The room was dark, the heavy curtains pulled shut like always. It didn’t matter if it was nine in the morning or six at night, David’s room was always cloaked in darkness, as if the thick velvet draperies could keep his fear at bay.
He was laying on his back, light brown hair flopping onto his forehead, lanky limbs splayed out across the mattress. He’d always slept that way. When they were little and could convince their mother to let them sleep in the same bed, Angel never lasted long before retreating to her own room. David had been a bed hog even then.
His left hand was still wrapped in a bandage, even though it had mostly healed. She thought it was because he didn’t want to look at his disfigured hand, didn’t want to admit it was permanent, and she felt ashamed at her relief that the bandage meant she didn’t have to admit it either.
“David,” she said softly, lowering herself onto the mattress next to him. She touched his hair, said his name again.
He stirred, and a split second later his eyes flew open and he sat up, terror playing across his features in the dim light making its way into the room from the sconces in the hallway.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just me.”
He lay back down, his body slowly relaxing. “What time is it?”
“It’s the middle of the night.” She felt guilty as she said it. Why did she wake him up? Was she scared he’d OD on his medication? Or was she just looking for company? “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Is everything all right?”
She fought the urge to laugh hysterically. “It’s fine,” she said softly. “I was just checking on you. Go back to sleep.”
He nodded and rolled over. “Love you, Ange.”
She ruffled his hair. “Love you, too, loser.”
He snorted into his pillow as she eased from the room.
She closed his door and headed back downstairs. It was nearly four am, but she wasn’t ready for sleep, and she continued toward the kitchen at the back of the house.
She still wasn’t used to being back in Boston. Filled with antiques and art chosen by her father’s decorator, the house felt stiff in a way Nico’s family home in the Hudson Valley hadn’t. But she hadn’t had time to redecorate, hadn’t had energy for anything except taking care of David and plotting revenge against the men who had betrayed Nico. She felt a sudden longing for her little apartment upstate; the tiny bedroom, the living room with the threadbare thrift store couch. It hadn’t been much, but it had been hers, and it had been bought and paid for honestly. She had already packed up her father’s penthouse apartment. She would need to do something about the brownstone eventually, too.
She pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, and poured a healthy sized glass. Her hands shook as she brought it to her mouth, and she took a long swallow before setting it back on the counter. Her nerves smoothed out just in time for reality to hit her.
Nico was alive.
She closed her eyes against the memories. Nico’s perfect body moving over her, his breath in her ear, his strong hands spreading her thighs.
A sob escaped her mouth, and she bent over at the waist, muffling her cries against her hand. Waves of emotion crashed over her; anger and relief and bitterness all mixed together in a hurricane that threatened to undo the facade of control she’d constructed over the past four months. It went on and on, the pain of losing him wracking her body while her mind tried to reconcile it with the fact that he he had been alive all this time.
Alive, alive, alive…
She was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see him. What had she been thinking when she’d walked away? She needed him in front of her, needed to know it was real. Then she would deal with the why of it all.
She straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and taking a deep cleansing breath. She was reaching for her cell phone when glass exploded behind her head.
4
She hit the floor almost without thinking, instinctively covering her head to shield her face from the falling glass. More of it erupted from a second window in the kitchen, and then she understood; someone was shooting at her.
She crawled toward a drawer next to the fridge as another volley of gunfire erupted, wood splintering from the cabinets overhead. When she got to the drawer, she slid it open from the floor and reached into the back where she kept a twenty-two caliber revolver. She’d learned to appreciate the sense of protection the gun offered her. Luca or one of the other guys was almost always in close proximity, but she wasn’t about to leave their safety up to someone else. Not after all they’d been through.
Luca… Was he still out front? Had he heard the explosion of gunfire from the back of the house? Had someone taken him out on their way to the back yard. She fought panic at the thought that something might have happened to him, forced herself to push it aside. Leaning against the fridge, she checked the gun to make sure it was still loaded, then took a deep breath while she assessed the situation.
So far only only one gunman, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more of them outside. She thought of David upstairs in bed. Was he drugged enough that he’d stay asleep? Panic hit her full force as she imagined him stumbling down the stairs to investigate the noise. He would be an easy target, completely unable to protect himself.
“Please stay put, David,” she muttered under her breath, crawling to the edge of the cabinets that made up the kitchen island. They were protecting her from the now empty window casings, but they also blocked her view.
She dared a glance around the island and was met with a hail of splintering wood from above. So someone had a good view of her position then. Great. She was a sitting duck, trapped in the kitchen, unable to get to David and escape the house without risking another round of gunfire. The lights were on, but it was dark outside, which meant she couldn’t see a thing beyond the windows while whoever was shooting at her could see everything. She’d basically given them a spotlight. They had her on the defensive, and that was never a position of power.
