Page 16 of Her Dark Salvation

“What the fuck?” he shouted.

I stood to my full height and flashed a toothy sneer. “Ready for more?”

“Freak,” he growled and threw a punch.

Easily blocked. Decades of training in Vito’s boxing ring on top of superhuman speed, reflexes, and strength? This idiot didn’t stand a chance.

I let him throw a few punches, tire himself out, then hit him with a wicked left hook. He spun with the punch and stumbled back until he sagged against the wall.

A pained groan cut through the silence. I glanced over my shoulder. Little Guy held his stomach, his head lolling from side to side. I moved to help him, but thick fingers clamped around my wrist. I spun back to face their owner, and my jaw met the blunt impact of Big Guy’s gloved fist.

The hot, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and my anger erupted into rage. He moved to throw an opposite hook, but I swatted his arm away like a gnat. I picked him up by his puffy coat and threw him into the far wall, harder than before, the power of my fury fueling my strength. He tried to regain balance, but I drove my right fist into his gut before hitting him with the full force of my left cross.

My fist connected with a crack. The man’s head snapped to the right and blood spurted from his mouth and splattered across the brick. His knees buckled under the weight of his limp body, and he sunk to the ground.

Cazzo, that hurt. I shook my hand and watched him, making sure this time he was down for good. But that had been a brutal punch. He was out.

I strode back into the street, amped from the fight and angry as hell that shit still happened in my neighborhood. Vito was leaning against the passenger-side door of the Range Rover, ankles crossed, smoking a cigarette. Like he was picking me up from an appointment. Asshole.

I swiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. “The fucker split my lip.”

He lifted a shoulder. “You dropped your guard.”

I glared at him. “Call an ambulance.”

“What about the police?”

“Let the medics handle it but get the little guy’s information.” I’d cover his medical expenses. He was in a bad way, probably out of work. Can’t take care of yourself if you’re out of work. “As soon as you hear the black-and-whites, get the hell out of here. We don’t need complications. I’m going to walk this off.”

“You got it, boss.”

I buttoned my coat, shoved my hands into my pockets, and started toward my family home. I hadn’t taken more than a few steps before I stopped short, my adrenaline fueling a train of thought I couldn’t ignore.

“Vito.”

He looked up from the cigarette butt he was putting to rest with his boot.

“Put a tail on Anna Barone. I want to know where she goes, who she talks to, and if anyone is watching her.”

He answered with a nod, took out his cell, and made his way toward the alcove.

The cold night air and my brisk pace burned off my remaining rage. My fangs retreated, my breath slowed, and my heart stopped pounding against the cage of my ribs. That asshole was lucky I hadn’t killed him. But I didn’t need police entanglements, and dead bodies always led to police entanglements.

Protection came in different forms. Most of the time, people paid for protection, and the Lord knew I’d worked over more scumbags for fucking with the wrong person than I could count. Other times, like tonight, it was just the right thing to do because we lived in a shit world with shit people, and someone needed to keep it in check.

I turned the corner onto the street where my family had lived for over half a century. Despite Gina’s assurances the neighborhood had changed, these streets were still dangerous. I’d just seen the evidence firsthand, and I’d taken an oath to protect them.

Gina’s silhouette moved behind the kitchen drapes and made me smile. It tugged on my split lip, and I winced as I walked up the steps. I keyed open the door, and the light, warmth, and mouth-watering aroma of chicken piccata started to cleanse me of my foul mood. I hung my coat and hat, and my sister stepped out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Ciao, Gina.” I moved to kiss her cheek, but she held me at arm’s length and examined my face.

“Marco! Your lip! What happened?”

“It’s nothing.” I swiped my thumb across my bottom lip. It came away with a bloody smear. I shrugged and took her shoulders again, trying to greet her with a kiss.

“No dire cazzate,” she swore and swatted me with the dish towel. “It’s not nothing. Sit.” She pointed at Papà’s recliner, her stern tone reminding me of Mamma, and stalked off into the kitchen.

I knew better than to disobey. I shrugged out of my suitcoat, tossed it over the back of the chair, and eased myself into the old leather recliner, suddenly very tired and very hungry.

---