Chapter 5
5
GIANNA
My so-called rescuer swears up a blue streak as he fights to keep control of the car, but I keep my death grip on the wheel, wrenching us off the road and straight towards the tree lined up at the side of the road.
If this asshole thinks he’s dragging me back to Uncle Aldo, he’s got another thing coming. I’ll take my chances with the oak over that hell any day.
“Stop it, Gianna! I’m on your side, dammit!” he yells, slamming the brakes. The car jerks to a violent stop, tires skidding against the wet road, before lurching just inches from the massive oak trunk. The sudden stop throws me forward, but his arm shoots out instinctively to catch me.
“Then tell me how the fucking hell you know my name!” I yell back, but I don’t wait. I’m already scrambling over him, trying to reach his door controls. I need to get out, need to run, need to?—
He stops me easily, holding me back with just one hand. “There’s a bounty on your head.”
That freezes me in place. My breath catches as I look up, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we are—we’re practically nose to nose, his warm breath fanning my face. The intimacy of our position hits like electricity, sending shivers down my spine. He misreads my reaction, grunting as he guides me back to my seat and tucks his jacket more securely around me.
“What do you mean? What bounty?” I ask, forcing myself to focus on his words rather than how stupidly good looking he is with rain-darkened hair. Though deep down, I already know what he’s talking about. I’ve suspected someone was hunting me. That constant prickle between my shoulder blades, the feeling of eyes watching, hot breath on my neck.
I always attributed my restlessness to the knowledge that Uncle Aldo wouldn’t just let me go, and so it drove me to keep moving, never staying longer than two weeks anywhere. But a bounty? Shit.
“Aldo has been searching for you for months, as you well know,” he starts, and I nod in response. “When he realized you were too smart for his men, he put a fifteen-million-dollar bounty on your head, leading several mercenaries on a search for you. But they couldn’t find you either.”
Jesus Mother-fucking Christ on a cracker.
Fifteen million? My scumbag uncle put a fifteen-million-dollar bounty on my head? I think I’m gonna be sick.
But wait… was that a note of admiration? Approval?
Sure enough, when I glance up at him, the pride is clear as day on his face. “You outsmarted and outwitted all those men. My beauty with brains.”
My heart jolts, cheeks heating at the possessive note in his voice. “I wasn’t so smart this time. That man found me after all.”
“Nah, that was pure luck, trust me, nothing else,” he answers, a slight smile lurking at the corners of his lips.
I narrow my eyes. As nice as the compliments are, they don’t change the facts. This guy, hot as he may be, is still a stranger. One who seems to know an awful lot about my situation. “And you? How do you know all this? Who are you?”
His hesitation chills my blood as realization dawns. He’s one of them. A mercenary chasing that fifteen million .
“When the mercenaries failed after two weeks, Aldo sought my services. I’m one of the best trackers in the States.”
I roll my eyes at his arrogance, but the fact that he actually found me proves he’s not just bragging. I go silent, letting the weight of it settle. “So, what now that you’ve found me? Taking me back to my uncle?” I straighten my spine, summoning what’s left of my courage. “I won’t go willingly.”
His smile deepens. “No. I’m not taking you back to Aldo. I changed my mind.”
Changed his mind? My breath hitches at the heat in his blue eyes as they roam my face. What does that mean for me? “Why?” I whisper.
“Tell me why you ran away first.”
Tell him about Carlo? About discovering I was being sold to a man famous for making his wives disappear? About finally realizing that no matter how much I twisted myself into knots, my family would never love me? That the scraps of kindness they gave me my first year living there were all they had to offer?
I think not.
Instead, I say, “Since you know so much, I’m sure you’re aware my uncle was in a dangerous association.” He only raises a brow, so I continue, “I couldn’t keep up with that lifestyle. I needed some independence for myself.”
He doesn’t buy it. I can see it in the way his jaw tenses, but he just restarts the car. “Buckle your seatbelt.”
I do as I’m told, staring out the window as the first hints of daylight creep across the sky. Now that I’m warm and relatively safe—at least for now—the exhaustion from the constant running and sleepless nights of the past few weeks suddenly hits me, almost paralyzing me.
A deep sigh escapes, followed closely by a wide yawn. My mind feels fuzzy around the edges, my eyelids becoming suffocatingly heavy.
Stay awake , I order myself. This guy worked for my uncle, and even though he claims to have changed his mind, he can easily change it again .
