𝗙𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗲

52 - Beneath the Armor.

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."

- William Shakespeare

A sharp gasp tore from my throat, jagged and uncontrolled. Pain flared through my ribs like I'd been hit by a fucking train. Breathing had never been so excruciating. I blinked rapidly, trying to get my bearings, my vision swimming in and out of focus. Everything felt disjointed—the world, the noise, the panic—and yet, one face sharpened into view. Massimo.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice cold, clipped. The concern was probably there, could be buried beneath those layers of control and restraint.

I nodded, my hands pressing into the ground as I forced myself up. The pressure on my chest felt suffocating, but I knew why I was still breathing. The bulletproof vest Uncle Ben had made me wear before stepping out of the house. I thought it had been overkill, but if it hadn't been for his paranoia, I'd be dead by now.

Around me, police swarmed the area, the man who had shot me was being cuffed. The police had shot him, just enough to disarm, but not enough to put him down permanently. The sight of him being led away infuriated me, knowing that this fucker was out of my reach now, at least for the moment.

I scanned my surroundings, searching for familiar faces in the crowd. Santo and Nina. Where were they?

Massimo must've noticed, glancing towards the two black Cadillacs pulled up by the courthouse. "They're safe. In the car," he said.

I wasn't naive enough to think this was a random attack. No, this had Luigi's fucking fingerprints all over it. And my clients had been caught in my war. The apology felt like a knot in my throat, but it was necessary.

"I apologize, Massimo." I met his gaze, forcing enough sincerity into my voice for him to understand the weight behind the words. "You shouldn't have to deal with my problems. This was on me."

He studied me for a moment, his expression as stoic as always. "I understand," he finally said. But I could see the worry etched in the tension of his jaw, in the quick glance he cast toward the cars. I could tell he was thinking about Santo and Nina, and he had every right to be concerned.

My ribs still hurt like a motherfucker but I had to push the pain aside. I was trying to regain some semblance of control when two police officers approached me.

"Ma'am," one of them said, his voice a little too gentle for my liking, "are you sure you're okay? You took three shots."

I clenched my jaw, fighting the ache that spread with every breath. "I'm fine," I replied. "The vest did its job."

The other officer looked skeptical, his gaze dropping to my chest where I could feel the bruising already blooming beneath my clothes. "You should probably get checked out. Just to be safe."

"I don't need a hospital," I said, more forcefully this time. I was in no mood for coddling.

"Then we're going to need you to come down to the precinct with us. We need to get your statement for the investigation and have you file formal charges."