Shadow Reaper

Page 50

 
Francesca nodded, but there was suspicion in her eyes. She went around the bed to intercept him before he made it to the door, planting her body right in front of him. “Stefano, you know, as much as I’m your world, you’re mine. Don’t take risks. We’re going to be fine in here. Take Demetrio with you.”
 
She kept looking up at his face. Dio, he loved her.
 
“Please.”
 
He cupped the side of her face in his palm, his thumb sliding over her smooth skin, feeling love eating him alive. “For you, Francesca, but you do what Drago and Vittorio tell you.”
 
“I will.”
 
He heard his heartbeat, drumming for her. Needing her. Finding her rhythm. He glanced at his brother and then turned abruptly and stalked out of the room. Demetrio and Drago both came to attention as he closed the door. Cousins, they had taken up bodyguarding for the family, following their stint in the service. Both were quick, he’d trained with them several times to get a feel for their abilities. They were younger than Emilio and Enzo, the acknowledged leaders of their protection unit.
 
“I’ve got a bad feeling,” he told them. “Drago, you stay right here. If trouble comes, get inside the room and shoot anything coming through the door. You get me?”
 
Drago nodded. Stefano started to tell Demetrio to come with him, but something made him hesitate. He’d told Francesca he’d take Demetrio, but protecting Vittorio and Francesca were far more important to him.
 
“Gotta go with you, Stefano,” Demetrio said, seeing his hesitation. “Whatever your gut is saying, mine is saying the same thing. Get pissed. Don’t care. Just doing my job.”
 
His cousin was a pain in the ass and had been trained by Emilio. He was a mini-Emilio, and just to tweak him, Stefano felt like saying so. In a way, he wanted both guards staying in the hospital room because he wanted them protected as well. They were too damned young to die. He sighed. “Suit yourself. I’m just getting coffee.”
 
“Got some in my thermos,” Drago said. “Wouldn’t drink the poison they serve here for anything.”
 
“Thanks. I need to stretch my legs.” And get a feel for the floor they were on. He didn’t want any last-minute surprises.
 
He started down the hall toward the nurses’ station where a bank of vending machines rested against a long wall. Demetrio trailed after him. That was another thing that annoyed the holy hell out of him. Demetrio and Drago were family, his cousins. He liked them. The last thing he wanted was for either to die from a bullet intended for him. The least the man could do was walk with him, but if Stefano said anything to him, Demetrio would shrug his shoulders and just do what Emilio ordered him to do.
 
Since when did Emilio’s orders take precedence over his? He sighed. Always. Emilio was damned good at his job and he made certain that the others on the shadow rider detail were just as good.
 
He was thirty feet from the elevator when it dinged, the arrow lighting up above it. The doors slid open. Two doctors wearing scrubs and identifications stepped off, talking to each other. One turned his head to look at Stefano. Their eyes met. Stefano felt every cell in his body react. Recognition was there – not of whom but of what. This man was no doctor. He was a hitman – a very experienced one – and he was there for the Ferraros. Simultaneously, Stefano’s phone vibrated, the code from Ricco that alerted them to an impending attack.
 
Recognition that his subterfuge was blown was in the hitman’s eyes – Stefano knew what he was doing there. The attacker yanked the other man, a genuine doctor, in front of him as a shield, even as he drew his weapon and fired all in one smooth move.
 
Stefano took that split second to shove Demetrio away from him. Simultaneously, he somersaulted across the room for the shelter of a crash cart. Not much cover, but as he did so, he fired several bullets, skipping them off the floor to drive the assassin back, hopefully into Demetrio’s line of fire.
 
“Down, down. Get down,” he yelled to the nurses and orderlies who had frozen with shock, some in the line of fire.
 
Horror blossomed on the doctor’s face. His eyes were looking beyond Stefano. Stefano rolled, bringing up his Glock just as a second gunman emerged from the stairwell. He had to trust Demetrio to do his job. He turned to face the new threat, firing as he did so, driving him back behind the door.
 
Demetrio’s gun barked several times, and the first attacker answered. Stefano chose a shadow near the stairwell, did another somersault, sending his weapon skidding across the floor toward Demetrio as the pull of the tube took him inside. This was narrow and steep, greased lightning, flinging him toward the small crack beneath the door.
 
He hit the stairway so fast that he nearly flipped over the bannister. It hit him hard in the belly, doubling him in half. His head went down toward the floors below, the movement drawing the gunman’s attention. The attacker fired several rounds rapidly but the stairwell was lit by bright lights, allowing the stairs themselves to cast shadows.
 
Stefano flung himself toward one, leaping over the rail, aimed right at it. He hit feetfirst and slid on his knees before swinging around onto his butt. The hitman sprayed bullets through the shadows, up and down and across. Stefano went down to his belly, still moving fast, the sensations horrifying, as if his chest were flying apart and his legs and arms hadn’t caught up with him. He’d never been in a tube that moved so fast.
 
Bullets hit all around him, two kissed his arm and shoulder. He had to do something fast. The shadow curved up the wall behind the gunman. He followed it to the end, leapt out, tackling the man, knocking him down the stairs, kicking the gun from his hand as he did so.
 
He kicked, first the man’s unprotected head and then his throat, following as the body tumbled, not giving him a chance to recover. In a desperate attempt to save himself, the assassin slammed a knife into the stairs to stop his body from rolling farther down them.
 
He tried to jerk the blade from the metal to attack Stefano with it, but he was already on him, catching him in an arm lock around his head and applying steady pressure. The attacker drummed his heels into the stairs, trying to push himself up. He managed to get the blade free but was already beginning to lose consciousness. The moment he slumped, Stefano transferred his grip and wrenched, breaking the neck.
 
Dropping the body onto the stairs, he raced back up to the floor where he’d left Demetrio. As he shoved open the door, he saw the body of the gunman sprawled out with the same doctor that the attacker had used as a shield leaning over him. Demetrio flashed past him, running toward Vittorio’s room just as two shots rang out. Stefano took off after him.
 
For a moment Demetrio blocked his way, checking the room first before stepping aside. The body of a woman lay just inside the door to the hospital room, two gunshots to her head. A gun lay inches from her fingers. Stefano glanced down at her, his heart pounding as he stepped over her to peer into the room. Francesca sat next to Vittorio on the bed. Vittorio had his arm around her. His eyes met Stefano’s over her head.