17. Mia
17
MIA
G etting ambushed in a bathroom stall hadn’t really been on my agenda for the day. Serves me right for thinking that a woman's bathroom in a club was some kind of sacred space.
I let my guard down for thirty seconds, and now I’m being half-wrestled, half-dragged out of the room and into the chaos of the dance floor.
My heels skid against the sticky floor as I thrash, but my captor’s grip is ironclad.
“Let go of me!” I shout, clawing at the stranger’s arm.
He doesn’t answer, his face shadowed by the erratic strobe lights.
It’s hard to get a read on him; there’s nothing about their dark clothes that identifies their affiliation, but I’m not an idiot, either. I don’t have many enemies that would accost me in a bathroom.
And if the Cartel are here…
… does that mean Carmen set me up?
The potential betrayal stings with bitter irony, and I try not to dwell on it. I’d betrayed her first, right? I had this coming.
But we’d been laughing together only moments ago. Had she known then? Was this whole night—the first night I’d actually enjoyed in so long—just one big manipulation? Was any of it real?
I wasn’t supposed to care for my client, but Carmen had molded herself so easily into the cracks of my heart.
I grit my teeth as my assailant’s grip tightens, jerking me toward a side exit as the crowd surges in the opposite direction.
I catch flashes of movement—a woman screaming, a man shoving past with wild eyes—but no one seems to notice me being hauled away.
My captor’s pace quickens, and I twist, desperate for any opening. Then I see him.
Leon.
My eyes lock on him, and my heart clenches. Leon is a whirlwind of motion, grappling with Amos Rubio on the floor. The Cartel kingpin is fighting like a cornered animal, vicious and unrelenting, but Leon is just about holding his own.
But others are closing in on them too, men in black who have yet to be intercepted by…fuck, is that the Guild? When did they get here?
“Stop struggling,” my attacker growls as I attempt to yank myself free again. My eyes are still trained on Leon, refusing to lose him in the chaos of the crowd.
Fights are breaking out all around, but no one from our side seems to have spotted the two dons rolling about on the floor.
The fight is too evenly matched. I watch in horror as Rubio’s knife slices too close to Leon’s throat.
He needs me. Now.
“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me,” I hiss, each word said clearly and with spite. My words are the only warning I give before I use the pressure on my arm to walk myself up his body and wrap my thighs around his neck.
The sudden extra body weight has him toppling to the floor, releasing his grip on me in order to break his fall.
I land on top of him, using his ribs to cushion the blow, before scrambling off into the crowd. Pulling my knife from its sheath, I charge at the figure that has finally managed to find his footing.
Amos Rubio stands tall, knife twirling expertly in his hand as he steps forward toward Leon’s prone body.
I don’t think, I just launch myself at the kingpin’s back and bury my knife in his shoulder.
Rubio hisses in pain and snatches his knife up in his non-dominant hand to try and swipe at me blindly. I drop low to avoid him, only for him to kick me in the chest and send me hurtling to the floor.
“ Mia.”
Leon is kneeling over in a second, his eyes flashing with both relief and fury.
“Seems like you need a hand,” I wheeze, ignoring the pain in my ribs.
Behind us, Amos is wrenching my knife from his shoulder with a cry of anguish.
“You need to get the hell out of here,” Leon growls as his arm slips around my waist to pull me to my feet.
A part of me sighs in relief at the feeling of being pulled into his chest. He’s solid and alive. So very alive.
But he needs to stay that way, and I can’t be sure he will unless I’m here, too. “Are you being serious right now? You almost just got yourself killed!”
“This isn’t a discussion!”
My knife flies through the space between us. It would have embedded itself in my cheek had Leon not pushed me back.
“Mia, get out of here!” Leon growls as he goes to meet Amos’ swing, ducking under it and slamming a fist into his face.
“Not a chance!” I yell back, dropping low to avoid the wild swing of his blade, trying to disarm him.
Amos leaps back before I can, wiping blood from his mouth. His eyes gleam with rage as he looks between us.
“So, it’s true,” he sneers, his words dripping with venom. “The little mercenary and the Italian don. How quaint.”
“Shut up and fight,” I snap.
Amos lunges first, his knife flashing in the strobe lights. I block his strike, twisting his wrist to disarm him, but he counters with another brutal punch to my ribs that sends me staggering.
Leon is on him instantly, as if we’d been training together for years, driving Amos back with a series of precise strikes. Blood spatters on the floor as Leon lands a blow to Amos’s jaw, but the Cartel kingpin doesn’t go down easily.
I recover quickly, circling around to flank Amos, watching as Leon grabs Amos’ injured arm, twisting it behind his back. I step in to try to snatch the knife from his hand once more.
Amos roars in pain as my fingers wrap around the handle, trying to use the distraction to pry the damn thing away.
It doesn’t occur to me that he might be faking.
It doesn’t occur to me until the second his grip miraculously tightens, and the knife is suddenly on a trajectory to my chest.
“NO!”
I’m shoved to the floor brutally, gasping at the bruising pain in my side. I spin frantically to where…
…to where Leon has taken a knife to his gut.
“LEON!”
He staggers back, grimacing in pain as Amos towers over him.
“Now you want to play the hero, Natali?” Rubio sneers at him.
