Page 22 of Vows of Blood

"How's the bullet wound?" I drawl, fighting the urge to take out my phone and snap a picture of the scratch.

"It barely grazed him," Nico says to me. "Doesn't count."

Enzo growls and fidgets, the thin, white paper crinkling behind his back as he moves. "Fuck off, both of you." A pause. "And of course it counts."

Nico scoffs and steps closer, poking the wound, which earns him a punch in the shoulder from Enzo.

I check my phone. Another update from Corso. The bar was a dead end. Fuck.

A doctor appears in the doorway. He looks tired, and like we’re the last people he wants to deal with right now. He gives my brothers a withering look, taking in Enzo’s muscly torso and extensive tattoos, and turns to me.

"Mr. Calvano, Kate is still in critical condition. The surgery went well, but for now, all we can do is wait.” He looks down at my bloodstained clothes and hands. “I suggest you go home. Shower, eat, sleep if you can, and come back. You can’t do anything else tonight.”

With a nod, the doctor disappears out the door.

I check my watch. I won’t be getting any sleep tonight but there are other things I should be doing.

"Stay here, check on Kate,” I tell Nico. “And call me the second anything changes." I gesture to my ruined clothes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

"I don’t suppose you’re going to make a little pitstop along the way?" Nico asks, though his tone suggests he already knows. “You shouldn’t be going anywhere alone. Why not wait until Enzo’s done, and I can go with you?”

Ignoring his offer, I continue to issue orders. “Get a bed with the best of recovery care made available for the moment Kate can leave.”

The abrupt change of subject doesn’t go unnoticed, and Enzo and Nico exchange glances but know better than to challenge me on it. “Sure thing.”

When I extend my palm and curl my fingers, Nico wearily drops his car keys into it with a groan.

"Be careful."

The night air hits me as I push through the doors of a staff entrance, avoiding the public main entrance where the press is waiting. It’s cold and sharp after the stale warmth inside.

Nico's car sits alone in the far corner of the lot, hidden in the shadows of an old oak tree. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I sit for a moment, hands resting on the leather steering wheel.

Nico’s warning wasn’t about the assassin still at large, or his precious car.

Sienna was my one weakness. The single crack in an otherwise impenetrable armor. I convinced myself I was done with her when she didn't turn up that night. When she decided I wasn’t the man she wanted to marry after all.

But tonight has proved I was wrong about many things, including whether I was capable of ever really letting go of Sienna Fox.

7

LUCA

The streets are empty as I drive, save for the drunks stumbling home and the early risers dragging themselves to work.

I pull up across the street from Sienna's building and kill the engine, studying the third-floor window where a faint light glows behind thin curtains. The leather seat creaks as I shift, leaning back to stretch out my legs, and I take a sip from the hip flask I know Nico keeps in the glove box for situations just like this.

The smell of strong alcohol mingles with the new car scent I usually love, and I curse, taking a much bigger mouthful, every second of the night replaying in my mind like a horror movie on repeat.

Bruno's car is parked a short distance down the street, the interior dark. He flashes his headlights once, acknowledging me, then goes still again. Maybe I should leave this to him. He’s good at making people comfortable.

But Sienna's more likely to talk to me. At least, that's what I tell myself.

The streetlight outside flickers, casting intermittent shadows across my dashboard. Some kids pretending to be big men loiter in a depressing-looking park across the street, sticking to the shadows, up to no good.

Decision made, I screw the cap on the flask, shove it back into the glove box, and remove the Glock stashed there, feeling its heft in my hand before tucking it into the back of my dress pants.

I study Sienna's building. The desolate, grey facade is crumbling, graffiti covering the lower floors where anyone can reach with a spray can. The lopsided security door is propped open with a brick that's probably been there for months.