26. Leo
26
LEO
S tella tenses against me, her head veering toward the elevator as it reaches our floor. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Frankie.” It takes every ounce of willpower in my being to pull away from her, but I don’t want to keep her trapped when another person is in the room. It’d make her look weak, and that isn’t something I desire. “I texted him earlier and asked him to bring the orchid here.”
Her deep brown eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms, studying me. “You just don’t want me near the play party.”
I smirk, rubbing the back of my neck. “That is true. Though I think you should be the one worried about joining.”
“Why? I could handle it. I walk three miles every morning. I’m in excellent shape.”
“Oh, I’m well acquainted with your shape , wife.” I toss her a wink, which she rolls her eyes at, pushing past me on her way to the elevator. I follow, letting my gaze drop, memorizing the outline of her glorious ass in that white lace dress. “However, the theme is hunter and prey. Are you sure that’s something you’d like to navigate with me around?”
She pauses, twisting around as I approach. Wicked amusement pulls at her features, drawing the corner of her mouth up. When she reaches for me, she grabs the tail of my tie with both hands, yanking me close—tightening the knot at my throat.
I’m getting whiplash from her ever-changing emotions, and I don’t even care. I suppose it’s the very least I deserve after reinserting myself into her life with no warning.
“Maybe you can be the prey,” she says, her voice low and unbelievably sexy.
My cock twitches. “You want to hunt me down?”
Her grip on the knot sharpens, interrupting my air supply a bit. “At this point, I think it’s only fair if I get to do some stalking as well.”
Across from us, the elevator chimes again, and the doors automatically slide open. No one comes out, though, and my eyebrows immediately draw inward. Stella makes a move to turn, but I grab her shoulders, directing her behind me.
“What’s going on?” she asks, hooking a finger through one of my belt loops.
“I’m not sure.” Moving forward, I slowly take in the empty car, scanning for a note or other sign of distress. “Frankie’s supposed to be bringing the?—”
My shoes cross over the threshold, and I instantly regret breaking the buttons last night. I can’t close the doors now. So, when I spot my right-hand man slumped unconscious in the elevator’s corner, beneath the electric panel, Stella follows me.
I try to shield her from the view, but she peers around, a small gasp escaping when she sees Frankie.
“Oh my God! What the hell happened?”
With my foot, I press against his leg, inspecting for any evidence of wounds or other trauma. I crouch, noting a distinct lack of blood surrounding him, and fit two fingers to his neck. “I don’t know, but I don’t like this. He’s alive, although his pulse is pretty weak.”
Getting back up, I fish my phone from my pants pocket and step back out of the elevator. When I dial Genevieve, she doesn’t answer, and an uneasy sensation settles deep in my gut.
“Cyanosis,” Stella says.
I whip around, glaring at where she’s now kneeling by Frankie’s side, squinting. “Get out of there, Stella. It isn’t safe.”
She scoffs. “Please, he’s unconscious. What’s he going to do?” With one hand, she gestures toward his face, drawing a circle in the air around his mouth. “Look at the blue ring around his lips and his fingers… He’s definitely experiencing methemoglobinemia.”
My grip on the phone tightens. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a condition that develops from changes in hemoglobin. Basically, his blood isn’t getting enough oxygen, and he probably passed out from that.” Pursing her lips, she glances over her shoulder at me. “Does he have any health conditions? Something he hasn’t treated maybe since you came to the auction?”
“No. As far as I’m aware, he’s completely healthy.” It wouldn’t do to keep him around otherwise. I suppose there’s a possibility that he’s been lying to me, but I have to believe for my own sanity that he wouldn’t jeopardize our entire operation like that.
“Okay, well…you’re probably not going to like this.” Stella cringes. “I’d say someone’s poisoned him.”
I blink at her, then look at his form again. The tips of his fingers are a light purple, the same color as the outside of his lips, and the color seems to be spreading.
Shit.
There are only a few people who could have been at this party and would be willing to risk the event organizers’ wrath by poisoning another attendee. I had Frankie extensively review the invite list before we arrived to ensure Ranolfo and Gino weren’t on it, but I suppose they could’ve taken someone else’s invitation and slipped in unnoticed.
After all, I did the same when I asked Valerie Van der Vorm to give her invite to Stella. The workers were aware, but the patrons had no clue who was really among them.
Which means we’re probably in deep fucking shit.
“Stella”—I keep my voice steady so as not to alarm her, but every fiber of my being is suddenly pulled tight, primed for action—“exit the elevator.”
She makes a face, getting up and walking to the doors. Only, she doesn’t come out. Instead, she just crosses her arms over her chest and narrows those beautiful brown eyes.
