Page 1 of Corso DeLuca

PROLOGUE

Jessie

Don’t die.

“Get down,” my partner, Greg, shouts, before his body crumples at my Dr. Scholl’s heeled boots.

Bullets whiz by me, the trajectory close to his location on the white tile walkway. We’re in a monochrome cubicle farm flanked by identical conference rooms. A not-so-fun house where we’re a hitman’s prized targets. The familiar burn of expelled gun powder taints the temperate air. Pivoting to place my back against a flimsy cubicle wall, I slide low, careful not to make a sound.

A new lead in our Federal Bureau of Investigations syndicated crimes case against the Esposito mafia led us away from DC’s towering monuments to this sleepy business complex on the outskirts of Vienna, Virginia. Interstate-66 westbound gridlock slowed our arrival. The daylight savings time rollback assured a moonless night, but it’s too early in the evening for the offices to be empty. So, who made the call to evacuate the employees?

“Oh shit, baby girl,” Greg pants, his chest heaving to draw in a breath. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You’d better not. It’s your week to cook dinner.” Greg Luciano is the most decent human being I’ve ever known. That’s a weighty statement considering my maternal grandfather was a southern Baptist minister. As an agent, he’s thorough and patient, willing to consider all the evidence, not just the details that support his argument. As my friend and lover, he’s accepting of my foul mouth, doesn’t ask for more than I’m willing to give, and he’s got skills any man would envy in the bedroom.

I can’t see his wounds, but Greg went down hard. To avoid a similar fate, I keep my Glock high, slowly standing, my gaze moving back and forth. Craning my neck, I peer into the blackness.

“Where are you, coward?” I scream at our invisible enemy. He cut the power after we entered the building, but my eyes have adjusted to the low visibility.

“Go. Save yourself.” The request comes from Greg, who lays motionless on the cold floor.

I’ll save us both. An image of my twin sister, Josie, comes to me. She’d said the same words when Mattia Esposito strong-armed his way into our mother’s small tax service demanding she work for him, hiding his dirty money. Josie begged him not to hurt Mom. I can still hear the echoes of his cruel laughter. A month later… Mom and Josie were working in the office when a fire broke out. Mom was killed… Josie vanished without a trace. That was sixteen years ago. I’ve lived a lifetime without my family while their killer, Mattia still breathes. Greg had been the first to crack the code on the Espositos using cryptocurrency apps to move their money around. Thanks to the encryption app Greg recommended, the fuckers never saw it coming when the bureau dupped their account security to confiscate Mattia Esposito’s millions. Now we’d uncovered a second company with ties to the gun-selling, drug-smuggling, murderer.

“Stay quiet,” I murmur, using my full curves to shield my best friend, my chosen family… my lover. Adrenaline floods my veins, heightening my senses. Squeezing the 9MM’s trigger, I return fire into a dark corner on the far left.

The gun muzzle flashes cease. Exits and entry points flash through my head. Greg is critically wounded. Moving him will prove to be challenging, but I won’t leave him behind. I scan the row of glass-encased conference rooms for hidden threats before dragging Greg’s lean frame in a drab cubicle. A guttural outcry, agonized and pain-filled, pierces the silence. At five feet eight, my stature matches my physical strength. In his weakened condition, Greg has no choice but to surrender to my will. I steel myself against the tug of compassion his pained cries evoke. The blood trail, reflective as highway lanes, renews my resolve to get us both to safety.

He grunts, then falls silent. Consciousness, albeit brief, abandons him to his fate. Emergency lighting casts an eerie glow over Greg’s form. Ashen features conceal his normally olive complexion. Like a sadistic vampire, the bullet’s path is draining vital blood from his still body.

Clearly, this is an assassination attempt. But why now? We haven’t had any movement in the Esposito case for months, until this cryptocurrency app company pinged on our radar. But someone out there disagrees with me. It’s apparent that whatever we have is enough to tag two FBI agents for execution. Leaving my service weapon unholstered, I retrieve my cell. There’s a pause, then connection. The line is free of static, which is good because my brain is scrambled after the ambush.

“Officer down with multiple gunshot wounds to the torso. I need an ambulance.” This was a routine follow-up on a tip from a trusted informant. My left knee protests the crouched position, so I let my hips hit the floor, stretching both legs in front. Greg’s head rests in my lap. With one hand palming my weapon, I use the other to cradle his damp graphite curls. The threads of silver mixed with black had attracted me five years earlier, and it still does today.

“Set up,” Greg says.

“I know.” The faint sound of sirens reaches my ears, but so does the gurgling of blood in Greg’s throat. A series of moist coughs precedes the frothy, red-tinged foam filling his mouth. One of the bullets has penetrated his lungs, allowing air to mix with the blood filling his breathing tubes. With every breath his vital organs are robbed of oxygen-stealing his life one painful inhale at a time. This is bad, but I push the swell of doom away. He’s strong.

“Get—”

A tangle of words in an unintelligible jumble fall from his lips. The need to take cover is gone, along with the armed man.

“Shh, help is on the way.” I press my hand over the largest whole in his abdomen. Warm sticky fluid covers my trembling digits, outlying my palm in seconds.

“Too… late,” he rasps.

The denial dies on my lips. As an experienced bureau agent, I’m well-acquainted with death and its many shapes, but Greg… he’s mine. My comfort with him, with us, is a bloody reminder of my failure. I got too close to happy… again. When he leaves, even if I’m assigned a new partner, I’ll be alone. What’s more, is the ambush was for my partner. None of the bullets tonight were aimed at me. Even when I returned fire.

What had I missed? What information did Greg know that I didn’t? And why am I discovering that the man who is my everything withheld details that led us to here? Me on the losing end of living.

“Save your strength,” I whisper. “We’ll need it to slaughter the assholes who tried to kill us.”

His hazel eyes have dulled to matte gray from the pain twisting his classic Italian male face into a horror mask I know I’ll never erase. He brushes my forearm, his touch usually firm and sure, is slack against death’s grip. Blood from the gunshot wound to his abdomen glistens, the crimson stain concealing its color in the midnight blue of his FBI field jacket. Lips that once formed his rare smile part. I lean forward anticipating one final message he’ll give to me.

Will he use his last utterances in this cold and empty office complex to tell me he loves the laughter, the life, the love we’ve shared these past five years? Words he never said during our time together.

“Jessie.”

My name on his tremulous lips hits me like a punched bag spilling its contents. There’re sands of love, friendship, pleading, and regret burying me alive.