Beast I Can’t Tame by L.K. Shaw

Chapter 26

Giovanni

“Are you ready?”Dino asks from by my side.

“As I’ll ever be,” I answer. There’s no turning back. We’re here. Petrosyan disregarded Jacob’s warning and it’s come to this. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and say a short prayer to a God I’m not sure I ever believed in.

The sun has long since set. In its place, the moon hangs high in the sky playing hide-and-seek behind the few passing clouds that manage to drift in front of it. The streets of the Spring Creek neighborhood are absent of a single pedestrian walking around. It’s as though they’re anticipating the danger the night brings. That we bring.

Adrenaline buzzes inside my veins, ramping up my heartbeat. Can the men around me hear it? it thumps like a drum beat in my head, pounding a steady rhythm within my ears. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. My leg still throbs, but it’s almost an afterthought. The rest of my body is numb with anticipation.

I exit the vehicle half a block away from our intended destination. The rest of the men spill out of cars like a swarm of ants. I scan the area and pull the semi-automatic weapon looped over my shoulder by its strap around and palm the grip and muzzle. We’re all on high alert. I’m sure the Armenian’s don’t anticipate our arrival, but we need to make sure we’re not caught off guard.

A dog barks in the distance, and I nearly jump out of my skin. As a single unit, we stride down the deserted sidewalk toward the building that houses a small contingent of Armenian soldiers. Pierce had gotten the intel from one of his many sources. No one seems concerned about the police interfering. The Italians have nearly half the force in their pocket.

The three story-house looms in between two brick commercial buildings, set back off the street with a small wrought iron fence marking the property line. Faint light illuminates a few windows on each floor as well as a large, picture window at ground level. Someone is definitely home.

Jacob leads our faction of men, with Pierce only paces behind him. The rest of us fall in line as he opens the gate, the metal grinding against itself and generating a screech that sends a cold shiver down my spine. Pierce takes the lead, marching up the steps before he pauses only feet from the door.

Only another single heartbeat of silence passes and then the rat-tat-tat of gunfire fills the air as bullets rip through the front door of the house and chaos erupts inside. Pierce kicks in the door with one powerful slam of his foot, and we rush inside like cockroaches escaping the light.

There’s gunfire and men shouting. Footsteps pound above me. I look around, keeping our men in my sights as I run through the house and up the stairs. A body rushes me. In a single move, I raise the gun, aim, and fire. The Armenian crashes to the floor, his weapon bouncing out of his hand before landing with a thud.

Men holler. Gunfire continues. Footsteps slow until the last out is snuffed out. I take in the bodies lying haphazardly around me, blood pooling beneath each one. Unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling. My heart is nearly bursting out of my chest and my breathing is ragged.

I glance around the room, still riding the adrenaline high, and make sure no threat remains. Nero stands nearby. His attention is on the dying man at his feet. Movement just over his shoulder catches my attention.

“Get down,” I shout, raising my gun and firing several shots.

The Armenian collapses to the ground with a cry of pain, and his gun clatters to the floor. Jacob steps into the room and kicks the weapon away. Nero’s gaze bounces between me and the man who’d been seconds from shooting him. He turns to me, and the distrust he’s only ever shown slips away. He nods in appreciation before stepping over the body and continuing to check and make sure there aren’t any more surprises.

Jacob approaches. “Nice job. Let’s get ready to head out.”

As quickly as we arrived, we leave the house and get back in our vehicles. On the return trip, he rides with me. My body is still buzzing. What happens next?

“We’re going to assemble at the body shop,” Jacob says as though reading my mind. “Check any non-life threatening injuries. We didn’t lose anyone, which is good. How are you doing?”

“Good. Good.”

He chuckles. “I expect you’re going to crash hard in the next hour or so. It happened to me on my first raid. I’d been so jacked up—high on adrenaline. And then, boom, I was out for the count. Slept for twelve straight hours.”

“Did you kill anyone that first time?” I ask.

Jacob nods. “Bullet straight to his face. I’d been aiming for his chest.”

“Do you remember how you felt afterward? I don’t mean the adrenaline rush. I mean about the fact that you took someone’s life? You were probably a lot younger than I am.” It hasn’t really hit me yet.

“Sixteen,” he says. “And I remember. I’m not sure anyone wouldn’t. It’s not an easy thing to do. Or to forget. Not at any age. There was a brief moment where I thought I was going to be sick. But our father said something to me that I’ll never forget. He said: if you’re old enough to pick up that gun, then you’re old enough to use it. The enemy doesn’t see you as a boy. They see you as a threat, and if you don’t kill them, they’ll sure as hell kill you.”

I don’t say anything to that. My father’s words were true. I try to picture a sixteen-year-old Jacob with a gun in his hands and a dead body in front of him. I imagine the same intense expression on his face that he always wears. I’d respected the elder Mr. Ricci. I’d been in awe of him as well. But for the first time, hatred leaks through the cracks.

“Do you hate him?” I ask, unable to stop the question from forming.

Jacob’s questioning gaze meets mine. “Who?”

“Your—our—father. Because I do. For thirty years I’ve been alone. My mother isn’t any kind of mother, and I washed my hands of her fifteen years ago. Hell, even before then,” I scoff. “We could have been brothers all this time. You could have taught me how to shoot. We could have gotten to know each other. Become friends. Instead, he stole the opportunity from both of us. I’m not sure that’s something I can ever forgive him for.”

There’s been so much bitterness brewing inside me that I hadn’t acknowledged until tonight. Ever since I learned Salvatore Ricci had been my father. I wish I could bring him back from the dead and ask him why. Why he refused to acknowledge me. Kept me a secret. I could understand why he’d done it while his wife was alive. But after? It reeks of cowardice.

“My father and I never had a good relationship. It had always been my mother and I who shared a special bond. We did everything together. After she died, a part of me died with her,” Jacob says quietly. “Pierce has always been there for me—protecting me—but he doesn’t show his emotions. Not to anyone but Mila and Francesca, and on the rare occasion, me. It would have been nice to have had a brother to lean on during that difficult time in my life.”

Emotions rise up inside me, but I choke them back down. All I can do is nod. And think. Neither of us speak again until we reach the body shop. It’s a quick meeting, no more than fifteen minutes. Everyone is hale. No injuries to speak of.

I’m coming down. Hard. I’m wrung out. Exhausted. I’m also feeling oddly…not vulnerable, but something like it. Almost fragile. Unlike myself. I leave the meeting and then I’m parking in front of Francesca’s house.

I shouldn’t be here. Yet I climb out of the car, into the lingering humidity, and walk up the pathway. I knock and wait. The light inside flips on a few minutes later, and Francesca’s face appears through the blinds before disappearing. She flings the door open.

“Gio?” Her voice is full of sleep.

“I know it’s late, but can I come in?”