Page 61 of Capo

Twenty

Luciano

Fuck!

Fuck-fuck-fuck!

We advance toward the house, grabbing a semi-automatic each from the dead guards. Dustin is not only a driver, like all my men he knows how to handle himself in a fight. He cocks his head toward the left side of the house and I nod my approval. I’ll take the front door, he’ll work his way in through the side door.

Everything is quiet. Too quiet. The cars indicate there are people here who are not supposed to be in my house, and I wonder where the fuck everyone else is. Are they still busy shooting up the Russians? Who the fuck is here?

I fall to one knee hidden behind the door that stands slightly ajar, listen, then peek inside. Nothing. Gun raised, I make a quick dash into my hallway. On the floor lies Ivan, covered in blood. There’s no one else in sight. I dart to him and crouch, putting two fingers to the side of his neck. There is a pulse, a weak, rapid thudding. Ivan groans and opens his eyes a sliver.

“Boss.”

“Hang tight,” I say as I glance around me. Hauling up my phone I see that I’ve gotten a ton of messages and calls, but I’ve had it muted and missed them. Ignoring them all, I call 911.

“Not the cops, Boss,” whispers Ivan.

“Shut the fuck up. My call.”

“911, what’s the emergency?”

“I need—” I make a quick calculation, thinking about how many wounded or dead there may be in the house. Ivan, cook, butler, chef, maid. Chloe! “Six ambulances.” My stomach churns and nausea rises in me as I relay the address.

“What’s the emergency, sir?”

“I’ve got people shot here. Send everything you’ve got, or I’ll find you and flay you alive in front of your children. Do you fucking understand?” I growl. “I’m Luciano Salvatore.” I disconnect and tear off my suit jacket, pressing it to the wounds in Ivan’s chest with a horrifying feeling I’ll lose him. “Keep the pressure on. Help is on its way. How many are they? Where did they go? Who else is in the house?”

“They were three,” whispers Ivan, his eyelids fluttering.

I nod and stand. “Stay alive or I’ll fucking haunt you and everyone you’ve ever loved in your afterlife. You hear me. Stay put. I gotta move.”

“Your Chloe,” he gasps.

Darkness rises in me, rage and a blinding fury, mixing with fear. “What do you know?”

“Take care of her.” He closes his eyes, his breaths shallow and hitching in his chest. I shoot to my feet. I’ll murder every fucking EMT in town if they don’t make it in time. I run through my house, cursing the vastness of it, the too-large rooms. It suddenly feels like getting to my private wing takes an eternity.

The door stands ajar. I raise the semi and stop for a moment, listening. The hair rises on my nape as I hear a groan and a whimper. Taking a quick peek inside, I see no one, so I push open the door and dart down the hallway, toward the increasing sounds of despair, of horror, of grunting men unaware they’re about to die.

It takes me a fraction of a second to take in the scene. It’s more or less what I expected. Chloe lying spread eagled on her back, pinned beneath three men in various stages of undress, one with a cock down her throat, one squeezing her breasts and one lining up to ram his cock inside her. Just as I lift the gun, Chloe twists, her arm moving like lightning. The man who was lowering his head to her breast roars out and clutches his face. He falls off the bed, a pen sticking out of one eye. Bloody fucking hell. Good girl.

The one who fell to the floor screams and screams. He’ll soon find that a pen in his eye is to be preferred. The two remaining assailants freeze up, still on their knees, too distracted to notice me. Chloe is lying down, out of harm’s way. I fire off the semi chest-level with the men, spraying bullets across the room in a wide radius. Blood and torn off chunks of tissue rain over Chloe, the walls are peppered in holes and splatters of red. The windows shatter.

She screams. Like an animal. Like I made her scream once. I don’t ever fucking want to hear that sound again. I’ll keep the third man alive. I’ll hang him upside down and torture him for weeks. If he has info on anything, good. If he doesn’t, I’ll do it for my own fucking pleasure. I throw the gun and dart to her, shoving off dead men, bits of wood and plaster, pulling her up in my arms.

“Luci,” she whispers, her voice breaking, barely heard over the agonizing hollers from the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, clutching her to my chest. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Admiration for her strength, for her quick thinking with the pen, and for defending herself grows in me and I hold her even tighter, rocking her. My perception of her seems to change every day for the last few weeks. I have yet to fully understand the depths of this woman and I suddenly realize I really want to know everything about her.

“They broke in… I couldn’t…” she slurs.

A noise from behind makes me push Chloe out of my lap and reach for the gun. Dustin holds up both hands.

“Boss.”

“What’s the situation?”