Chapter 5 - THE DEVIL COMES HUNTING
The door flew inward, hanging by a single hinge.
Vivienne leveled the revolver at the center of the opening.
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
A tall figure stepped out of the rain.
He wore a torn charcoal overcoat drenched in black water.
Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the cheap carpet.
His eyes were wild, bloodshot, and rimmed with silver fire.
Lorenzo.
Vivienne’s breath trapped in her throat.
The gun trembled in her hands, but she did not lower it.
“Step back,” she said.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cracked like ice.
Lorenzo stopped.
He didn’t look at the barrel pointed at his chest.
His gaze moved down her trembling arms, past her mud-caked jeans, and fixed upon the slight curve of her stomach.
Something shattered behind his gray eyes.
The ruthless king of Boston’s underworld looked hollowed out.
“Vivienne.”
“I said step back!”
Lorenzo did not retreat.
Instead, his knees buckled.
He dropped onto the dirty motel carpet before her.
The man who had never bowed to judges, rival bosses, or federal indictments sank to the floor like a condemned prisoner.
“Shoot me if you need to,” he whispered, his voice broken and raw. “Just let me see you're alive.”
Vivienne swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
“Is this another performance, Lorenzo?”
“No.”
“You told me you never loved me.”
He closed his eyes.
A muscle ticked furiously along his jaw.
“I lied.”
“You meant every word.”
“I was trying to drive you away,” he rasped, looking up at her with tears cutting tracks through the grime on his cheeks. “Silvio’s men were outside the estate. They tapped our lines. I knew an attack was coming. I thought if you hated me... if you left for your aunt's house in Vermont... you would be safe.”
Vivienne laughed, a bitter, breathless sound.
“Safe? You sent me straight into his ambush!”
“I didn't know he had turned Thomas,” Lorenzo said, his voice cracking. “I didn't know until we pulled Thomas's phone from the wreck.”
Vivienne flinched.
“Thomas worked for my father for twenty years.”
“Silvio paid off his gambling debts three months ago,” Lorenzo said softly. “He was feeding them our routes.”
Lorenzo reached slowly into his inner coat pocket.
Vivienne raised the gun higher.
“Don't move.”
Lorenzo pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and laid it gently on the floor between them.
The torn sonogram report.
“You didn’t tell me,” he said, his chest heaving.
“Why would I?” Vivienne demanded, tears finally spilling over her lashes. “You made it clear I was an obligation. A political contract. You walked into our home smelling of gunpowder and whiskey every night while I sat alone wondering which morgue I’d have to visit!”
Lorenzo reached out, his hand hovering inches from her knee, terrified to touch her without permission.
“You are my life, Vivienne. The only clean thing I have ever known.”
“Then you should have protected me with the truth!”
A sudden wave of dizziness hit her.
The room spun.
Her grip on the revolver slipped.
The metal clattered to the floorboards.
“Vivienne!”
Lorenzo surged upward, catching her before her head struck the nightstand.
His arms wrapped around her, hot and trembling.
She tried to push him away, but her limbs felt like lead.
His coat smelled of rain, iron, and the familiar cedar cologne that had once meant safety.
“I’m bleeding,” she gasped against his neck. “Lorenzo... the baby.”
Lorenzo’s face went bone-white.
He scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.
He kicked the broken door wide open and stepped out into the pouring rain.
Across the parking lot, blue and red emergency lights suddenly strobed against the fog.
Four Massachusetts State Police cruisers and two unmarked black SUVs screeched to a halt, boxing in Lorenzo’s sedan.
May you like
Loudspeakers crackled through the downpour:
“Lorenzo Falcone! Put the woman down and place your hands on your head! Federal agents have the perimeter surrounded!”
