Nicoletta nodded solemnly and took the weapon from him. She slipped it under her jacket and went to stand up close to Emmanuelle. She didn’t realize it, but she was already, to the neighborhood, identifying herself as a member of the Ferraro family. No one would question it.

Giovanni waited until everyone was watching Emmanuelle and the nurse. He slipped into the front of the butcher shop through a dark shadow thrown by the spinning fan light overhead. He made his way silently through the crowd that had gathered there. The shadow took him almost to the front door. He stood just inside the tube, watching out the window, his gaze quartering the rooftops of the buildings across the street. He was careful not to move even as he watched for movement or anything that would give the shooter away.

Across from Masci’s, the deli where Francesca worked, up on the roof, he spotted the barrel of a rifle sticking out, just a few inches. The shooter was utterly still, was disciplined. Very disciplined. He kept his aim on the front door of the butcher shop. Not Masci’s, but Giordani’s. The shooter was in communication with the others. He knew the firefight was taking place in the alley. He also probably knew Nicoletta was inside with Lucia. If he was waiting for them, he would just have to be patient, wait for it all to be over, let everyone think they were safe and kill them as they left the butcher shop.

Giovanni studied the shadows outside. Two made it across the street, both shadows thrown from the position of the sun on the buildings. He would have to change shadows twice before he reached the rooftop. He couldn’t get out the door easily without someone leaving or coming in. He waited not so patiently. Inside the mouth of the tube, he couldn’t text his brothers or parents to see if they were alive. He mostly worried about Ricco. His brother had sounded the alarm, which meant he hadn’t been taken by surprise, but if this was about him, then he was most at risk.

Three men rushed up the sidewalk toward the butcher shop. He recognized Benito Petrov and his son, Tito, along with Tito’s nephew, Orlando. Giovanni waited, timing it just right. The moment Benito threw open the door, he stepped out of the tube into the next one. The pull was strong and fast. He ripped past the three Petrov men and out into the street. The switch came up fast and he hopped from one shadow to the next with ease, hoping the shooter was so focused on the butcher shop that he hadn’t seen the momentary flash of Giovanni’s body moving between shadows.

The shadow tore his body into pieces – or that’s what it felt like – as he went across the street and up the side of the building. He ran across the roof, staying low, studying the next building. It had a flat roof. He could chance jumping, or he could go down and back up the other side. Jumping would be faster. If he landed in the shadow, the only one he could spot thrown by a large industrial fan on the roof, the shooter wouldn’t see him even if he turned his head. That was a big “if.”

Giovanni took the chance. He leapt from the tube and landed just inside the other shadow. Taking a breath, he went still, gathering himself. The shooter looked back over his shoulder, his gaze moving around the roof, noting everything. Nothing was disturbed, not even the dust and dirt on the ground. Satisfied, the sniper turned back, once again putting his eye to the scope, his finger on the trigger, just waiting for the one shot he wanted.

Giovanni took a breath, let it out and emerged from the shadow right behind the sniper. He caught the man’s head in his hands, positioning his own body perfectly for the kill.

Saldi men were everywhere. Giuseppi had sent an army to protect his son. Val, Enrica and Taviano had already wiped out those in the alley, although Signora Moretti was insisting she’d killed one of them. Possibly two. When Taviano looked at the thickness of her glasses, he was certain Val and he were very lucky she hadn’t killed them.

Taviano had a bad, bad feeling in his gut. He’d learned never to ignore that warning, and the moment it was confirmed that all attackers were down, he turned and ran back down the alley to the entrance of Giordano’s. Emmanuelle hadn’t looked good. He hoped his radar wasn’t going off because of her. He heard footsteps running behind him, glanced over his shoulder as he yanked open the door and recognized Val Saldi. Great. Half the Saldis followed, including Val’s bodyguard and cousin, Dario.

Shaking his head, Taviano bent over Emmanuelle. “Got half the enemy right in this room, bella. Probably thanks to the prince’s fixation with you.” He whispered it to her, but he was really inspecting every inch of her. Her shoulder looked bad. Painful. She’d need an orthopedic surgeon, but the wound wasn’t life-threatening. He looked around, his uneasiness growing. “Where’s Giovanni?”

“Shooter across the street,” Emmanuelle whispered back, her voice hoarse. “On the roof.”

She hadn’t even gotten upset over him calling Val “prince,” or him saying their enemy, a family with a long-standing feud against them, had a fixation about her. She was hurting bad and that was more than worrisome.

He glanced to the front of the shop. He just couldn’t shake the feeling. “Has Ricco checked in?” He was already moving. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t stay in that room with the smell of his sister’s blood and the sight of her beautiful face twisted in pain. There were others in the front of the shop, his people, but he couldn’t stay there. He had to go. Be somewhere. The feeling was so urgent, he nearly caught a shadow right in front of everyone. At the last minute, he took off running again out the back door.

The moment he was alone, he caught the first shadow leading up over the roof. As he was hurtled along, he searched the buildings across the street he was heading for. He saw his brother coming up behind the sniper. Something else. Something he was missing. Then he saw it and his heart stopped. He jumped from one shadow to the next, desperate to get there before it was too late – already knowing it was. Heart in his throat, he gained the roof where his brother stalked the sniper.

“Shooter, shooter!” he shouted. “Move now!” He hurtled himself across the roof, yelling at Giovanni as he did so.

Giovanni had already applied the pressure necessary, snapping the neck even as he turned toward the sound of his brother’s voice and then dove. There was no cover, only the shadow, and it was several feet away. A bullet tore through his left thigh, dropping him to the rooftop just a foot from his destination. It hurt like a mother, and blood geysered up like a fountain.

Taviano reached out and yanked both of his brother’s arms, dragging him into the shadow as a second bullet tore through Giovanni’s calf. Taviano wrapped his arms around him and slid through the tube, gaining the necessary speed. The sniper above them, shooting from two buildings away, peppered the shadows as if he knew they were using them to escape.

Giovanni bit down hard to keep from screaming. He tried to apply pressure to his leg, but the magnetic effect of the tube was too strong to do anything but let it take him. Blood flew all around them, leaving a trail and coloring Taviano’s shirt red. It didn’t stop his brother; Taviano took them right to the front door of the butcher shop. He halted, shifted Giovanni to his shoulder, yanked the door open and rushed inside.