It might upset others to hear someone speak of their death so casually, but Giancarlo’s attempt to rile me doesn’t work. I learned my ice-cold expression from the best—Dom and Creighton.
“You should’ve picked better. This one’s always been disposable.” Dom jerks his head at me.
I don’t even feel the slash of his words, because I know what he says isn’t true.
Giancarlo’s laugh shifts in my direction. “How could you be loyal to this prick, kid? And trade yourself for this cunt? I wouldn’t. Guess you really don’t have balls, Cannon. Come over here so we can show you how we handle someone who doesn’t have any balls.”
In the past, I would have cared what they said. But now I know it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me, and everything to do with Giancarlo. He’s been trying for the last twenty-five years to prove he deserved the position he stole, and yet he still feels like a fraud. No wonder his son turned out to be such an asshole too.
“I don’t fucking trust you any further than I could throw your fat ass, Rossetti,” I holler at him. “So send her over, and when she crosses the middle, I’ll come to you.”
Giancarlo shoves Cynthia forward. As the woman stumbles toward us, gaining speed with each step, Randi’s hand appears with a flash of metal. Thoughts fly through my brain with rapid-fire speed.
Fuck. She’s got a gun.
Maybe we misjudged her, and she’s the one who’s going to snipe Cynthia before she can get to safety.
We didn’t plan for that, and I don’t think anyone else sees her piece.
Shit.
I charge forward, catching everyone off guard, and even though I can’t see them, I know every hand is reaching for a gun. I plow into Cynthia and tackle her, and we go down as bullets start flying. One grazes my ear as I drag her with me, heading for refuge behind a concrete pillar. But before I get there, something burns across my arm.
“Police! Everyone lower your weapons,”a voice calls over a bullhorn as cruisers with flashing lights roar into the garage.
“You motherfucking, double-crossing—” Giancarlo levels the barrel of his gun on Dom’s chest, but not before Benny’s aim finds its mark and the man’s head explodes.
As GTR lifts his weapon to fire on the cops, Randi presses the muzzle of her gun to his temple.
“Not so fast, you fucking asshole. You’re under arrest for murder, along with being a giant fucking piece of shit masquerading as human, and for having a tiny dick and not knowing how to use it. You have the right to remain silent ...”
As Randi begins her colorful recitation of GTR’s Miranda rights, Cole rushes forward, and cops and Feds swarm both the Rossetti party and the Cassos. Benny is handcuffed, and Dom is too.
Memphis jumps out of the SUV and rushes toward me and Cynthia. “Oh my God, you got hit! We need an ambulance! Someone get an ambulance!”
“It’s just a scratch, baby.”
“Don’t tell me it’s just a scratch!” Memphis wraps both arms around me and holds on tight.
Cynthia stares at us in shock. “I want to go home. I’m never coming to New York again.”
“I’m glad you’re okay, Mom.”
Cynthia bursts into tears, and Memphis tries to calm her while Cole walks over to me.
“That’s not exactly how this was supposed to go.”
“One dead and one wounded. I think it went just fine.”
He glances from me to Dom, who stares at Giancarlo’s body and his brains splattered on the concrete.
“I’m done with this life.” My father grunts, tugging at his handcuffs. “It’s time to fucking retire.”
“You can retire in prison, Dom,” Cole tells him.
My old man laughs. “Haven’t you heard? I’m Teflon. Nothing sticks to me.”
Epilogue