A sob bubbled up my throat and caught them with nowhere to go.
Dante.
I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the relief.
I needed to focus.
Seamus was still lying in wait, and Kelly was still vigilant.
“I’d like to see you try,” the Irishman called on a breathless, yip-like laugh. “You’re big, but I’m fast.”
Someone fired through the window again, drawing Kelly’s attention there. Dante took advantage by basically jumping down the short flight of stairs. His body angled through the air, hands extended.
Kelly tried to turn at the last moment to shoot him, but Dante was too close already.
They collided, the force throwing them both back into the wall.
There was a squeal of tires outside and then more yelling and shooting.
But my mind was fixed on the struggle.
Frankie came midway down the stairs, his guns trained on the tangled bodies, but he couldn’t get a clean shot, and they couldn’t get around them to me.
Finally, Dante went to one knee, one hand on Kelly’s throat, the other reared back to hit him.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The steady sound of a heavy fist pounding into human flesh filled the room as Dante methodically beat Kelly’s face in. He stood when he was done, Kelly a moaning mess on the floor, but he didn’t kill him.
Instead, he pointed at Frankie, then down at the prone Irishman.
And then he turned to me.
Tears flooded my eyes, pouring down my cheeks as he started toward me, his face a mask of relief and lingering rage.
Frantically, I shook my head and struggled against the zip ties, screaming at him from behind the tape.
His step faltered.
I looked at the table and then to him, calculating the angle.
Dante was still behind me slightly, out of range.
He peered at me, trying to read my face through the blood, tears, smeared makeup, and tape. “Elena, I won’t hurt you.”
NO! I wanted to scream. Of course, you won’t, you stupid, gorgeous man.
He moved closer, reaching the side of me that was still protected from Seamus. Gently, he started to cut the cable ties with a utility knife from his belt. When my hands were free, I ripped the tape from my mouth and started to yell, “Seamus––”
Finally, his eyes flickered, and comprehension dawned on his face.
Unfortunately, it dawned on Seamus too.
He pushed out from the back wall under the table with his feet, sliding on his back, gun raised, and fired a shot off at Dante.
I screamed as Dante jerked, once, then twice as two bullets found their way into his big body.
“Cazzo,” Dante cursed as he dropped to one knee, favoring his right side as he tried to drag himself behind the pole. Seamus got off another shot, this one drilling into the middle of Dante’s chest. I screamed as he fell to the ground, prone in the middle of the room, his gun skittering to rest just out of his reach.
His eyes weren’t open, and I couldn’t see his chest rising or falling through the veil of tears in my eyes.
Frankie fired at Seamus too, but he didn’t have a good shot. I watched as my father got to his feet, using me for cover from Frankie, and slowly approached Dante, motionless on the ground.
“I’m sorry, cara,” he told me again, but his eyes were on his prey beyond me.
I couldn’t move my feet, but my hands were free.
It wasn’t a decision so much as an animal impulse.
A bear defending his mate.
I let my wobbly legs collapse, taking me to the floor. Seamus stopped, eyes flickering with worry as I fell, but I was already moving, rolling closer to Dante so I could grab the gun near his hand.
“Elena,” Seamus snapped, gun raised still trained on Dante’s body beside mine as I raised Dante’s weapon at him. “You don’t want to do that.”
But he didn’t understand.
He’d taught me exactly what he meant to.
Family was everything.
He just wasn’t my family anymore.
I watched his eyes dart to Dante and the way his fingers flickered over the trigger.
And I did it.
I shot him.
Pop.
The bullet went wide, taking him through the upper right chest.
“Elena,” he gasped, his mouth a mimicry of his bleeding wound. “What––”
Pop. Pop.
I fired again, close enough that even though I had no idea what I was doing, the bullets found their way into Seamus’s chest. The gun kicked fiercely in my hands with each shot, bruising my hands, but I didn’t feel it.
I only felt bone-deep relief as Seamus crumpled to the floor, the gun falling from his hand.
I sobbed as I tried to get closer to Dante but couldn’t because of my tied feet.
“Hey, settle, amica,” Frankie soothed, suddenly at my side.
He touched my shoulder as he moved on to check Seamus, collecting his gun before he returned to hand me another knife. Hands shaking, I sawed through the zip ties around my bloody ankles and then scrambled over the bloody ground to Dante.