Page 103 of Letters From Victor

The threat hit me like a jolt of cold electricity. I tried to make myself smaller—to fold into the wall and disappear—but my eyes stayed locked on Victor. He had to have a plan. He always had a plan.

Victor’s jaw tightened, his voice cold and measured. “Leave her out of this.” He took a cautious step forward. “I clearly misjudged you.” Another step. His gaze flicked briefly to me, then darted to the telephone table beside me. “I thought you were a bigger man.” Another step. Victor’s lips curled into a half-smile, steel in his gaze. “I didn’t realize you needed to hide behind a broad.”

Kowalski’s jowls quivered, eyes burning with rage. Like an arrow, Victor lunged at him. I dove under the telephone table and instinctively covered my head with my hands. Bodies crashed together as the two men grappled like titans.

I peeked out from my makeshift shelter. Fear gripped me, but I couldn’t look away. The two men rolled and heaved, grunting and straining, each struggling for dominance. Kowalski pinned Victor with his massive frame, but Victor’s wiry strength and agility gave him the upper hand. He twisted free and delivered a sharp knee to Kowalski’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Victor wrenched one gun free and twisted Kowalski’s arm, using the leverage to disarm him of the second. Both weapons clattered to the floor, and for a heartbeat, time froze.

Then, with a swift kick, Victor sent one of the revolvers skidding across the floor toward me. I scrambled out from under the table and seized it with surprisingly steady hands. The cold metal was heavy, solid, powerful. I stood and pointed it at Kowalski as his chest heaved like a bellows.

Victor leveled the remaining revolver at Kowalski’s head. His command cut like an unforgiving blade. “On your knees.”

Kowalski hesitated, his eyes darting between Victor and me. His nostrils flared, breath coming short. Then, with a reluctant exhale, he sank to the ground. His face contorted with rage, but his bottom lip trembled—an unconscious betrayal of the fear he was desperately trying to swallow. The balance of power had shifted again, but it was unsteady—a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

“Barbara,” Victor said, his eyes never leaving Kowalski, “you don’t want to see this.”

I didn’t move.

“Angel,” he pleaded. “Please go into the other room.”

It was like a bad car crash on the highway—I couldn’t pry my eyes away.

Kowalski spat on the floor, his lips curling into a sneer. “You’ve gone soft, Cardello. The old you would have put a bullet in me already and been done with it.”

Victor’s grip tightened on the revolver, the veins in his arm rising like angry rivers.

A shadow crossed the room.

Gino stood in the open doorway, pistol by his side.

“Everything okay, Boss?”

Relief crossed Victor’s face. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Gino stepped into the foyer and locked eyes with me. “Why don’t you come with me?” he asked, his voice gentler than I expected.

Victor nodded to me, and I reluctantly lowered the gun. I exhaled shakily. The adrenaline was wearing off.

Gino approached me slowly, his steps measured and calm. I flinched as he reached for the gun, but his touch was gentle when he took it from my hands. He turned it over, inspecting it briefly, before he uncocked the hammer and tucked it into his belt. Relief washed over me, cooling the fevered fear gripping my chest.

“Come on,” he said, motioning toward the door.

I hesitated, looking back at Victor and Kowalski. Victor’s eyes were hard and unreadable, but he gave me a reassuring nod.

Gino slipped an arm around my waist, and I moved with him. The tension in my shoulders finally began to ease. I let out a shaky breath.

He tightened his grip.

The barrel of his pistol pressed against my temple—ice-cold and unyielding.

39

VICTOR

“Gino?”

My voice cut the silence like a blade, but the moment I heard myself speak his name, I knew. Barbara’s eyes were wide, her body stiff as stone. Gino’s arm was locked around her waist, his pistol pressed to her head.

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