Chapter 22
DEAN
“I’m so sorry,” Yasmine whispered, holding him.
Dean had told her all about Maeve and how he still kept tabs on her through Morry. She knew how much this was hurting him to have Maeve hauled back here after all this time.
“I feel like a failure, to all of you,” he whispered, quiet enough that the boys wouldn’t hear.
“Don’t say that. You’re not failing anyone, and we will get out of here, I can feel it.”
Dean kissed Yasmine’s forehead and soaked up her assurance. “We better go, wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” he said, letting the sarcasm bleed through.
Yasmine as confident and beautiful as ever, nodded. “Come on boys, it’s time.”
Ava, who had been rocking Andrés as she watched over the other three, walked over and settled Andrés with Yasmine. Dean picked up Isabella, and smiled as she patted his cheek and gave him a kiss.
“You’re the perfect little princess,” he murmured, smoothing out the pink dress with flowers all over it. “How did I get so lucky?
Isabella smiled wide, like she knew what he was saying.
Ava walked with the boys flanked by a handful of guards as they made their way to the dining hall. Dinner was sure to be as exciting as walking the plank.
The dining hall gleamed like a theater’s stage, chandeliers spilling golden light across polished wood and silver.
Every place setting had been laid with surgical precision.
Carlos had insisted on a feast. It was an embarrassment of riches and abundance.
It disgusted Dean that his father ate like pig at the trough while he treated all those that worked for him like shit.
Yasmine sat beside Dean holding Andrés, while Isabella was on Ava’s lap, the twins wedged between her and Ava.
They twins whispered excitedly about the food, but their little shoulders stayed tense, always aware of the guards with large guns in the corners.
Dean kept his hand near his fork, eyes drifting over the mirrored surfaces, calculating angles, counting guards whose loyalties he couldn’t be sure of.
Sitting to his right at the head of the table was Carlos, and across from him was Maeve. She glared at Carlos and Dean with a mask of fury, but her eyes softened when she looked at Yasmine or the children.
She’d been scrubbed, dressed, and paraded in wearing a white gown that shimmered unnaturally under the light.
Carlos had seated her like a prize, close enough that when he leaned, his shadow covered her plate.
Dean caught the tightening of her jaw each time Carlos’s fingers drummed the table.
She looked like she was going to pick up the fork and stab it through Carlos’s hand.
Dean would laugh his ass off if she did. Welcomed it even.
Carlos raised his glass. “To family,” he declared, voice booming.
“To destiny fulfilled the way it was always meant to be.” His grin was so wide he looked possessed.
“To my son, my blood, Mercurio, finally where he belongs. And to my beautiful Isabella, returned at last.” He tipped the glass toward Maeve as if presenting her to a crowd.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” she snarled, and the twins sucked in a breath and covered their mouths. She tore her glare away from Carlos and looked at Aiden and Tate. “Sorry.”
Carlos went to snatch Maeve’s hand, but she was faster and jerked away. “Careful, I bite.”
“Nothing wrong with a little teeth,” Carlos chuckled, continuing like nothing happened. “Here is to family.”
Dean clenched his jaw but lifted his drink. He let his expression stay cool but inside he was a coiled predator.
Maeve, didn’t even touch her glass. She stared at Dean, running her feather necklace through her hand, her lips pressed in a flat line. Carlos noticed, of course. He always noticed. His smile faltered, and though he said nothing, Dean knew it was only a matter of time.
Dean’s eyes ticked to the balcony again. One guard shifted wrong, like he was craning to look at something. His weight wasn’t on his heels, his stance too far forward. Fingers wrapped around the railing as he leaned against it.
Dean’s gut went cold, instinct telling him something was wrong.
And then the world cracked.
The shot punched through crystal and air, spraying shards across the table. Carlos jerked back, clutching his arm, wine spilling like blood across the linen.
“Get down!” Dean ordered. Maeve slid off her seat hitting the floor as Dean heaved the table over in one motion.
Dishes clattered and food spread all over the floor.
Yasmine and the kids got on their stomachs behind the overturned wood.
Ava covered Isabella, and Maeve crawled past Dean, shocking him as she covered the twins with her body.
He would never forget either of their bravery.
Chaos detonated all around him. Screams. Chairs scraped. Another shot tore into the plaster behind the chandelier.
“Down!” Dean roared at everyone still standing in shock, as a guard fell dead on the ground. “Stay down,” he whispered in Yasmine’s ear as she protected Andrés. She nodded and Dean pushed away from the shield toward the dead guard, grabbing the gun laying limp in his hand.
Guards returned fire blindly, rounds sparking against stone. Carlos bellowed curses, his voice more rage than pain as blood darkened his sleeve.
“Get me out! Médicos, ahora.” Carlos’s men swarmed him, dragging him toward the open door and the hallway beyond, his protests a mix of command and humiliation.
Dean didn’t look that way. He had no interest in Carlos’s pride bleeding on marble. His eyes scanned lines, shadows, muzzle flares. The shooter wasn’t a pro. His shots were rushed, angles sloppy. A professional would’ve got Carlos in the head and then disappeared into the night.
Dean slid to the edge of the overturned table, angling himself low and taking aim. Another crack split the air. The shot gouged the wood inches from his shoulder.
He spotted movement in the shadows. He took aim and fired back, forcing the shooter to run. Killing wasn’t his job here, and honestly anyone wanting to kill Carlos was a friend in some respects, but not when those bullets landed in the same room as his family…
It worked. The shooter had gotten up and ran.
“Ricco,” Dean barked. “He’s on the run, on the roof across the way.” Ricco gave the barest of nods and slipped toward the stairwell, hunting the shooter.
He pivoted again, firing at the shadow making sure to keep whoever it was moving further away. The shots stopped. Silence was only broken by the children’s sobs and the barked orders of men scattering through the compound.
Carlos’s voice echoed from the hall, ragged but still arrogant. “Find him! Flay him alive!” His fury bled into the walls.
Dean stayed low and went straight to Maeve. When she looked at him, he glanced around then then held out the gun for her to take. With a nod she hid it under her skirt. Ava still covered a crying Isabella, but they were safest that way until the coast was clear.
“Daddy,” Aiden and Tate cried.
“Stay down, until I say it is safe.” They nodded.
Dean crawled to Yasmine and Andrés who was crying. He brushed glass off Yasmine’s shoulder. His heart thudded hard enough to hurt.
“We’re okay,” he murmured, voice certain because they needed to feel his calm. “I’ve got you. Always.”
Yasmine’s eyes locked on his, reading everything he couldn’t say aloud.
Dean looked toward the door Carlos had vanished through, blood still streaking the marble. His father was wounded, humiliated, and paranoid. The compound had been breached.
The cracks were widening, and it wouldn’t be long now before this was all over.