Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Caterina
My heart is in my throat.
Actually in my throat.
One second, there was a fight at a blackjack table. A stupid casino-floor mess, the kind of thing security should have been able to handle without half the room even noticing.
The next, Adrian was at my side, barking at me to move, dragging me across the floor like the building was on fire, his body shoved between mine and the chaos, his hand clamped around my arm hard enough that I can already feel the bruise forming.
And the gun.
God.
His gun was out.
On the casino floor.
Around customers.
Around dealers and cocktail servers and God knows who else.
Someone could have gotten hurt.
The thought slams through me so hard I almost feel sick.
I stare at his back, broad shoulders tense beneath his jacket as he locks the door behind us, the other still holding the weapon low and ready, and my mind cannot settle on one version of reality long enough to make sense of any of it.
Was someone actually following us?
Did Adrian see something?
Or—
A worse thought hits me so fast it makes my stomach drop.
Oh God.
Maybe Adrian is crazy.
He’s retired military, right? Maybe he has PTSD or something.
This could be nothing, and he just pulled out a gun and dragged me across the room because of a fight.
The thought is so absurd I almost reject it the instant it forms, but I haven’t seen what he saw. I saw a fight. A fight on a casino floor, which is hardly unheard of. Then I saw him turn into something else entirely. Fast. hard. decisive. Armed.
I didn’t see any weapon. I didn’t see anyone come after us. I didn’t see anything except the two men fighting and then Adrian ripping me off the floor like I was about to be shot.
Maybe I missed it.
Maybe he didn’t.
Maybe—
The door shudders under a sudden, violent impact just as Adrian has wedged a bar cart under the handle.
I let out a shocked squeal before I can stop it and jump backward so hard my shoulders hit the wall.
Not maybe.
Not imagination.
Someone slams into the door again from the other side.
The heavy metal booms in the narrow corridor and reverberates straight through me. Adrian moves instantly, grabbing my arm again and turning me away from the door.
He starts moving, fast, gun up, body angled between me and whatever is coming through behind us.
“Go,” he snaps.
I go.
Not because I’ve suddenly become obedient, but because the door slams again behind us with enough force to rattle the cart, and whatever lingering thought I had that this might be a misunderstanding dies right there.
We move quickly down the corridor, my heels clipping against the floor as I struggle to keep up with his longer stride, my pulse still hammering so hard it feels like it might burst through my skin.
“My shoes,” I say, frantic. “Let me just—”
I kick them off and keep going.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“The stairs.”
Which are all the way at the end of the hall.
This section of the service corridor is a long, straight line of concrete walls, locked doors, and overhead fluorescent lights that make the space feel clinical and exposed.
There is nowhere to hide. Nothing to use as a barrier except for another cart of cleaning supplies that he shoves out of the way as we pass it.
Another crash from behind us.
This one sounds like the lock is finally giving way.
Adrian doesn’t look back.
“Get to the conference room across from your office and call Roberto,” he says, not slowing down. "No matter what. Don’t stop, even if I do. Do you understand?"
Panic claws at me.
"What do you mean? Where are you—"
"Caterina," he barks. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, I understand."
We reach the end of the hall, and I make the mistake of looking back as a crash echoes behind us.
The door flies open.
Three men spill into the corridor.
The two from the fight and a third I don't recognize.
They spot us immediately.
All three lift guns. Not just one. All three.
And everything I thought I knew about this being a misunderstanding evaporates in a flash of pure terror.
This is not a fight.
It's a hunt.
And I am the prey.
Adrian shoves me hard toward the stairwell door and pushes me through ahead of him. "Go!"
The door closes behind us with a heavy clang.
Shots echo behind us in the empty hall, deafening in the confined space.
I let out a sob, real and raw, and scramble up the stairs.
"Go, go, go," Adrian yells, and I do, my bare feet pounding against the cold concrete, my skirt tangling around my legs, my heart in my throat.
We are a flight up when the stairwell door below us flies open.
"Run," I scream, as if he doesn't already know.
We take the next flight two stairs at a time. My lungs are burning. My legs feel like they're on fire.
Another shot rings out, and a chunk of concrete explodes from the wall just inches from my head.
I scream again, a raw, terrified sound.
I hear a curse from Adrian, then a roar of a different kind—the sharp, deafening crack of his own weapon firing back.
I hear a shout from below. Then another.
Another shot from Adrian's weapon.
Silence.
I don't stop. I can't. I keep climbing, fueled by a fear so primal it eclipses everything else.
The door to our floor appears ahead of us. A small rectangle of light. Hope.
Get to the conference room. Call Roberto.
Even if Adrian stops.
The thought of it is so terrifying that I have to force myself to keep moving.
I fumble with the bar, my hands shaking so hard I can barely get a grip on it.
Before Adrian can open it, the door opens on its own, and Roberto stands there, gun drawn, expression cold and deadly.
