Their Queenpin (The Ridge MC #6)

Chapter 40 Graff

I loosened my grip on Rafe’s arm enough for him to shake me off, but I needed to stop his downward spiral. I recognized that look in his eyes—the one that meant he was slipping, falling into that dark place borne of everything he’d seen, everything he’d done.

I understood it better now. It was different for me, after I’d shot someone myself. I’d felt that darkness creeping in, trying to pull me under, like it was doing to Rafe now. That moment, the weight of what I’d done, how easy it had been.

It stayed with me.

But this was deeper for Rafe. The war had carved out a hole inside him, one too big to ever fill, no matter how much he tried to fight it.

I wasn’t sure how to pull him back.

But Adelina—she always knew. She had this way of reaching him, of pulling him out when no one else could. She was the one constant, the only person who cut through the noise in his head when the past came roaring back.

Adelina’s voice rang out behind me, barely audible as her toes brushed the floor. The knots had slipped enough that she wasn’t hanging anymore, but she was still restrained, and I needed to get her down.

I glanced back at her, saw the fear in her eyes—fear for us all.

“You okay?” I asked her quickly, my voice strained.

She nodded, but her face told a different story.

I turned back to the scene in front of me. Rafe was slipping again. His hand was trembling, gun still pressed to Massimo’s forehead. The psychopath that was the head of the Mafia family in the Southwest didn’t even flinch, didn’t care.

It seemed like he was watching a movie, one that he had scripted from the start.

Rafe wasn’t here anymore, lost in his head, the war coming back to him and maybe more than only the war for it to run that deep. Massimo’s words had gotten to him, the bastard raking through Rafe’s mind like a plow through a garden.

And Rafe was crumbling like the dirt.

I stepped up to Rafe, my brother, sliding my hand over his wrist. “You’re not there. You’re here, Rafe. Let it go. Come back to Adelina. To us.”

Rafe’s eyes darted over to meet mine. He was trying to pick up the crumbling pieces of himself, but the blank stare lingered. His knuckles were white on the gun, and I worried he might pull the trigger.

That might send him into the darkness permanently. To a place even Adelina couldn’t reach. Her eyes watched, pleading with me now not to let him slide away.

I yanked the gun out of his hand, hard. His breath caught, but he didn’t fight me. Not really. I shoved the gun into the waistband of my jeans, my pulse pounding in my ears. Rafe took a step back, staring at the floor, hands clenched into fists. He wasn’t with us yet, but he also wasn’t about to shoot Massimo.

The Don, though... he was gathering himself, getting ready to make his next move. Smirking at me with demon-like intensity that hit me like a sledgehammer.

Rafe was safely away, and I had no time to worry about him.

I acted more than thought, pouncing on Massimo.

I tackled him to the ground, the force of the impact sending us both sprawling. My hands drove into him, pressing him down.

My fists shook, his jacket balled into them as I pinned him to the cold floor. My breath scratched against my throat, my vision completely red. Red from the blood I’d spilled, red from the blood Sas had drawn from Miguel and Ghost, and the red-hot rage boiling inside me.

I reached for the gun again, my hand trembling as I pressed the barrel to Massimo’s head. He looked up at me, calm, like none of this mattered to him. Like I wasn’t holding his life in my hands.

“Go ahead,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “Do it. You’ll be no different from me, Graff.”

My grip tightened on the gun, my breath coming hard and fast. He wasn’t wrong. Hell, I was barely hanging on to myself these days.

I wanted to pull the trigger. To end him. But my hand was shaking too much, my thoughts racing, crashing into each other like a tidal wave. I barely?—

“Graff!” Adelina’s voice sliced into me.

I turned in time to see her pleading with Alessio.

“For Caterina, please!” she begged the enforcer, her voice cracking with desperation. “Let Sas go! Don’t help Massimo ruin her life too.”

Alessio’s jaw tightened. For a second, I thought he might ignore her. But something flickered in his eyes. Hesitation or a memory, maybe. He glanced at her, then at Sas, and without another word, he held up the straight razor and released Sas’s arm.

Sas surged forward, his breathing heavy, catching himself on his hands. Immediately, he looked up, wild eyes locking onto Massimo. He lurched to his feet and charged.

I stepped back, still holding the gun but barely able to keep it steady.

Sas came to a stop over the Mafia Don. Then, he extended his hand. Was Sas helping him? Helping this bastard who’d done so much damage.

My hand shook harder.

Massimo grasped onto Sas’s offered hand with a smile. “I knew you’d see the opportunity I’m offering.”

Sas’s amber eyes seemed distant in the orangish light from the bar incandescent bulb above his head—an image I committed to memory to capture on paper later. He set his gaze on Adelina, then Rafe, and finally me before he turned to face the Don.

“You see, Massimo,” Sas started as he circled the man. “Power is a dangerous thing. Necessary at times. Addictive at others.”

“Yes, son, you see my point. Can’t you taste the power you’ll have in New York?” Massimo’s smile stretched wide as he looked at us all with toxic superiority.

“It comes with a very, very high price,” Sas said, locking gazes with Adelina, who nodded.

They held a silent conversation I couldn’t follow.

Then, in one swift, brutal motion, Sas grasped Massimo by the chin and crown of his head and twisted.

A sickening crack filled the room.

Massimo dropped to the floor like a rag doll, his neck snapped clean.

Adelina gasped, but she didn’t break.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Rafe rested a hand on my shoulder and met my gaze. He’d come back.

My heart hammered in my chest, blood rushing in my ears. I stood there, frozen, my hand still gripping the gun that I hadn’t been able to use.

Sas stood over Massimo’s lifeless body, his breathing slowing as the tension left his body. He wiped his hands on his jeans, as if the act of snapping a man’s neck was nothing more than a routine task.

“I’ve never been your son. Never fucking will be.” Sas kicked his leg, then paid him no more attention.

Stepping over the now ex-Don, he came over to Rafe and me, placing a hand on each of our shoulders, but looking me dead in the eye.

“Killing’s not your duty, brother,” Sas said, his voice low, steady. “I’ll bear that burden on your behalf.”

My mind still reeled from everything that had happened. Massimo was dead. Just like that. And Sas... he was moving back to Ghost in the chair.

Ghost’s head dangled forward, and Sas latched his fingers into the bloody dark mess, pulling his head up to reveal dead eyes and a slack jaw. “Good.” Sas spat on him and turned away, already moving on, like it was any other day.

I swallowed hard, my hands shaking as I turned back to Adelina. She was still bound, still hanging by her wrists from the hook in the ceiling, her toes pressing against the floor. But she looked determined as she lifted her chin to the Don’s man.

“Alessio,” she said, “Get over here and cut me down.”