She was leaning forward again, preparing to crawl for the stairs, get to David where she stood a better chance of protecting him — or at least keeping him from walking into a firestorm — when the lights went out. A split second later, someone grabbed her from behind. The urge to scream was reflexive, but a hand was clamped over her mouth before she got the chance.
“Shhhh…” a familiar voice said in her ear. “It’s me.”
Nico…
She twisted a little to look at him, and he removed his hand from her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“I came to tell you someone was trying to kill me — and maybe you — but I think it’s a little late for that,” he said drily. “And you’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome? You haven’t done anything yet,” she said.
“I just got here.” He pushed her behind him. Something shimmered in the faint light of the now darkened kitchen, and she saw that he had a gun, too. “I’ll cover you while you get David.”
“Then what?”
“Then you stay put until I come for you,” he said. “Is there a way out from upstairs?”
“There’s an old staircase at the back. A servant’s staircase, I think.”
“Where does it lead?” he asked.
She thought about the brownstone. “Here in the kitchen, to that door.” She tipped her head toward a closed door. “And also… to the cellar, I think.”
“Is there an exit in the cellar?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
He nodded. “We’ll figure it out. Just make a run for it when I start shooting, and stay put with David until I come for you.”
She wasn’t crazy about leaving Nico to fight her battle while she hid upstairs, but keeping David safe was her number one priority.
“Okay,” she said, kicking off her heels.
“On my count,” he said. “Three, two, one…”
He
peered around the counter and started firing in the direction of the windows. She scurried on all fours to the protection of the hallway, the gun still in her hand. She was hurrying up the stairs when she heard gunfire explode outside the foyer. She thought someone might be trying to get in through the front door, but then she heard answering shots from another location beyond it and realized there were multiple people shooting at the front of the house. How long would it take the police to get here? Or had they been paid for a delay by whoever orchestrated the attack?
She couldn’t rule it out. Anything was possible with the Syndicate.
She hit the second floor landing at a run and burst into David’s room. He was sitting on the bed, backed up against the headboard, his face frozen in cold terror.
“It’s okay.” She rushed into the room, never so grateful for David’s instance on keeping the drapes drawn. “We’re going to get out of here.”
He stared straight ahead, his eyes glazed over, as she took hold of his arm.
“Come on. We have to go. Get your shoes.” He didn’t move, and she leaned down so she could look him in the eyes. “Look at me, David. Now.”
His eyes seemed to clear, and he cut his gaze to hers.
“It’s going to be okay, but we have to get out of here. All right?”
His nod was reluctant, but at least he was responding.
“Where are your shoes?” she asked him.
“Closet,” he croaked, his eyes widening as another round of gunfire burst from the first floor of the house.
She crossed the room and opened his closet door, then removed a pair of sneakers. She set them on the floor and pulled his legs around so his feet were next to the shoes.
“Put those on,” she said. “And hurry.”
He started moving — too slow for her liking, but at least he was moving — and she crossed to the window, daring a peek around the curtains. Everything was dark, still no sign of the police. Shots burst from the front of the house below David’s window, and for a split second she caught a flash of someone’s face in the glow of the firing gun. It was a man, but the light didn’t last long enough for her to get a good look at him.
“Ange?” She turned toward the sound of David’s voice. “I put on my shoes.”
She nodded and walked over to him. “Good.”
Glancing down at his clothes, she saw that he was in a pair of old pajama pants and a T-shirt. She went to his dresser and pulled out some jeans and T-shirts, then shoved them into a backpack from David’s closet.
Where was Nico? How long was she supposed to wait?
She was debating the merit of trying to get David out of the house on her own when Nico burst through the door. His face was calm, his eyes intense, and she felt an immediately lightening of her fear. It was the kind of safety she only ever felt with him.
“Let’s go,” he said calmly.
She turned to her brother and handed him the backpack. “Come on.”
He was paralyzed again, his body frozen as he looked at Nico, and she realized he had no idea Nico was still alive. It must have been like literally seeing a ghost.
“It’s okay. I’ll explain later. Nico’s going to get us out of here.” Another volley of gunfire exploded below the house, and she thought she heard the front door splinter. She tugged on David’s arm. “Come on, David.”
He let her pull him up from the bed and they joined Nico at the door. He stuck his head out into the hall, then turned back to them.
“Stay close.” He moved out of the room.
5
Nico led the way down the narrow back staircase with one thought in his mind; get Angel and her brother out alive. Thank god she lived only a few minutes from the offices of Rossi Development. He’d hit the street at a dead run after receiving Luca’s call saying two men were moving into position outside the brownstone. He’d arrived just as the gunman at the back of the house fired on Angel.
He came to a stop at the landing behind the kitchen and turned to Angel and David, then put a finger to his lips, listening for clues about what was going on outside. They were ill-prepared; too few men, no headsets, no plan for escape. He heard the sound of gunfire, but it sounded farther away. At the front of the house? Fuck. He couldn’t be sure from the muffled confines of the staircase, but he couldn’t afford to cower. He needed to move Angel and her brother out of the house, get them to safety before things got worse.