"Down," he barks, and I don't hesitate. I hit the floor as shots ring out from the stairwell.
Roberto returns fire, the shots deafening in the small space.
Adrian shoves me toward the conference room, across from my office.
"Go," he orders, then turns and adds his fire to Roberto's.
I don't wait for a third command. I scramble across the hall on my hands and knees, the carpet rough against my palms, and throw myself against the conference room door.
It's locked.
I let out a sob of pure frustration and bang on the door with my fist.
"Open up!" I scream. "It's Caterina! Open the door!"
The lock clicks.
I throw myself inside and slam the door shut behind me, my back against the wood, gasping for breath, my body trembling so hard I can barely stand.
Olivia is standing in the middle of the room, her face pale, her phone in her hand.
"What's happening?" she asks, her voice tight with fear.
"They were in the casino," I gasp, my thoughts a chaotic mess of fear and adrenaline. "They shot at us. In the casino, Liv. On the floor."
I'm shaking so hard my teeth are chattering.
"Who?" she asks, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
"I don't know. The men from the fight. And another one."
I push myself away from the door and walk to Olivia on unsteady legs, my bare feet silent on the carpet.
"I have to call my father," I say, my mind finally starting to clear enough to think. "I have to—"
The door opens again, and Adrian and Roberto step inside, their guns still drawn.
Roberto immediately turns to me. "Are you hurt?"
I shake my head. "No. I don't think so."
Adrian is moving to the monitor across the room and turning it on.
"We need to move," he says, not looking at me. "Now."
Roberto stands at the door, gun still in his hand.
"They were professionals," he says, his voice low and grim. "This wasn't random."
"No," Adrian agrees. "It wasn't."
That's when I noticed the blood seeping through Adrian's shirt, dark and wet on his left side.
Panic arrows through me.
“Adrian—”
The word tears out of me before I can stop it.
He turns just enough for me to see it clearly now, the dark spread soaking through the fabric at his left side, and my stomach drops so hard it feels like the floor shifts under me.
“You’re hit.”
“I know,” he says, like I’ve pointed out a scheduling conflict.
The calm of it is so insane it almost makes me want to scream.
Roberto’s head snaps around, his expression going even colder. “How bad?”
Adrian presses one hand hard to his side, eyes still on the monitor for one more second before he finally steps back from it. “Through and through.”
“What do you mean? You were shot!” I cry out, already at his side and pulling his jacket back.
“Caterina, stop,” he says, not pushing me away, but not letting me move him either.
“No, you’re bleeding. We have to—”
“It’s not the priority right now.” Roberto’s voice is flat, final. “We have to move.”
“Are we safe here?” Olivia asks, her voice shaking.
“We've turned this conference room into a safe room,” Roberto says.
Adrian is still studying the monitor, which is displaying different angles of the casino.
"I don't see any more of them," he says, as if he hasn't been shot and isn't bleeding out. "It must have only been the three of them."
"What happened to them?" I ask quietly, my hands frozen uselessly now. "I think you hit one of them.
"Two of them," he says. "Roberto got the third."
"So they're just... dead in the stairwell?" Olivia asks.
"Yes," Adrian says.
I stare at him, then at Roberto, who doesn't even have the decency to look upset about this. He just stands there like a guard dog on a leash that was just cut.
"The police are probably on their way," I say. "There's no way no one heard all of that." I look at Adrian, who is still leaning against the wall, pale but composed. "And the hospital. We have to get you to a hospital."
"No hospital," he says.
"Adrian, you were shot."
"I'm aware."
"Then why—"
"Because a hospital means more police and means I have to stay the night, at the very least," he says, cutting me.
"Well, yeah. I feel like I have to keep reminding you that you were shot."
"Which means I'll be out of the picture for at least twelve hours. I'm not going to leave you unprotected."
I can't believe what I'm hearing.
"You think you're in any shape to protect anyone right now?"
"I've been in worse shape." He doesn't say any more than that. He just lets it hang there in the air between us. Roberto is staring at the monitor like Adrian isn't bleeding all over the conference room floor.
I look at them both, wide-eyed. Then at Olivia, who looks just as bewildered as I am.
"Have they lost their minds, or have we?" I ask her. "Because I'm starting to feel like I'm the only one in this room who is having a normal reaction to a person getting shot."
"I'm pretty sure I'm having a normal reaction," Olivia says, her eyes still wide.
"Then why aren't you saying anything?"
"Because despite all that, I still think the smart thing to do right now is listen to them. Since, you know, they're the ones with the guns and the plan."
"Fine," I say, turning back to Adrian. "What is your plan?"
"My plan, actually," Roberto says. "Giovanni and Nico are coming to take care of the... men in the stairwell. Antonio and I will take care of the cops. Everyone else is gathering at your father's place, and you and Adrian are heading there as well with Olivia."
Knowing I've been outgunned, literally, I snap, "Fine. But in the meantime, we are taking care of that bleeding, and I dare anyone to argue."