roar as Gino bled out in my arms.
“G-go.” His eyes rolled.
I didn’t want to leave him, but when I heard the rumble of an engine, I knew it was now or never.
“I’m sorry, man,” I whispered, laying Gino down. He was unconscious now, blood still spurting out of his wound. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I ran out of the warehouse and to my car, ripping the door open and barreling inside. The truck was already on the move, but it was a rusted piece of shit that wouldn’t out gun my baby.
Digging my cell from my jeans, I managed to dial Uncle Toni.
“Enzo, son? Thank fuck. Where are you?”
“Gino… he… he’s…”
Fuck. There was so much blood.
“I’m sending back up. Just tell me where you are.”
“I’m going after him.” The words came out icy cold, detached from the bloodbath I’d just left. There would be time to mourn Gino, to raise a glass for him and pay our respects. But that time wasn’t now.
“Lorenzo, listen to me. I want you to pull over and take a breath, son. We’ll get this fucker, we will. But not tonight. Not like this.”
“I can get him. I can—”
“Vaffanculo!” Uncle Toni roared. “I am not asking, Enzo. I am giving you a direct order. Pull the fuck over.”
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit disconnect and threw my cell into the center console. I needed to do this—I needed to know why he had all those photographs and newspaper cuttings of my family and friends. The need to know burned through me like acid and was the only thing spurring me on. That and blind rage.
I’d been around death, too much for a twenty-year-old guy. But I’d never watched the life drain, literally drain, right out of a friend before. A guy who had taken me under his wing without question.
I followed the truck, keeping a safe distance. He obviously hadn’t noticed I’d given chase, making no effort to speed away. He’d taken the road out of Providence, joining the highway toward Verona. Nicco and Matteo blew up my cell phone, no doubt up to speed from Uncle Toni about what had gone down. I hoped that Marc and Dixon had gotten there in time to get help, but deep down in my gut, I knew Gino was gone.
There was too much blood. I was covered in the stuff. It clung to my clothes like rainwater. The cloying scent only fueling my need for vengeance.
“I’m coming for you,” I chanted to myself, driven only by rage. Part of me knew I should heed Uncle Toni’s orders to step down, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t let this motherfucker escape. So I stayed on his ass, keeping the rusty-black truck in my line of sight.
But the guy didn’t drive to Verona. He pulled off at a gas station about five miles out.
I made the turn and rolled into the forecourt, hiding between a couple of trucks parked up for the night. The guy climbed out of his truck, pulling on a black jacket over his hoodie. I couldn’t see much of his face, hidden under a ball cap he’d obviously pulled on at some point on the drive here.
He disappeared inside and I waited.
My cell phone began blaring again and I finally grabbed it. “Yeah?”
“What the fuck, Enzo?” Nicco growled. “You were told to stand down.”
“And let this fucker escape? He knows us, Nic. He fucking knows us. And he knows about—” The words died in my throat.
“I know… fuck, I know. But I don’t like this. He’s clearly dangerous.”
I wanted to argue that so was I, but another truck rolled into the forecourt, blocking my line of sight to the store and the guy’s truck.
“I need to go.” I hung up, cussing the truck driver.
I had no choice now but to drive around the gas pumps to the small parking lot in front of the store if I wanted to keep an eye on his truck. I made the split decision and edged out my spot and slowly crawled the car around the forecourt. But I was too fucking late, the truck already peeling out of the gas station and back onto the highway. I slammed my foot down on the gas and took off, the screech of tires