Page 44 of Primo DeLuca

“Are you at work?”

“Yes,” he answered.

Franco was one of the best sharpshooters I knew. He had spent ten years in the military before a roadside bomb in Iraq took one of his legs. He wasn’t a DeLuca by blood, but he had become family years ago.

“I’ll be there in about seven minutes. I have a tail I need you to cut off.”

“Okay, I’ll be ready,” he said before clicking off. More shots struck the vehicle, one breaking the driver’s side mirror but left the housing in place. They did the same to the passenger side, attempting to blind me. However, I didn’t need mirrors for where I was heading.

I glanced down at the beautiful woman clinging to me, and even while bullets were flying, having her fill my vision brought a smile to my face. The quick jerk I gave the steering wheel kept the asshole from rear-ending us. I turned into the swerve before jerking hard in the opposite direction to prevent a head-on collision with an oncoming SUV.

The Lincoln was nearly clipped on the driver’s side but avoided the accident to maintain the chase. I saw the parking lot of the aluminum recycling warehouse I needed to enter about a quarter of a mile away. Franco had opened the gates, and all I needed to do was decelerate enough to make the sharp turn.

I swerved into the turn at forty-five mph, the vehicle screeching and leaning hard enough to send Nevah sliding towards the passenger door, but she held strong.

The Lincoln was right on my tail, the vehicle screeching its way into the lot after us. As soon as I was at least two car lengths ahead and roaring across the lot like a runaway train, multiple rounds of gunfire pelted the Lincoln, lighting it up like fireworks in celebration of our victory.

“God,” Nevah called out as her fingers managed to dig deeper into my leg.

I came to a screeching stop, the Mustang rocking harshly before I cut the engine.

“No matter what you hear, I need you to stay inside this vehicle.”

“Okay,” she said, unbuckling and sliding to the passenger side floor. Her wide gaze met mine and held before I lifted my pistol, flung my door open, and hopped out.

The Lincoln had come to a dead sideways stop, tires shot out, engine blown, and the passenger’s head blown off, with most of it likely spread across the back seat. Smoke billowed thick and black from the front of the car. A few quick steps closer to the driver’s side showed him attempting to free himself from the seat belt.

His head jerked frantically around while lifting and taking quick peeks over the steering wheel and ducking as quickly. He had no idea who was shooting at him or which direction the next shot would be fired from. The passenger’s head resembling a dropped pot of beef stew added to the driver’s current state of alarm.

He gave up his attempts to undo the seatbelt and lifted his pistol. The sight of me shaking my head in warning stopped him from making the deadly mistake. The gun dropped when he opened his palm and lifted his hands in surrender.

I drew closer, using a tactical approach with my pistol drawn, in case he decided he wanted to pick up his weapon and get what was coming to him.

At the driver’s side window, I turned my non-gun hand in a circle, indicating that he could roll down his window, the only part of the car that wasn’t decorated with bullet holes. The man shuddered like it wasn’t ninety plus degrees outside, and fear seeped from his pores like sweat.

“Tell me who sent you, and I’ll make your death a quick and painless one,” I offered.

His body rocked back and forth, his way of dealing with the horror awaiting him. He cast a quick glance at his headless friend whose brain matter had splashed across the right side of his face.

“I don’t know who it was,” he forced out the shaky words. “All I was told was that it was a DeLuca. We were contacted, hired, and sent to an abandoned warehouse for the first half of the payment. The man there never revealed himself. I was just doing what I was hired to do.”

“That’s what they all say right before I do what comes naturally and extricate their souls from their bodies. Get the fuck out!”

He flashed a confused look like he didn’t understand my words. The door creaked open from his slow movement. His bugged-out eyes remained pinned on me. I waved him over using the gun.

“Take me to the warehouse, and I’ll let you walk.”

He snickered sarcastically. “You expect me to believe that shit? You’re a DeLuca.”

He was right in his assessment because the only place I intended for him to walk was into a graveyard to pick out his plot.

“I don’t expect you to do anything but climb out of that car and show me where that fucking warehouse is located.”

He sat in silent contemplation before shoving the door open further. I shoved my pistol down the back of my pants and received an are-you-crazy side-eye before his eyes dropped to my empty hands. My ego was big, but not stupid. One of the best snipers I knew was watching my ass, and I knew more than twenty ways to kill him with my bare hands.

He stepped out and walked ahead of me towards my vehicle.

“Stop,” I called out when he was near the trunk. I reached under the latch and disengaged it before pointing inside.

“Use those to clean yourself up. I have precious cargo in the cab and can’t have you contaminating the air.”

He wiped the blood and brain matter from his face before I rearranged our seating, placing Nevah in the back passenger seat and him up front.

Before driving off, I gave Franco a final salute of thanks and turned back the way I’d entered, leaving the carnage for him to clean up.

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