“As long as the coast is clear, we’re going to exit through the doors in the kitchen. Stay close, stay low, and do whatever I say.” He cut a glance at David, who was pale and trembling. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer, and Angel took his arm. “He’ll be okay,” she said. “Just get us out of here.”
Nico eased open the door and looked into the dark kitchen. It was quiet, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t watching. He slipped out of the staircase, waved Angel and David forward behind him, and entered the kitchen at a crouch, his gun trained on the shattered windows.
Nothing.
Had he hit the man who had been firing at Angel from the backyard? Or had the man gone to the front to assist whoever was firing from there?
No way for Nico to know until he exposed himself. And Angel.
He moved toward the set of doors leading to the backyard. They were almost there when glass exploded from inside the mullions. Fire ripped through his left arm as he shoved Angel and David back against the wall and returned fire. He couldn’t see shit, but he fired in the direction of the shots as he covered Angel and her brother.
A minute later, the shooting stopped. Had the gunman gone down, hit by one of Nico’s bullets? Or was he waiting for them to leave the house?
He took a deep breath and eased toward the door with Angel and David on his heels. He didn’t bother opening it, just cleared the little bit of remaining glass with his hand and stepped through the ruined frame, trying to keep Angel and David behind him.
Nothing.
He glanced back. “Come on.”
He hurried down the terrace steps and stepped onto a crushed gravel pathway that led to the front of the house. He’d used it to enter the living room window from the side of the house while Angel had been under fire in the kitchen. He led them that way and almost tripped over a prone figure sprawled half in the bushes and half in the path.
Blood was oozing from a wound in the man’s chest and trickling out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes were closed, but he was alive, a low groan coming from his mouth. Nico had never seen the man before. He’d undoubtedly been sent by someone more powerful. But he had tried to kill Angel. Had made her cower and fear for her life. For the life of her brother. And that meant he wouldn’t be allowed to leave alive.
Nico raised his weapon and fired into the man’s forehead. He went still, and Nico waved Angel and David forward.
“Come on.”
Nico half-expected to hear gunfire as they reached the front of the house, but it was quiet when they rounded the corner.
“You’re clear,” a voice said to his left.
“Luca!” There was obvious relief in Angel’s voice. Nico wondered if this meant she would forgive him for the secret Nico had forced his friend to keep. He hoped so.
“You didn’t think I’d really leave you alone, did you?” Luca asked.
Nico looked him over. He was disheveled but none the worse for wear.
“Where’d the other one go?” Nico asked.
“Took off,” Luca said. “What about the one in back?”
“Dead,” Nico said.
In the distance, the sound of sirens erupted into the night.
“Time’s up,” Luca said. He handed Nico a set of keys. “Car’s around the block. You need to get out of here.”
Nico nodded. “Thanks.”
He didn’t ask about Luca. He didn’t need to. After so many years working together, the words were unspoken but understood; Nico would get Angel and her brother to safety. Luca could take care of himself. They
would connect when they could through channels that had been set up long ago for just this kind of situation.
Luca clapped his shoulder. “It’s nothing. Keep in touch.”
He walked away, disappearing into the night a few seconds later.
Nico turned to Angel and David. “Let’s go.”
They hurried around the corner where a black Escalade was waiting. They got in the car and were making a U-turn as the first squad car crossed the intersection behind them. Nico kept his speed down, careful not to draw attention as they put distance between themselves and the brownstone. He glanced over at Angel, drinking her in from the glow of streetlights on the other side of the glass. She was as lovely as he remembered, as lovely as she’d looked all the times he’d watched her in secret. She was a bit thinner, her cheekbones more pronounced, but she was still his Angel, her hair the color of sunlight in fall, her eyes as green as the deepest waters of the Atlantic.
He was surprised to find that she didn’t look shaken. In fact, her face was so serene, he didn’t notice the gun in her hand right away. She held it against her thigh as easily as if it were a set of keys. He reached for it, prying it from her fingers and setting it inside the console. Then he took her hand and squeezed.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.
He headed for the highway and the one place they would be safe.
6
She knew right away where they were going. The few times she’d been able to get away from Rossi Development and the Syndicate, she’d gone to Nico’s island in Maine. It was the place she felt closest to him, and she’d spent the time walking the beaches with David, telling him all the good things about Nico, not wanting her brother to remember the man she loved as a thug who had killed their father, destroyed their lives.
She told him the whole truth instead; that their father had murdered Nico’s parents and Nico had sought revenge by kidnapping her. That he’d saved her life when their father had held a gun to her head. That he’d saved David’s life in Los Angeles and made it possible for them to be free of Dante by killing him.
Lawless: Mob Boss Book Three Page 2
