Page 95 of Dark Mafia Heir

They nod and go out to check the source of the sound, but they don’t make it out when more gunshots ring, and the men drop dead.

I hold my head, trying not to scream. It’s Antonio, I can feel it’s him.

My father, Salvatore, and what is left of their men pull their guns, ready to fight.

The chaos that follows is deafening. Gunfire cracks through the air, each shot a jolt to my already frayed nerves. I crouch behind a stack of crates, my body trembling as I watch the fight.

I catch a glimpse of Antonio through the haze of smoke and shadows. His men spread out behind him. There’s a flash of relief in his eyes when they meet mine.

"Get her out of here!" my father shouts to one of his men.

Salvatore’s sharp eyes dart in my direction, and a sick twist of fear churns my stomach. I don’t want to go anywhere.

“No!” I scream, my voice drowned out by the sound of the shouts and bullets.

Antonio sees me. His dark eyes lock onto mine for a fraction of a second, his expression hardening with resolve.

“Vivienne!” he yells, his voice slicing through the noise.

“Antonio, no!” I cry out, desperate to keep him from running into the hail of bullets.

But he’s already moving, weaving through the firefight like it’s second nature, his men covering him as he advances. My heart races as I watch him with terror gripping me. I’m afraid he’ll get hurt.

My father steps forward, his gun raised, and everything slows.

“Stay where you are, Mancini!” he growls. “Take one more step, and I’ll kill her.”

Antonio doesn’t stop.

A shot rings out, loud and sharp, and I scream, clamping my hands over my ears as the sound reverberates through the night.

My father staggers back, his face contorts with rage and… pain. Our eyes move at the same time to the gun wound on his stomach. There’s blood spurting out.

“P-papa.”

His eyes go wide with shock as they lock on mine. He doesn’t fall to the ground immediately. Instead, he raises his gun at me. “Bitch.”

Before he can pull the trigger, Antonio fires at him one more time. He falls to the ground with a thud this time, and soon, he’s in a pool of his own blood.

My mind goes blank. I don’t know if I should be worried or relieved, but the image of my father lying almost lifelessly will haunt me forever.

“Fuck!” Salvatore yells. He’s only a few steps away from me now, but before he can make a move, Antonio reaches me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to my feet. His grip is firm but not painful, and the warmth of his touch sends a strange rush of relief through me.

“Come on,” he says, his voice low but commanding.

I hesitate, glancing back at my father, who’s bleeding out on the cold, concrete floor. His face has gone pale, his eyes almost rolling in.

The next bullet is from Lorenzo and goes right into Salvatore’s head. The old man convulses for a few seconds before falling to the ground. His death rattle lasts a minute, then he goes still, his lifeless brown eyes peering at Antonio with so much hatred.

Antonio wraps his arms around me, kissing my forehead. “I’m so sorry I came so late.”

I’m allowing myself to cry freely now as I wrap my arms around his neck. “No, you came right on time. I’m so sorry I put myself and our baby in danger.”

He presses another kiss to my forehead. “What happened is not your fault,” he says. “It’s okay now. Everything is fine.”

I pull back. “Angelo and Luca were shot.”

His eyes grow cloudy. “Luca will be fine.”

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