Bullets in the Rain

POV: Vincent

The knife slid between Tony's ribs.

"Please, Viper," Tony gasped, blood bubbling from his lips. "I got kids."

"Should have thought about that before you sold us out," I said, pulling the blade free.

Tony Marcelli collapsed to the warehouse floor. His eyes stared at nothing. Another traitor who learned too late that betraying the Capone family meant death.

I wiped the knife clean on Tony's shirt and tucked it back into my jacket. Business was business. Loyalty meant everything in my world. Cross us, and you died. Simple as that.

My phone buzzed. Text from my mother: "Is it done?"

I typed back: "Yes."

Rain started falling outside, drumming against the warehouse windows. Perfect. Rain washed away blood better than anything else.

I walked toward my motorcycle, ready to head home. Another problem solved. Another message sent to anyone thinking about betraying our family.

That's when I heard the gunshots.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Automatic weapons firing fast and angry. Someone was having a very bad night.

I should have gotten on my bike and left. Smart men didn't go looking for other people's trouble. But something made me stop. Maybe curiosity. Maybe boredom.

Or maybe it was the sound that came next.

A scream. High and scared and definitely female.

I moved toward the sound without thinking. Through the broken window, I could see into the alley behind the diner across the street.

Three men in expensive suits had cornered someone in the back kitchen area. Professional hitters, from the look of them. The kind who charged a lot of money to make problems disappear.

Their target was a girl.

Young. Maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. Dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. She held herself like someone who knew how to fight, but she was outnumbered and outgunned.

The lead gunman had a scar across his cheek. I knew that face. Rico Valdez. He worked for whoever paid him the most. No loyalty. No honor. Just greed and violence.

"Your daddy killed my brother," Rico was saying to the girl. "Now you get to pay for his sins."

The girl lifted her chin. Even scared, she looked defiant. "I had nothing to do with that."

Something twisted in my chest. She reminded me of someone. My little sister Maria, maybe. If Maria had lived past her fifth birthday. If that drunk driver hadn't taken her away from us twenty years ago.

Rico raised his gun.

I should have walked away. This wasn't my fight. I didn't even know who the girl was or why they wanted her dead.

But my feet were already moving.

I kicked in the diner's back door and opened fire.

My first shot took down Rico's partner on the left. Clean head shot. He dropped like a stone.

The second gunman spun toward me, raising his weapon. My bullet caught him in the chest before he could pull the trigger.

Rico dove behind a trash can, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "Who the hell are you?"

I didn't answer. I just kept shooting.

The girl pressed herself against the wall, smart enough to stay down. But her eyes never left mine. Green eyes. Beautiful and scared and grateful all at once.

Rico tried to make a run for the street. I put two bullets in his back.

Silence fell over the alley except for the rain and the sound of my own breathing.

The girl stared at me like I was some kind of angel. Or demon. Hard to tell which.

"Get on," I said, pulling my bike up next to her.

She didn't ask questions. Smart girl. She just climbed on behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

We rode through the wet Chicago streets with sirens wailing behind us. Police would find the bodies soon. They'd ask questions nobody could answer.

I took her to one of my safe houses. An old warehouse in a part of town where cops didn't like to go. Where people minded their own business and forgot what they saw.

Inside, I turned on a single light and got my first good look at her face.

My heart stopped beating.

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Not model beautiful. Not the fake kind of pretty you saw in magazines. Real beautiful. The kind that reached inside your chest and grabbed hold of something you didn't know was there.

Her green eyes held secrets. Her mouth was soft but stubborn. She looked like she could kiss you or kill you, depending on her mood.

I had killed thirty-seven men in my life. I had seen violence that would give normal people nightmares. Nothing scared me anymore.

But this girl? She terrified me.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "You saved my life."

"Who are you?" I asked.

She hesitated. I could see her thinking, deciding how much truth to tell.

"Sarah," she said finally. "Sarah Miller."

Liar. People didn't send professional killers after college girls named Sarah Miller. But I didn't push. Everyone had secrets in my world. Especially beautiful girls who attracted bullets.

"Why did Rico Valdez want you dead?"

"I don't know who that is."

Another lie. But her hands were shaking, and there was real fear in those green eyes. Whatever her story was, she was in deep trouble.

"You can't go home," I told her. "Rico worked for people with long memories and deep pockets. They'll send more killers."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" she asked.

Good question. The smart thing would be to give her some money and send her far away. Let her become someone else's problem.

But when I looked at her face, smart went right out the window.

"Stay here tonight," I heard myself say. "We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

She nodded, relief flooding her features.

I showed her to a small room with a bed and told her to lock the door. She'd be safe here. My safe houses had better security than most banks.

But as I sat in the main room cleaning my guns, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Sarah Miller. Right. And I was the Pope.

Who was she really? Why had Rico mentioned her father? And why did saving her feel like the most important thing I'd ever done?

I'd built my life on control. Every move calculated. Every decision based on what was best for the family business.

But this girl had walked into my world and turned everything upside down in less than an hour.

My phone buzzed. Text message from an unknown number.

"We know you have her. Give her back, or we'll burn Chicago down to find her."

My blood turned cold. Whoever wanted Sarah Miller dead wasn't giving up. They'd come for her again. And next time, they'd bring an army.

I looked toward the room where she was sleeping. This beautiful mystery who had already changed everything.

What had I gotten myself into?

More importantly, what had I gotten her into?

Because one thing was certain: anybody who wanted to hurt her would have to go through me first.

And that was a war nobody was ready for.