Page 50 of The Broker

There’s no cause for alarm, but I have a premonition that something’s about to go very, very wrong.

A gunshot rings out.

Backup is on the way—a few of Leo’s guys coming in to provide support. But I can’t wait. I slam my shoulder against the front door, and it gives. I raise my gun and step in, my heart pounding like a drum against my chest.

The room is awash with blood. Crimson streaks are splattered on the walls, a macabre imitation of a Jackson Pollock painting. The sharp copper tang fills my nostrils, the smell of decay lingering underneath. The smell claws at the back of my throat, and my stomach heaves. It’s a close thing, but I regain control with an iron will and advance into the room.

Then I see the lifeless body on the cold stone floor. It’s a man. His arm is thrown out, as if begging for help against an unknown assailant. I approach the corpse and turn it over.

It’s my brother, Roberto. His eyes are open. Accusing.You killed me,they seem to say. You murdered me in cold blood, and then you stole my woman. My child.You’re living the life I was meant to have.

“You didn’t deserve it,” I say aloud. I make myself stand up. I back up the way I came and step out of the desolate farmhouse. . .

Only to find myself in another dark room. Here, the air itself carries a weight, thick and oppressive. With each passing moment, it seems to close in around me, a suffocating embrace that threatens to swallow me whole. Fighting the urge to flee, I let my eyes adjust to the dimness.

Two bodies are sprawled on the floor. The larger corpse cradles the smaller one, a futile attempt to protect her from the oncoming storm.

I don’t want to look.

I don’t want to know.

Keeping my face averted, I turn the bodies and immediately recoil.

Mother of God, it’s Giorgio and his six-year-old daughter, Liliana.

I turn away and lose the contents of my stomach on the floor. Someone has slit their throats, the killer tossing the blade carelessly to the side. Averting my gaze from the child’s dead eyes, I pick it up. . .

My throat goes dry.

It’s my knife.I’m the killer.

I don’t have time to feel guilt or be violently ill. I don’t have time to weep in regret. Just as I pick the knife up, a scream punctures the quiet.

Angelica.

I race in the direction of her voice. I smash through a door and enter another blood-splattered room. Giorgio is there, alive this time, even though I just saw his dead body. He’s holding a knife—my knife—to Angelica’s throat.

“You killed my daughter, Colonna,” he says to me, low and vicious. “You didn’t slit her throat, but you killed her anyway the moment you set me on this path.” He presses the blade into Angelica’s skin, and she whimpers in fear. “You knew that, didn’t you, Colonna? But you did it anyway.”

“She’s just a child,” I whisper, desperation coating every syllable. “Please. . .”

“A child?” Giorgio snarls. “Like Liliana was?”

“Please let her go,” I beg him. Angelica looks terrified, and I can’t bear it. “Take me instead.”

Then, because this situation could not get any worse, Valentina appears next to me. Her eyes are red, her face streaked with tears. “Dante,” she begs, clawing my sleeve. “Please.Do something.Save my daughter.”

I search for a weapon. Anything. But my gun is missing, and the knife in my hand is gone. Giorgio’s holding it. He lifts it up to me in a mocking salute, then brings it to Angelica’s throat. . .

“Dante.” Valentina shakes my shoulder. “Dante, wake up. Dante.”

Everyone I love is dead. Valentina. Angelica. I fall to the floor, curl into a ball and scream. It’s just me in the room, along with the corpses of the people I care about the most in the world. I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t keep them from harm. I start to shake and shake and shake. I couldn’t—

“Dante. You’re having a bad dream. Wake up.”

I force my eyes open and sit up. “Valentina?” I reach out and grab her hand. My fingers shake, my heart not ready to face my worst fear, but she’s warm. She’s flesh and blood and here. She’s alive.

I’m drenched with sweat. I brush my hands through my hair. The nightmare was so fucking vivid. I can still smell the heavy copper tang of blood in my nostrils and the acid taste of bile on my tongue.