The Woman in the Trunk - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,49

would splinter her.

My gaze lifted, curious, finding her focused on Paulie's hand, her lips parted, her eyes round, her breathing ragged.

Most worrisome of all, though?

She was shaking.

Hard enough that her teeth were clacking together.

This was a woman who had been kidnapped, who had been chased across state lines, then caught , bound, and dragged back.

She'd never shown me fear like this.

She always showed me fire.

Spirit.

Beside me now, she was shrinking into herself, becoming small right before my eyes. It was right then that I realized how little I knew about her connection to the family, about her interactions with major players.

Had Paulie been sent to threaten her? To press her for the money owed?

It wouldn't surprise me. Paulie didn't give a shit who he had to lean on to get the money he was owed. Even if that meant scaring small women.

Still, the reaction seemed over the top for her, this woman who had given even my father a little lip.

There was a short, whispered conversation between Paulie and my father before Paulie turned, seeming to notice everyone gathered around for the first time.

His gaze went right to Giana. And those shifty eyes warmed. His lips curved into some semblance of a smirk.

Yes, clearly some sort of history. Bad on her side, pleasant to Paulie.

His gaze roamed over Gigi for a long moment before shifting to her father who rose to his feet, holding out his hand to be shaken by Paulie's.

"Long time no see, Leon," Paulie said, further confusing me. "What's it been? Five? Six years?"

There was something in his words, an undercurrent that I couldn't quite make out, heavy with meaning hanging thick in the air.

"Yes, somewhere around there," Leon agreed, giving the man a hearty handshake before dropping it.

My gaze shifted to Giana, finding her gaze on her father, disbelieving, then shifting to Paulie's hand once again.

I was so distracted by her reaction that I missed whatever occurred between the two men before Paulie was saying his goodbyes and walking out of the room.

There was a pause, then the slam of the front door.

And, somehow, that seemed to penetrate through whatever fog was swirling through Giana's mind.

It happened so fast.

I was watching her and I couldn't have predicted it, couldn't have stopped it.

One second, she was sitting beside me, confused, shocked, completely and utterly still.

The next, she was on her feet, her handcuffed hands reaching across the table, grabbing my father's discarded gun, lifting, aiming, and emptying the magazine.

Into her father.

Her fucking father.

There was collective cursing from all of us in the room, the rushing in of my father's men.

My hands immediately went for Giana's, pulling the gun from her shaking hands, putting it down on the table at my side.

"What the fuck just happened?" my father asked. It was rare for him to sound shocked, but there was no denying it in his voice right that moment. It was in all our minds, in fact.

What the fuck just happened?

There was no need to rush to Leon's body. Clearly, Giana had spent some time in a range in her life. Because all but one of the bullets had landed in her father's chest cavity. He was dead before he hit the ground. Still, Chris went over, bent down, checked for a pulse, and gave us a head shake before standing.

"Fuck!" my father snapped, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair. "Get her the fuck out of here for a minute. I can't think straight with her shaking like that," my father demanded, his guards moving forward.

"I got it," I said, holding up a hand.

"Basement," my father added as I grabbed the small chain between Giana's hands, pulling until she fell into step with me.

I wanted to reach for her.

I wanted to pick her up, carry her against my chest.

There was something genuinely broken in her right that moment. And part of me responded, wanted to grab some glue, and put her back together.

But no one could know that.

No one could see that.

It was a surefire way to sign her death sentence. And things were already bad enough for her right then.

I pulled her down the hall, into the kitchen, then down the first step before reaching for her, and lifting her up to carry her down.

Her body was strangely loose through all of this, as limp as a child who's deep asleep.

The basement was partially finished, the area around the landing and to the left was a game room with a pool table, card table,