Page 73 of Vendetta

He's not responding. That's when I see it; an angry red stain spreading all over his lower stomach. I press it with my hands, trying to stop the blood, but I don't think it's helping. I take off my shirt and press it there with one hand, my other hand fumbling with the phone. It's fucking turned off. I wipe my bloody hand on my jeans, and turn the phone on, hoping to God it has battery. My shaky fingers scroll down, looking for my dad's number, until I finally just punch it in myself.

His frantic voice comes on the other side. “Dom? Where are you, son?”

It fucking hurts hearing my father call him son, after everything.

“Dad,” I say. “You need to send someone.” I look around, searching for any clue as to where we are, but all I see are trees and a road a couple of feet up.

“Leighton?”

“Yeah, Dad, can you find us by the GPS on Dom's phone? I have no idea where we are, and Devon's—I think he's losing too much blood.”

“Stay on the line,” he says. I drop the phone and press with both of my hands into the shirt.

“Please, please, please,” I chant over and over. He looks pale, lifeless, but every now and again his chest rises, giving me hope.

I don't know how much time passes; seconds, minutes, hours, I hold my hands pressed there, feeling them cramping but holding, not taking my eyes off his face. Eventually, someone moves me away from him, and I start thrashing around, fighting them.

I need to keep him alive.

My dad's face fills my vision and he engulfs me in his warm embrace, covering me with a soft blanket. I watch helplessly as two men are directed to move Devon onto a stretcher, taking him away from me. I look around, searching for the ambulance, but I don't see it. They should have called an ambulance.

I rip myself out of my father's embrace and run after Devon, but I'm stopped by his uncle halfway to him.

“I want to go with him,” I say through tears, my eyes on the van where they’ve put Devon.

He glances briefly at my dad, nodding. “Let them do their job now.”

My dad comes over and puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me lightly and taking me toward the car. I squint trying to see through the tinted window, sparing one last look at the disappearing van.

My dad’s driver starts the engine and we go in the opposite direction.

They don’t let me near him again.

They don’t even let me say goodbye to Devon Andre.

EPILOGUE

Six months later

LEIGHTON

I wake up that morning with a mission.

I wear a flowery short-sleeved shirt and jeans, and put on a pair of yellow flats. The warm May morning kisses my skin as I walk to the car. Everything is finally coming to life, the cold, harsh winter long forgotten.

I'm going to see him today.

That faithful night, the Andre warehouse—where they kept me—was raided by the feds, but they found nothing. Just four bodies, which they said was a deal gone wrong between George and Stevie.

No mention of Devon’sormy family.

I tried to skim over the things Dom did when I explained what happened to my dad. I could see it hurt him just as much as it hurt me remembering it. He was one of our own, and he betrayed us.

I never found out what happened to his body, but I can imagine it was dealt with.

The Andres and Moores are no longer at war, though it seems to me they never really were. Why they thought it was a smart idea to keep us in the dark is beyond me, but I guess they had their reasons. I’m trying so damn hard to get over that.

Frank Andre is still controlling the warehouses. My dad never mentions them anymore. I guess it’s compensation for everything that happened to both our families. A real truce, finally.

---