Page 78 of SINS & Riley
And the man who killed my Da.
He steps out of the shadows like the devil on a Sunday stroll, the muzzle of his gun jammed against the doctor’s temple.
The bastard stammers, frozen in terror. “I wasn’t hurting her, I swear.”
Enzo’s finger flexes on the trigger. He presses the barrel harder, right between the man’s eyes. “At least if I kill you for lying, I’m in the right place to bury the body.”
Jesus. He’s going to do it. He’s going to kill him. Right here. In front of me.
Am I next?
My pulse ricochets, breath stuttering, every beat screaming at me to move, to speak, to do something.
And then I see it. The test result, burning a hole at Enzo’s feet.
Maybe it’s the only card I have left. That I’m carrying Dante’s child.
It could be my way out. My salvation.
For me and my baby.
My mouth opens?—
Before I can speak, the doctor snaps. He lunges, jittery hands slamming into Enzo’s shoulder.
The gunshot fires, a deafening crack that spits stone chips like shrapnel.
“Run!” someone shouts.
I don’t wait to figure out who.
I bolt.
I don’t run the way I came. My head’s a mess, instincts firing on all the wrong cylinders. Feet slam earth, carrying me clear across to the far edge of the cemetery.
I skid to a stop, chest heaving, eyes whipping for any way out—left, right. But nothing’s familiar with these graves and thickets of trees.
So I run left. It’s a mistake.
I stumble through a clearing, momentum shoving me forward, when the ground drops out and I careen down a slick hill—arms flailing, body pitching. My feet tangle, and I slam down hard, mud grinding into my palms. “Argh!”
Then—
CRACK.
Another gunshot rips the air. Birds blast from the trees in a screaming frenzy.
My stomach free-falls.
Did he just put a bullet in the doctor?
“Riley!” A man’s voice cries out.
Enzo?
“Shit.” The words shred out as I scramble to my feet, only to catch the toe of my shoe on a thick grave marker and pitch forward. My face slams toward granite, and misses by an inch.
A bronze plate stares up at me, letters worn.