I see red. I see flashes of sickly green. I see something glint on the floor, trampled under too many feet but close enough to reach.
Leon tries a weak swing, but Rubio deflects it easily.
“This is what happens to Teo Vitale’s lap dogs.”
My fingers reach and reach, then close. A familiar weight settles back into my hand.
I launch myself at Amos Rubio. We both go tumbling to the floor as I slam his arm and hand under my knee, sending his knife skittering across the floor. My other knee punches into his gut as he tries to grapple us into a more dominant position.
But I have him pinned. He has no weapon.
And he can’t move an inch without my knife skewering his neck.
I raise my knife, ready to finish the job, but a voice freezes me in place.
“Stop!”
I whip around to see Carmen standing a few feet away, her wide eyes locked on the scene before her. Her face is pale, her red dress torn and smeared with blood.
“Carmen,” I whisper.
Her gaze shifts from me to Leon, then to her father, pinned and bleeding on the floor. The realization dawns slowly, horror creeping across her features.
“Mia…” Her voice is a broken whisper.
My chest tightens, the knife trembling in my hand. Amos uses the distraction to throw me off with his remaining strength, and I let him, suddenly trapped by the woman’s distressed gaze.
“Carmen, it’s not what you think,” I say, crawling toward her, but she backs away, shaking her head.
“It’s exactly what I think,” her voice rising. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time. You’re with him. You’re with the Italians!”
“Cammy, please.”
“I trusted you!”
The word cuts deeper than I expect, and I falter, guilt crashing over me like a tidal wave.
“Carmen,” Amos’s voice weakly breaks through the moment. “Get out of here. Now.”
But she doesn’t move. Instead, her eyes stay locked on mine, betrayal etched into every line of her face.
For one terrible moment, I think she might attack. The thought certainly seems to cross her mind as she takes a purposeful step forward toward me.
I scramble to my feet, whipping my knife around defensively in alarm.
Her eyes widen as she retreats a small step.
Oh.
She hadn’t been trying to attack.
But now she knew that I would.
Something shatters in her expression before it goes icy cold. “You’re dead to me.” Carmen stares at me a moment longer before going to her father’s side.
Around us, people are still fighting, screaming, and yelling orders. I turn to Leon, where he’s half-propped himself up on the ground. I reach for him, and between us, we manage to get him to his feet.
“We need to go,” I say. “Can you walk?”
“Just go,” he hisses.
Leon’s weight sags heavily against me as I begin to drag him toward the exit. By the time I think of looking back over my shoulder, Carmen and Amos are nowhere to be found.
“I don’t think he hit anything important,” Leon grunts as we make it out into the fresh hair.
Blood soaks through his shirt, staining my hands as I clutch his side around the still-embedded knife anyway, trying to keep pressure on the wound. I try not to think about how labored his breathing is.
The chaos of the club fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of my heart and the echo of Carmen’s words.
You’re dead to me.
Ahead of us are a group of men hurriedly shoving people into cars and barking orders. Thankfully, they notice us quickly.
“What the hell happened to you two?” Teo shouts.
Dante leans heavily against Teo, his own face pale and streaked with blood. There’s another man a few steps behind, clutching his arm where a makeshift bandage is wrapped around his arm.
Leon stirs at my side. “Amos. He thought we were kidnapping Carmen. He had Mia.”
“But I got away,” I finish for him. “Teo, he needs medical attention.”
Before Teo can answer, Leon lets out an indignant, “I’m fine.”
The man behind Teo chucks me a set of car keys. “Mia, get him in the car and go.”
“Stay out of this, Max,” Leon barks.
“With all due respect, no,” Max counters firmly. “It’s my fault she got caught. Now, both of you need to get out of here.”
Leon grunts, trying to push himself upright. “I can fight,” he insists, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.
“Shut up,” I hiss. “You can barely stand.”
“Exactly. You’ve done enough tonight. We’re not discussing this,” Teo says with all the authority of a don.
I nod, pulling Leon toward the waiting car before he can attempt another protest. Max helps me get him into the passenger seat, his head lolling back as he lets out a ragged breath. His face is pale, his shirt soaked with crimson.
“You’re going to be fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I buckle him in.
“Mia,” he murmurs, his hand brushing mine. His touch is weak, but it’s enough to make my chest ache.
“Don’t talk,” I say, blinking back tears as I climb into the driver’s seat.
The car roars to life, and I floor the accelerator, tearing out onto the empty street. I keep one hand on the wheel and the other pressed against Leon’s side, praying the bleeding will slow.
“Hold on,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
“Mia,” he says again, his voice barely audible.
“I said don’t talk.”
“Carmen,” he mutters, and the sound of her name is like a dagger to my chest.
“I know,” I choke out, my throat burning with unshed tears. “I know.”
The image of her face flashes in my mind—those wide, betrayed eyes, the way her voice broke as she called me a traitor. My hands tighten on the wheel as I fight the urge to scream.
“I ruined everything,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“It wasn’t your fault. It was me. I gave you away.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. Now isn’t the time. “Shush now, okay? We can talk about it when you don’t have a knife in your gut.”
“Please…” Leon’s voice is terribly faint. I fly through a red light.
“Shush, Leon. Please.”
“Stay with me.”
The tears spill over.
“Yes. Yes. Anything.”