Page 39 of Owned by the Italian Mafia Boss
I press my hand against the screens and watch men run across the yard, Carmine leading the way. He lifts his gun, firing until the clip is empty, then reloads. Matias presses a few buttons and the screens change to the cameras inside the house.
“What are you doing?” I yell. “We need to see if they’re okay. Switch it back!” I slap his shoulder.
He covers my mouth with his hand and points to the top right screen. “Do you see that?” he whispers, showing me a broken window. “Someone is in the house. Be quiet.” He flips through the angles of the cameras, trying to find the one that shows where the intruder is, and when he finally lands on it, he stares at the door protecting us. Matias lifts a finger to his mouth, telling us to be quiet. Ryan, the new guy, grips my hand without tearing his gaze from the screen.
They are in the guest bedroom.
“They have to be here.” The volume on the TV is so low I can barely hear it. “They couldn’t have gone far. There’s a cigarette in the living room still burning.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming. My heart is thudding against my chest, and bile is working its way up from my stomach when I see the intruders creep into the closet.
Matias is at the ready, aiming his gun at the door.
“No one can get in without scanning their approved fingerprint,” he whispers. “And it’s bulletproof steel, but just in case—” He cocks his gun, the barrel pointed directly in front of us.
They whip around, and that’s when I see men coming in through the front door, Carmine leading. Gianni is carrying someone, but I can’t tell who. Carmine runs down the hall, and the intruders lift their guns, getting ready to fire. When Carmine bursts into the room, firing without hesitation, the gunmen drop.
“I don’t give a fuck if you know there’s no one left, Victor. Check the house again and again and again!” Carmine roars, rushing to the panic room. The door clicks, the steel wheel spins, and the bars release from the wall. The door isn’t done swinging open when I hear Carmine call for me.
“Delilah? Delilah! Are you okay? Talk to me, Sweetling.” He rushes into the room and is on me instantly, checking my entire body for injury. His hands skim my legs, arms, and stomach. He checks me everywhere. “Are you hurt?” He cups my jaw, and he wipes away the tears.
He has blood all over him. There are splashes of red against his cheek. His white shirt is stained, reminding me of spilled wine. Both his hands are bleeding, the skin of his knuckles raw and open.
“I’m okay. I’m fine. Oh my god, what happened? Carmine, so much blood—” It’s my turn to look him over, but he takes my hands and kisses them.
“It isn’t mine. I’m fine, but it’s Ari. Matias—he’s been shot. We don’t have time to take him to the doctor. We have backup blood; we can rig it. Someone dig it out and transfuse him.”
“I can do it,” I volunteer, wiping the tears from my eyes, not that it helps. “I can get the bullet out. I’m studying to be a doctor remember? How bad is it?”
Matias flees from the room to find his brother, and Carmine guides me out of the panic room, then lifts me into his arms. “Bury your face in my shoulder and close your eyes. I don’t want you to see any of the carnage. And you better not look—” he presses his hand against the back of my head. “I’ll know.”
I do as he says, hiding my face in his chest as he walks. His strides are long, as if he’s stepping over something. I curl my fingers into his suit jacket when I realize what.
A dead body.
His footsteps grow quicker. “Okay, you can look now.”
I lift my head and stare at the holes in the wall. There must be at least a dozen. When we get to the living room, one man is lying on the ground and another is sitting in a chair holding a hand to his shoulder.
Matias kneels on the ground, applying pressure to his brother’s wound.
“Set me down. I need to look at him.” I’m reminded that I only have Carmine’s shirt on again, but I don’t care. There’s no time for that. I rush to Ari’s side and give him a gentle smile, running my fingers through his hair. “You’re not so tough now, are you?” I say with a smile to ease the tension. He laughs, wincing from the pain.
“Whatever. I’m tougher now. Women love scars.” His skin is pale and clammy, while Matias’s hand is covered in blood.
“I need scissors, some type of sewing kit, vodka, and a belt,” I say.
“You’re going to spank me? You’re going to beat a man when he’s already down? That’s rude,” Ari jokes.
At least his sense of humor is intact.
“Someone needs to remind you of your place, right?” I wink, grabbing the supplies and thrusting them in my face. Belt, scissors, vodka.
Where are the needle and thread?
“How do you expect me to sew him up without a needle and thread? Hell, I’ll take wire. Anything.” I cut Ari’s shirt, and Matias moves his hand. A river of blood drips down his chest and abdomen.
“Is he going to die?” Matias asks, staring at the blood on his hand. He looks like he’s in shock.
