Chapter 118: Put the gun down!

I press my back against the pillar, trying to ignore the burning pain in my shoulder.

Fuck.

I can feel blood trickling beneath my shirt, warm and sticky against my skin. The bullet didn’t go through cleanly, judging by the way my arm feels like it’s been set on fire.

Fantastic.....Just fucking fantastic.

First, I had to bury Nico Moretti. Then his bastard son decides to turn the funeral into a shooting range, and now I’m bleeding inside a church.

My mother would be so proud.

I grit my teeth and reach for the gun tucked into my waistband. I check the magazine, then lean slightly to the side, trying to get a clear view of the entrance.

There you are, you little fucker.

Nico’s son is still standing near the entrance, surrounded by his men. He’s firing in my direction with the enthusiasm of a man who has convinced himself that killing me will somehow bring his father back.

It won’t.

But I’m happy to help him discover that for himself.

I adjust my grip, ready to take aim, when I feel my phone vibrating in my back pocket.

I ignore it. Whoever is calling can wait. I’m a little busy trying not to die.

The vibration stops.

Good.

I lean out again, searching for an opening, but the phone starts buzzing a second time.

For fuck’s sake.

I consider leaving it there, but the persistent buzzing is beginning to irritate me more than the gunfire. With a frustrated sigh, I reach into my pocket and pull it out.

The moment I see the name on the screen, my eyebrows rise.

Nerissa.

Why the is my wife calling me? Did something happen? Is she in trouble?

I swipe to answer.

"Nerissa?"

Her voice comes through immediately.

"Why do I need your permission to leave the house?"

Ah. That’s why.

I knew she’d have something to say about my instructions to Hakeem.

I should probably have expected this.

I duck sharply when a series of gunshots strikes the pillar beside my head. Concrete chips scatter through the air, dust spraying across my face.

"Fuck!"

I turn away from the impact and wave my free hand in front of my face, trying to clear the dust from my eyes.

"Nerissa, I’m busy."

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah," I answer distractedly.

Another shot cracks through the air and I lean closer to the pillar, tightening my grip on my gun.

"Why do you need to know where I am?" she demands.

"So you don’t get killed or....."

More gunshots erupt, forcing me to duck again.

"Where are you right now?" she interrupts. "Is that gunfire I’m hearing?"

I glance at the phone.

"Yeah."

There is a pause. Then she speaks again, sounding utterly incredulous.

"Yeah? That’s all you have to say? Lysander, why are you in the middle of a fucking shootout?"

I almost grin. There’s something about the way she says my name when she’s angry that I find ridiculously entertaining.

"Work got a little busy."

She lets out a long, tired sigh.

"I’m going to lose my mind."

I glance toward the entrance again, trying to track Nico’s son through the chaos.

I’m calling him Nico’s son because I never bothered to know his name.

"I’m currently in active gunfire, Nerissa."

"Oh my God!"

She shrieks so loudly that I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

I stare at it.

Christ. My wife has a set of lungs on her.

When I bring the phone back to my ear, she’s still talking.

"Do you have a death wish? Why are you picking up my call during an active shootout?"

I chuckle.

I can’t help it. She sounds so genuinely upset that, for one ridiculous moment, I almost forget that I’m crouching behind a church pillar while armed men are trying to put bullets in me.

It sounds like she cares but I know better than to read too much into it.

This is Nerissa we’re talking about....She probably just doesn’t want to become a widow before she has finished insulting me.

"My wife calls, I answer."

"Lysander!"

"Have Hakeem send me your location. I’ll see you later."

I end the call before she can start another lecture and slide the phone back into my pocket.

I shake my head and focus on the matter at hand.

I peek around the pillar, looking for an opportunity to take my shot.

Nico’s son has moved farther into the church, and his men are spreading out. I spot two of mine returning fire from behind the pews, while another is trying to drag an injured man toward cover.

The police will probably arrive any minute. If they haven’t already.

I raise my weapon, preparing to aim at the bastard’s head, when a hand suddenly clamps around my wrist.

My gun is forced downward.

"What the fuck....."

I turn, ready to break the fingers of whoever has decided to interfere with my business.

Then I see Jeremiah.

My younger brother is crouched beside me, his face twisted with frustration.

"What the fuck, man?"

"Put the gun down."

I stare at him.

Has he lost his fucking mind?

"Excuse me?"

"The police are here."

"And?"

"And I won’t let you have another murder on your head!"

His voice rises over the gunfire.

"That’s too much on your head already, Lysander. Let’s not add to it! I’m working overtime already."

I look at him as if he’s grown another head.

Nico’s son is standing right there, practically begging me to put a bullet between his eyes, and Jeremiah wants to discuss my criminal record?

Unbelievable.

"So what do you suggest?" I hiss. "We sit here like ducks and wait for them to finish us off?"

"No. We run."

I blink. Then I stare at him.

"Run?"

"Yes, run!"

"I don’t run from a fight."

"Well, today you fucking will!"

I almost laugh at the sheer audacity.

My men are scattered across this church, returning fire and trying to survive, and my brother wants me to abandon them?

Absolutely not.

"My men are here," I tell him. "I’m not leaving them."

"Your men are armed! They know how to protect themselves!"

"They’re my responsibility."

"And you’re mine!"

Jeremiah’s expression is furious.

"Move your hand."

"No."

"Jeremiah."

"Lysander, for fuck’s sake, why do you have to be so stubborn all the time?"

I bare my teeth.

"Because I’m the Don."

"And you’re also bleeding!"

Another spray of bullets strikes the pillar. Concrete explodes beside us, forcing us to duck.

I curse under my breath.

Every instinct in my body screams at me to rise, take aim, and put an end to Nico’s son before the bastard manages to kill someone else.

I could do it in one clean shot. Then I will drag the bastard’s body to his father’s casket and bury them together.

A fitting family reunion.

I tighten my grip on my gun.

Fuck Jeremiah and his reasons.

I shift toward the edge of the pillar, preparing to take aim despite the pain in my shoulder.

Then I look beyond the pews and stop.

Nico’s son is no longer standing near the entrance. Instead, several police officers have him pinned to the ground, his arms forced behind his back as one of them reaches for his weapon.

The bastard is still struggling, shouting something I can’t hear over the chaos.

"You’re bleeding," Jeremiah says beside me.

I glance down at the blood soaking through my shirt.

Then I look at my brother.

"No shit, Sherlock."