“This is never going to work if you just plan on ordering me around all the time,” she says. “I will not be some silent, docile puppet that you keep on retainer to warm your cock whenever you’re bored.”
“That is not my intention with you.” I redial Genevieve’s number, trying to rein in the anger boiling just under the surface of my skin when it once again goes to voicemail.
“Well, you’d better be prepared to?—”
A sudden whirring sound cuts off her sentence, and then there is a deafening mechanical click . Before either of us blinks, the elevator doors start to slide closed. I dive toward the entrance, and at the same time, she tries to wedge her body in the way to keep them open.
“ Stella, move !”
My arm extends, and for a split second, I consider yanking her through to me, but there isn’t enough time. The doors aren’t stopping, and she’s not close enough for me to grab. I shove her backward to keep her from getting caught and pull my arm out just before the doors shut.
Phone in hand, I move to slam the Open button on the panel, but it’s broken.
Fuck.
My chest heaves, and I brace my arms against the doors. Anxiety races through my limbs, constricting airflow as I choke out, “Stella? Can you hear me?”
It takes a moment for her to respond, but finally her voice comes through. “Yes.”
“Are you okay? We need to get you out of there, but first, I have to know you’re okay.”
“A little winded from where you pushed me, but otherwise…”
My heart drums against my rib cage.
“Otherwise?”
“I don’t love that I’m in here. I told you this was a death trap waiting to happen.”
Exhaling roughly, I lower my head. “I know, baby. I know.”
More silence. Then: “Did you mean what you said about not wanting me to be your puppet?”
“What?”
“Just answer the question, Leo.”
Christ, I love the sound of my name when she says it. Almost as if it’s got some real meaning, like she enjoys the way it feels coming from her lips.
She continues. “When you came to this auction, when you stole the orchid from me…what were you hoping to get from all of it?”
“Why are you asking me this right now?” I push off the doors, balling my hands into fists as I refocus on a way to get her out. “Quit distracting me?—”
“I’m trying to distract myself , because I think there’s a good chance I’ll die in here if you can’t open the doors soon.”
My heart ceases beating entirely. I stare at the metal, acute horror working its way up my sternum.
“When you pushed me back, I turned my head, and I guess…my hair got caught.”
I glance down as she speaks, noting a handful of her hair sticking out from the seam of the doors. Blinking, I use my fingers to try and push it through, but the limp strands don’t budge.
“Pull yourself free,” I snap, the tightening in my chest growing to unbearable heights.
“I can’t .” She pauses, and the soft sounds of her straining trickle through our barrier, enraging me further. “There’s too much in there. I can’t get a good grip on it.”
Shit.
Pocketing my phone, I try to slip my fingers into the cracks, wondering if I can force them apart if I get enough of my hand in between. But I can’t. My fingers are too large, and the seam is too narrow.
Nausea rolls in my stomach like an angry ocean wave. I’ve never felt so entirely helpless.
Still, I can’t let myself dwell on the fear. I need to get her out of there, especially if Ranolfo or Gino are the reason Frankie was poisoned.
I draw a deep breath and step away from the elevator. “Can you reach Frankie?”
“Um…yes. With my foot.”
“Good. There should be a utility knife in his front right pocket. Try to get it.”
There’s some distant shuffling, and then her voice returns. “Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Now cut it.”
“Cut my hair?”
“Do you see a better solution right now?”
“But…” I hear her sigh, and it sounds like she’s pouting. “You love my hair.”
My fascination with those dark brown locks is something that could undoubtedly be studied, though time isn’t exactly on our side at the moment. If someone came into the tower and decided to take the elevator up, the shaft would receive their call and start its descent, scalping her instantly.
I open my mouth and immediately close it as a confession rolls from the tip of my tongue. Now is not the time.
“It will grow back. Cut yourself free, and I’ll meet you at the bottom.”
“You’re going to leave me?” Panic laces her words, and I recall the way she trembled against me when we came up here last night.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do for her standing outside the door. “Baby, if you want out of there, I have to go down. This panel is broken.”
“I knew your ridiculous ways would be my downfall.” She laughs, but the sound is forced, and my heart seizes. “Fine, hurry up. Give me five minutes once you’ve reached the bottom to make sure I’m out.”
Goddamn, I don’t want to leave her here, but there isn’t anything I can do to help. Every muscle in my body screams in agony as I jog to the bathroom, pausing to grab the Glock hidden beneath the sink, and push through to the door on the far wall. The stairwell is narrow and damp and, like the elevator, housed in the only solid wall of the tower, so a person’s comings and goings are entirely obscured from the outside world.
