I jumped back up just when Luca and two men stepped in again. I raised my gun, ready to blast holes into everyone.
Luca was distracted by his son making a crazy-ass dash upstairs, probably to kill the remaining bikers by himself. I knew that invincible feeling of my teenage days. “Follow Amo!” he roared at his men. They didn’t hesitate and rushed after the younger Vitiello, leaving their Capo alone with me.
“Run,” I screamed at Gray as I used this once-in-a-lifetime moment and lunged. Vitiello reacted too late and I barreled into him, sending us both flying to the floor. He grabbed me by the throat, cutting off my air supply, but I only tightened my hold on the knife and rammed it into his leg, the only place I could reach. The fucker hardly winced but his hold on my throat loosened enough for me to suck in a deep breath. In his eyes, I saw the same hatred I felt.
His son let out a roar upstairs, followed by shots, screams, and more gunfire. Outside, the gunfire ceased, which meant soon the rest of Vitiello’s soldiers would arrive. Their Capo would be dead by then.
Vitiello tightened his hold on my throat once more, his eyes burning with rage. I rammed my knife into his thigh again. My head began to swim from lack of oxygen. I tried to shove away from him but his fingers around my throat were like a fucking vise. I brought up the knife and his other hand shot up, grasping my wrist to stop me from plunging the blade into his head and split his skull.
A scream rang out upstairs and for an instant Vitiello’s attention shifted, full of worry, and I ripped from his hold and brought the knife down, aiming for his eye. This was the moment I’d been waiting for all my life.
Marcella’s face flashed before my mind, and I jerked my arm to the side in the last moment, grazing the side of his head and ramming the knife into the wooden board. I couldn’t do this to her. Fuck. What had this woman done to me?
Vitiello’s eyes locked on mine, furious and questioning. He didn’t understand why I hadn’t killed him. I hardly did myself.
“This is for Marcella, only for her, you murdering bastard.”
His eyes moved to something behind me but before I could react, pain radiated through my skull and my vision went black.
The door of the van opened and Dad climbed in, limping badly. A long gash on the side of his head was bleeding profusely, dripping blood all over his shirt, face and arm. He immediately pulled me into a tight hug which he loosened when I winced. He stank of blood and even less appealing bodily fluids but his closeness still felt like a balm on my tumultuous soul. He pulled back and cupped my cheeks, searching my eyes as if he worried I wasn’t the same daughter he remembered. I’d certainly changed but I was still me, the version of me that had never surfaced because my cozy life had never required it. Behind Dad, still outside of the van waited Amo. He wiped blood and flesh off his arms. I marveled at the harsh lines of his face that hadn’t been there before. He briefly looked up and forced a smile that looked grotesque on his bloody face. I could still see the violence and wrath in his eyes.
For some reason, I couldn’t bear seeing him like that. The kidnapping had changed me. How could it not? But I’d hoped it hadn’t done lasting damage to the people I loved. Seeing them now, I realized my wish hadn’t been granted.
“What happened to your leg?” I asked Dad, looking away from Amo.
“Nothing. We’ll take you home now,” he said in a gruff voice. I’d never seen Dad like this, covered in blood and at the edge of control.
“What about Maddox?” I asked, couldn’t help it. I needed to know. Maybe his death would have made things easier, but my heart clenched agonizingly at the mere thought. He was the reason why I was here today, in more than one sense. He was guilty of my kidnapping and responsible for my freedom. I hated and… maybe loved him—if love could even bloom in a situation like ours.
Dad thrust his fist against the side of the van, expression twisting with rage.
My heart thudded harder. “Dad?”
Dad’s face darkened. “He’s alive like a few others and will be taken to a location where they can be questioned.”
Relief washed through me. I knew what questioning meant in mafia terms but as long as he hadn’t been killed yet, there was still hope for him, for us. If I should even hope for us or him. My thoughts were confusing and too unsteady to grasp hold of. Every new thought slipped away like quicksand before I could finish it.