“Get a move on it,” a second man responded, his voice vaguely familiar. “Anyone inside?”
“Just the trafficking victim DeMarco said would be here,” the man said. “The girl wouldn’t speak to anyone, though, so we don’t know who she is.”
“Give her some time. She’ll come around once she realizes she’s safe.”
Footsteps approached, the familiar voice calling Carmine’s name. He glanced up, coming face-to-face with Special Agent Cerone. He crouched down and unlocked Carmine’s handcuffs, sighing as he grabbed his hand and eyed the wound. “Get the medic to come look at his injury, please.”
o;Of course not! He’s my godson!”
“But you don’t deny you wanted my wife dead? You don’t deny you had your sister murdered? You don’t deny you were in bed with the Russians? God, how sick does a man have to be to make his own family slaves?”
“She was supposed to have a good life!” Salvatore spat, losing control of his temper as he reached for his gun. Carmine cursed and backed up a few steps, nearly tripping over a chair. “Frankie begged me to let him have her, the fool! He begged me to let the child live! He’s the one who failed! He treated her like crap! He let his son have his way with her! She would’ve been better off dead!”
“Is that why you never went to Blackburn, why you always sent us?” Vincent asked, no hesitation in his voice. “You couldn’t look at her, knowing what you’d done?”
“You’re wrong!”
“And is that why you were so insistent on seeing Haven when you visited? Why you were elated Carmine fell in love with her, why you wanted him to vouch for her? You’d finally be family again!”
“Shut up!”
“You thought it was redemption! They were possessions to you! And you had the nerve to ask me if she’d been worth it, if she was worth all the pain I went through, if she was worth everything I lost, and you’d been the one to do it to me! Did you enjoy that? Did you get off having so much power over everyone?”
“You’re delusional!”
“And you’re disturbed! You’re a traitor!”
“How dare you accuse me of that! You, who has been feeding information to the Feds? Tell me, Vincent, how does it feel to be a rat? How does it feel to break the oath you swore? How does it feel knowing you’re going to die for it?”
Vincent stood frozen for a second before a sinister smirk turned the corner of his lips. “You first.”
The bang of a gunshot ripped through the night air and Carmine recoiled, realizing his father had pulled the trigger. He covered himself defensively as Salvatore stumbled backward, the bullet ripping through his shoulder, and dropped his gun as his arm went limp. Flipping the patio table over, Salvatore ducked behind it as Carlo returned fire. Vincent shot again, hitting Carlo’s thigh with a bullet, making his leg buckle, but he managed to stay upright and shoot back.
A bullet from Vincent’s gun hit the table Salvatore hid behind, ricocheting off of it and flying in Carmine’s direction. He ducked as soon as he heard it hit and it whizzed past his head, barely missing grazing his temple. “Fuck!”
“Carmine!” Salvatore yelled, barely audible above the sudden rampant gunfire. “Kill him!”
Carmine didn’t know what to do. He slowly pulled his gun out, his thoughts frantic as he fought off dizziness. Kill or be killed. He knew how it went. If he didn’t kill his father, Sal would kill him next.
Before he could consider aiming at anything, another gunshot ripped past him. Carlo stumbled backward, blood pouring through his button-down shirt. He tripped and fell, his body trembling as he clutched his stomach. Awful cries escaped his throat as Vincent closed the distance between them, firing off more shots in anger. Two rounds went through Carlo’s arms, disabling him, and another bullet ripped through his kneecap as he tried to drag himself away.
Salvatore jumped up and grabbed his gun again before ducking out of the way. Vincent was clearly on a mission, his expression grave as he crouched down and grabbed Carlo by the collar. He shoved the muzzle of his gun in Carlo’s gaping mouth and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Blood splattered, the back of Carlo’s head exploding, and Carmine couldn’t stop the scream that reverberated from his chest as violent flashes of his mother overwhelmed him.
Vincent looked at Carmine with concern, his eyes scanning him quickly, assessing for wounds. “Get out of here, son,” he demanded before turning to Salvatore, who had taken shelter by the back door. He stood but didn’t have enough time to aim before Salvatore shot at him, a bullet hitting Vincent straight in the chest. He grunted and staggered but stayed on his feet to fire back.
“Carmine, it’s an order!” Salvatore yelled, continuing to shoot, but his aim was off. “Do it now, or I’ll kill you!”
“Don’t threaten my son!”
Salvatore’s words gave Vincent his strength back. There was a commotion as he steadied himself, the back door of the house bursting open and guys running outside. Corrado followed behind them but froze, taking in the scene as Carmine released the safety from his gun.
Corrado noticed the movement. Raising his gun, he aimed at Carmine.
“What the fu—” he started, unable to get the entire thing out before his uncle pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed the back of his right hand and he cried out, dropping the weapon and grabbing the searing wound. It felt like it was on fire, throbbing painfully as blood dripped onto the patio.
Corrado sprinted toward Carmine and tackled him, shoving him onto his stomach on the ground, his low voice demanding. “Don’t move.”
Standing, Corrado haphazardly fired across the yard, the bullets deliberately flying past the target. Vincent turned and fired a wayward shot toward Corrado, his aim just as bad, before ducking for cover around the back of the house.