Marked by the Mafia devil’s heir のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 37

The old naval shipyard was a cemetery for rusted iron and rotting wood.Marco killed the engine a hundred yards out from the main pier. The sudden lack of that persistent engine knock made my ears ring in the dark cabin. Outside the mud-splattered windshield, the midnight storm was back with a vengeance. Heavy sheets of rain slammed horizontally against the glass, driven by a violent wind howling off the industrial river channel.The white valley fog had turned into a dark, greasy mist that smelled like river mud, sulfur, and stagnant diesel oil."I see one set of headlights," Marco whispered, his heavy hand already resting flat against his jacket zipper. "Dock four. It’s a clean black sedan. Looks like Matteo’s personal vehicle.""He’s on time," Lorenzo murmured beside me.He didn't look at the headlights. He was busy sliding a fresh clip into the short-barrel rifle between his knees, the metallic clack of the iron mechanism sounding completely final in the cold dark of the truck. Hi

The river didn’t care that the De Luca empire was burning. It just churned beneath the hull of the launch boat, a black, oily expanse slick with diesel and choked by the storm.Marco slammed the throttle forward, and the twin fiberglass engines let out a violent, screaming whine that tore through the midnight air. The boat lurched, its bow slamming hard against the crest of a dark river wave, sending a sheet of freezing spray straight over the windshield. It hit my face like crushed glass, instantly washing away the fresh plaster dust and the bitter tang of gun smoke that had settled in my throat.I sat flat on the deck plates in the stern, my oversized grey sweatpants soaked through, plastering heavy and cold against my shins.Lorenzo was leaned back against the iron battery locker right beside me. He looked entirely hollowed out, the stark white surgical bandages across his chest now completely grey, dripping a sluggish, dark crimson onto the wet fiberglass between his boots. The fi

The rain picked up the second our boots hit the wet wooden planks of the canal boardwalk.It was coming down in freezing sheets again, washing the fresh blood from the Hook’s office floor off my leather boots. Lorenzo was leaning almost his entire massive weight against my left shoulder. His breathing was nothing but a jagged, hot rattle against my neck, and the fresh crimson stain on his chest was already soaking through the grey sweatpants I’d borrowed."Marco..." Lorenzo wheezed, his head sagging forward until his dark hair brushed my chin. "The dock... behind the salt rack.""I'm looking," I muttered, my teeth chattering as the wind sliced right through the torn front of my green t-shirt.My right hand was still buried in my waistband, my fingers white-knuckled around the checkered grip of the silver pistol. The metal was burning cold against my skin, but it was the only thing keeping my mind from completely fracturing. I wasn't a soldier. I was a girl who used to balance cafeteri

Freezing river water pooled around my hips, but the only thing I could actually feel was the crushing weight of Lorenzo’s body pinning me flat against the deck plates.Every single wave that slammed into the hull sent a violent jolt straight through the fiberglass. It should have hurt. It should have made me scramble to get out from beneath his massive frame. But his solid chest was pressing down so hard against mine that my heart had no choice but to sync up with the frantic, erratic rhythm hammering under his ribs."Get off me, De Luca," I muttered, my voice cracking as the biting wind whipped my wet hair across my lips. "The gates are behind us. You're going to break my ribs.""You aren't moving an inch, Alina," he growled right against my ear.His hand was tangled so deeply into the hair at the back of my head that the metal pins from the gala were digging straight into my scalp. It wasn't a gentle hold. It was a fierce, entirely territorial grip that locked my head in place. His