Page 105 of Deal with the Devil
There is no plan B. No more exit strategy.
Just winging the situation ’til we likely go out in a blaze of blood and violence.
Portia remains stiff and silent too, like she can no longer bring herself to speak.
The elevator doors open and we step out into the lobby.
The negotiator is waiting on the other side of the glass doors, backed by his team of law enforcement. He’s clutching a radio in hand and dawning a bulletproof vest.
I step forward alongside Portia, gripping my gun. The rest of my men fan out around us, ready to retaliate should something go down.
Maurizio props the door open for the exchange.
I nudge Portia toward the negotiator, senses on high alert. I’m watching each and every detail of the scene, picking up on the slightest change in sight and sound.
That’s when I notice the rookie cop with a trembling grip on his gun, pointed right at us. His finger’s hovering over the trigger, and the fucker looks like he’s about to jump at the sight of his own shadow on the sidewalk.
As Portia takes a step forward and a car happens to backfire half a block down, the rookie cop panics. I watch as time slows and his finger presses down on the trigger.
He’s opening fire on us—with Portia right in the crosshairs.
I act on natural instinct, hardly giving it any thought. I wrench her back and step in the way, taking the bullet in her place.
28
DIAVOLO
The air is rippedfrom my lungs at the same time the bullet pierces my chest. Heat rushes me, exploding like a firebomb has been detonated.
I stagger back, grip still tight on my pistol, fighting through the hot, sharp pain that’s trying to take me over.
In these seconds, I’m not even aware of what the fuck is happening. The world has gone mute except for the loud pounding in my ears. I grind my teeth together, the damage taking its toll and dropping me down to one knee.
But still I refuse to go down without a fight. I’m not being taking out that easily.
I raise my gun, taking aim at the motherfucker who shot at us, and I pull the trigger like he’s one of the targets at target practice.
That’s when sound comes crashing in—Portia’s scream, Maurizio’s shouting, the eruption of gunfire as chaos ensues.
“FALL BACK!” Maurizio yells. He crouches as everybody near the glass doors takes cover.
I’m still firing as I do, emptying the clip. I lurch toward a column in the nick of the time and narrowly avoid another bullet.
Instead it slices into the stone pillar and sends fragments flying everywhere. Pressing myself up against it, heaving air into my lungs, it’s the first time it truly sinks in that I’ve been shot.
My hand presses over the wound and comes away drenched in blood.
“Fuck,” I huff air out, unable to catch my breath.
It’s no wonder when my chest has been punctured by a bullet.
Portia screams and rushes over, ignoring my soldato who tries to keep her cornered behind a pillar. From the second I took the bullet for her, my men did what they knew I’d want, which was to snatch her out of the line of fire.
“Dolcezza,” I say, swallowing hard. I’m slicked with blood and sweat and even speech is becoming hard. “Stick with Maurizio. He’ll make sure you survive.”
She ignores my advice, reaching up to do something I never would’ve let her do any other time—peel the devil’s mask from my face and toss it away.
Even my men go still, clearly uncertain how I’ll react or what’ll happen next.
