Page 31 of Wicked Bloodlines

“I’m not the reckless one,” I said. “I’m kind of afraid that might be Gabriel. Does the man take anything seriously?”

“No.” Then he frowned. “Yes, actually. Just not in the conventional sense. I guess.” Poor man looked genuinely confused. “Maybe?”

I laughed and Matteo smiled down at me. “You’re beautiful when you laugh.” He cleared his throat. “You OK?”

“I will be,” I said.

He nodded to the burner phone in my hand. “You ready?”

I nodded, taking out the burner phone and loaded the Pier 17 document I’d already prepared and I pressed SEND. When the “message delivered” notice signaled across the bottom. “It’s done,” I said, my heart racing in equal parts fear and excitement. “Cesare’s about to get exactly what he asked for.”

An hour later, we arrived two blocks down away from any street or security lighting. The funeral home looked like some creepy mansion in a horror movie. The once ornate stained glass now sat cracked and splattered with ancient bird shit from several nests in the awnings along the side of the building. The sign out front still read DELVECCHIO & SONS.

Gabriel’s team led the approach wearing bulletproof vests over a zip hoodie and carrying silenced pistols. From there, all I could do was listen to the radio chatter from inside the vehicle.

The team split, two to the back, three to the front. They breached both doors at once, glass and wood splintering in the predawn quiet I could only hear over the radio. The main floor gave up quick. A single Marchesi sentry, dead before he could even raise his weapon. Two terrified women in staff uniforms cowering in a side office got zip-tied and moved to the van. Gabriel’s “all clear” came over the radio, his tone bored. “Top level secure. You guys can move in carefully. We’re headed down.”

The guards flanking me were silent as we moved. The first one, Gerard, took the lead down the stairs, the second, Brando, hovered just behind me. The staircase creaked so loud I just knew someone would hear, but the first crew had apparently done their job well.

There were four rooms down here. Two were locked. The first, an old records room. The other locked door was heavier and metal rather than wood.

“Open it,” Brando said. Gerard handed him a small breaching charge. He set it, we all stepped back, and he blew the lock with a crack that rang in my ears.

The door swung open on a hallway painted a sickly shade of green. The overhead fluorescents were on, but only half of them worked, so every shadow seemed worse than it should have. On the right, a glass window revealed a room lined with steel tables and plastic bins. Three women were inside, all in pajamas, all with their wrists zip-tied, two huddled on a cot and the third curled on the floor. None looked older than twenty. One saw us and started screaming, a raw animal sound that made my heart break.

“Let us go!” She pounded on the glass. “Please—”

“Get everyone back!” I yelled at her through the door.

Gerard shook his head. “We’re not supposed to —”

“I know what we’re not supposed to do,” I snapped. “Open the fucking door!”

“I’m so getting my ass handed to me,” Gerard grumbled as Brando handed him another small charge. They blew the lock and the door swung open. Gerard stepped aside as the women rushed out, wailing and babbling in three languages. One grabbed my sleeve and sobbed into my shoulder. I caught her, held her up as her knees buckled.

Gerard pulled the other women behind us, ushering them toward the stairs. Then, chaos exploded in front of us, from the hall.

Brando left me with the women and sprinted toward the noise, drawing his weapon. I followed, even knowing I shouldn’t. The corridor doglegged left. At the bend, a Marchesi guard, broad and wild-eyed, pinned Brando against the wall, hand at his throat. Gerard moved me behind him, clearly irritated I’d run off from him, raised his gun to fire but couldn’t get a clear shot.

Without really thinking I pulled the blade from my boot. The guard was so focused on the brawl that he didn’t see me at all. I thought Gerard yelled at me, but I had to focus everything I had to commit to my action.

I stabbed him just above the kidney. He grunted, eyes wide, turning toward me. I stabbed again and again, blade sinking through cloth and skin. He grabbed at my wrist. We went down in a tangle. I kneed him in the groin, hard, but his hand found my throat and squeezed.

The world narrowed to a red tunnel. I swung the blade wildly, caught him in the cheek. Blood sprayed my face. He bellowed and rolled, dragging me with him. Seconds later, Brando pulled him off me while Gerard shot the bastard in the face.

“You OK?” he demanded, grabbing my shoulders.

I nodded, unable to speak. The blood on my hands was warm and real. I felt like puking.

He pressed a handkerchief into my palm. “Clean your face. We have to keep moving.” He turned to Brando. “Make sure the women are good and follow.” He glanced at me again, his face a hard, angry mask. “Do something like that again, I’ll make it my personal mission to see to it Matteo spanks your ass.” I didn’t think he was kidding.

Matteo appeared at the end of the hall, scanning the room for threats. When he saw me, he hurried to my side and chin, turning my face from left, right, checking for wounds. His fingers were rough, but careful. Then he looked at the blood on my neck and saw the pattern. “Jesus, Sofia. You did it up close.”

“He was going to kill Brando,” I said, my words coming in a rush. “Gerard couldn’t get a clear shot and I knew he’d stay back to protect me rather than help and I didn’t even think I just did it!”

Matteo took the blade from my hand, wiped it clean on the guard’s shirt, and slid it back into my boot. “You did good, honey. You did good.”

“Still needs spanked for that,” Gerard grumbled. If Matteo agreed, he didn’t say anything.