Page 62 of The Hidden Heir

“Carmine Caruso, too,” Luca sighs, nodding at his fallen friend. “Who else?”

“Two of the Mancinis’ higher-ups: Carlo Pendretti and Virgil D’Amico,” Enzo replies. “All lieutenants and high-ranking members.”

“And all of them allied with me,” Luca concludes, then looks around again, growing increasingly and understandingly aggravated. “Mancuso?”

“He made it out alive, along with his daughter.”

“The Caputos, too, I’m guessing.”

“We didn’t see them anywhere. But a lot of them ran out when the shooting started. We’ll need a proper head count before we draw any conclusions,” Enzo insists. “I saw a few of the Paoletti syndicate gunned down, too. Lower-level guys, but definitely Mario’s boys.”

I know for a fact that the Paolettis are deeply bonded with my stepfather and his operations. I also know what’s going through Luca’s mind as he surveys the scene and takes every victim into account. The heartbreak of losing so many people in one night aside, he just has also lost the support of a lot of important people ahead of a crucial council meeting.

Someone is eliminating Luca’s support.

Luca mutters, his brow furrowed. “What was their angle?”

“I think you already suspect the angle,” I tell him. “They’re trying to eliminate those who support you.”

Enzo nods in agreement. “She’s right, Boss.”

“Where’s Victor?” Luca asks.

“He’s on his way. I texted him. He’s bringing a few more guys over, as well.”

“The cops won’t let us do anything when they get here,” my husband mutters. “See what you can get out of the fucker I just dropped before he dies.”

Enzo walks over to the surviving gunman, but the guy is passed out. My head feels lighter with each passing moment. The room starts spinning.

The shock and adrenaline are starting to wear off, and the grim realization of what could have happened comes rushing in.

Luca’s voice is an echo in the back of my head. He feels me weakening, losing my grip on consciousness, as I melt against his frame.

“Valentina!”

I want to call out his name, but my voice fails. I sense his arms tightening around me as the world spins away in a jumble of frightening thoughts and bloody scenes, of terror and lack of control over my own body. My legs give out from under me.

“Valentina, stay with me!”

Oh, I wish I could, but this sweet, comforting darkness is calling to me. Maybe if I could just stay in it for a moment.

Just a moment.

19

VALENTINA

It’s been quiet in my hospital room since the doctor left.

I’m comforted by the fact that my blood tests and vitals didn’t raise any red flags. A nurse took care of my scrapes, and there’s nothing for me to worry about. A nauseating sensation lingers in the back of my throat, however. I blame it on the stress of what I survived, and I wonder when Luca will return.

I replay the carnage in my head, one bloody scene at a time.

“Mrs. Petrucci,” a man says as he walks into the room.

One look, and I already know who he is. The cheap suit, the traces of nicotine on his fingers, and the tired eyes, along with a stern face and the badge on his belt, all scream police detective.

“Yes,” I reply, sitting up.