It’s probably the perfect place to carry out an attack, and I’m pissed as fuck that I didn’t consider that when I brought her here. If my ridiculous ways are supposed to be her downfall, I don’t want to imagine the bleak future awaiting me.
When I reach the bottom, my foot slips on the last step, and my hand lashes out, grabbing hold of the railing before I lose my balance. Gritting my teeth, I glance at the glass doors down the hall, trying to get a sense for any sort of tampering.
The alcove is totally empty and looks the same as it did last night. If not for seeing Frankie with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have thought he’d made it to the building yet.
Suspicious.
There aren’t even footprints on the ground, which is odd, considering that the outside looks freshly drizzled upon. As I head toward the elevator, a loud creaking fills the air, and then a snapping noise echoes down the tower.
I glance at the panel of buttons and notice they’re all blinking. As if in some sort of error.
For a moment, I wonder if my breaking the one upstairs could have caused problems, but then Frankie wouldn’t have been able to come up at all.
An earsplitting boom explodes around me like the shattering of metal and glass, and with it, my resolve.
With my hands shaking and mind racing, I whirl around and sprint back to the stairs. I’m not sure what exactly I think I can do, but my nerves are calling the shots, and my brain seems to short-circuit as it realizes that the elevator is fully malfunctioning and likely plummeting.
Just as I reach the steps, a brutal force impacts the side of my face, and my vision goes blank.
Liquid drips down my forehead directly into my eyes, and opening them becomes impossible.
My fingers curl around the handle of the gun, and I move forward, trying to get my back to a wall, but another blow knocks me down. I fall to my knees as my jaw cracks, lifting my free arm to shield myself from another attack.
“ Careful , Ranolfo.” My uncle’s voice drifts close, chilling my spine. Despite everything, I suppose there was something deep within me that hoped it wouldn’t be him. “We don’t want to make a mess.”
Ranolfo’s laugh whizzes past my ear, and pain explodes in my stomach and groin when the heel of his foot drives into my abdomen. Coughing, I buckle, hunching over my knees as stars dance behind my eyes.
“After what he did to me and his own father? I don’t give a shit if we smear his remains all over this fucking property.”
“We don’t want to make a scene,” Gino says. “It’s bad etiquette to ruin a party you weren’t invited to.”
“If this cazzo had cooperated in the first place, we wouldn’t have had to come to this godforsaken state to begin with.”
Another kick to my gut, and blood floods my mouth, splattering past my clenched teeth.
“Now, where’s that slut wife of yours? I was looking forward to stealing her from Candreva last night, but this will be good, too. Even if I suspect you broke her in for the men already, I’m sure she’ll have fun getting all her holes plugged before we slit her throat.”
“Pity it doesn’t seem he’ll be able to watch,” Gino notes, his voice next to my ear. “The boy can’t even open his eyes.”
“Bet he’ll be able to hear her scream, though.”
Another crash splits the air, crunching and splintering sounds reverberating off the walls. My body aches, agony rippling up to my temples and down my sternum, and still my eyes remain shut.
I’m going to die here, and then they’re going to grab Stella. If the elevator hasn’t fallen and killed her, that is.
That’s my first thought.
The second is that I’m a coward. If I’d just told Stella everything about why I was sending her away back then or why I showed up now of all times, maybe…maybe I could’ve avoided this.
We could’ve left the auction and run away from the people after us. Instead, I wanted immediate gratification, and now, I’ve cost both of us our lives.
Coglione. My father’s voice peeks up from where I’ve shoved it deep in the recesses of my mind, and I think he was right.
I’m not fit to be a figurehead, and I’m certainly not fit to be a husband. Not Stella’s anyway.
Fuck that. My heart wars with my brain, telling it to shut the fuck up.
If I’m not worthy of Stella, then who the hell is?
Who else would have sent her away to make sure she got to live her life? I only came here in the hopes of joining her in some way—not to make her serve at my side as some puppet.
What were you hoping to get from all of it?
Her. That’s all I ever wanted. Why the hell didn’t I tell her that?
When I was a boy, listening to her in church and watching her every time after that.
When money was what sent me to Saint Paul’s, and I had no intention at first of leaving without it, and then without her.
When I showed up after seven years of watching her accomplish her dreams from afar without me, falling head over heels with each secret smile of satisfaction.
All I’ve ever wanted was her.
And as I raise the gun, the sound of footsteps echoing around me very distantly, that desire is what I latch on to. Even if it’s futile in the end, I’ll go out loving her.