But something about his presence makes me feel safer than I have in months—maybe years. It’s ridiculous, dangerous even, but I can’t fight it. My eyes drift closed despite my internal warnings.
I must pass out, because the next thing I know, a ringtone has me jerking awake.
“Sorry about that,” my rescuer mutters, muting his phone.
I squint out the windshield to take in our surroundings, but my groggy brain struggles to process where we are. We’re in what looks like a dense forest, trees pressing so close their branches scrape against the car. The road—if it can even be called that—is overgrown with weeds, barely visible beneath the tangled greenery.
We take a left turn, and a pair of tall, thick gates appear, opening automatically as the car gets closer. Beyond them stretches another tree-lined drive, but here the wilderness feels more… taken care of. Unlike the wild mess outside.
“Where are we?” I ask through a yawn, sitting up and discreetly wiping my chin to check for drool.
“My house.”
While I stare at him speechlessly, he drives into the private property, the gates closing almost ominously behind us. He brought me to his house ? Why? I should be panicking right now, kick the door open and run back into the forest like some unhinged Disney princess. But I’m so fucking relaxed. Because I just woke up? What the hell is wrong with me? Where are my survival instincts?
What is it about this man that makes me feel so safe and warm inside? I literally just met him tonight—or rather, last night—for goodness’ sake. It can’t be that he looks safe. In fact, he looks the opposite of safe, with his tattoos covering what seems to be his entire body, ink snaking past his elbows and crawling up his neck to the sides of his skull—and multiple piercings adding to his rough edge. Oh yes, and let’s not forget the splatter of blood on his shirt from the man he murdered at close range .
Yet, I feel safe.
The road curves again, and as he leans into the turn, a house comes into view—a charming single-story home with sandy beach-white walls that seems to be made more of glass than brick. It’s both modern and timeless, with shrubs that are just a little overgrown, softening its clean, unexpected lines.
It’s very pretty. Quaint. And I fall in love with it almost instantly, but…
“Why are we here?” I ask, turning to face him again. And for the first time, it occurs to me that I don’t even know this man’s name.
“Where else would we be?” he says, like it’s obvious. “Manhattan, where your uncle is waiting for us? Nobody knows I own this place. Technically speaking, it doesn’t even exist. It’s the safest place you can be.”
He cuts the engine, and silence settles between us.
My heart melts traitorously as I watch him. Without thinking, I place my hand gently over his, my fingers brushing a small bloodstain—reminding me of what could have happened tonight if he hadn’t shown up when he did. How things could have gone so wrong. I’m still not sure what his intentions are, but for now, I’m grateful to him.
“Thank you.”
Something flickers in his icy blue eyes as he registers my touch. Then he glances up at me with so much heat it sends my heart into overdrive and makes my core tighten reflectively. He’s so fucking hot.
I gulp, quickly snatching my hand away and trying to change the subject. “What’s your name?”
Instead of answering, he gets out of the car, and I frown at him as he rounds the hood and opens the passenger door for me. I step out slowly, thinking he won’t say anything, but then he shuts the door behind me and crowds me against it. His now familiar scent—mixed with rain and the faint metallic tang of blood—surrounds me, turning my brain to mush.
“Michael,” he murmurs. Hell, even his voice is so damn sexy, the dark tendrils flirting with my mind.
I blink at him in confusion, and he smirks, tapping his index finger playfully under my chin as he steps back. “My name is Michael.”
Michael.
An old memory of my mom floats to the surface, her voice clear as day in my head.
Saint Michael the Archangel, defends us in battle. He’s our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. The prince of the heavenly host’s presence is heralded by storm and lightning, accompanied by deep, throbbing thunder. His eyes reflect the maelstrom of the Holy Ghost.
“Michael, as in the angel?” I blurt out, the bittersweet memory of Mom’s fierce belief in some greater power somehow echoing my experience last night, messing me up.
A strange feeling surrounds me as I watch him, and I swear the low-rising sun forms a sort of halo effect behind him, making his hair appear platinum.
The more I stare, the more I almost believe he actually is some kind of avenging angel sent to save me. From the moment I first saw him, there’s been something otherworldly about his beauty, something that defies explanation.
He chuckles darkly, running his long fingers through his hair, artfully mussing it and highlighting the ink decorating his skull. “More like the devil.”
He turns away from me, walking towards the thick glass doors of the house. My gaze drops down his back to the gun I know is hidden somewhere there, and a shiver runs through me as I remember the cold rage on his face when he killed my uncle’s man—and how nonchalantly he stuffed his body into the trunk of his car.
Hell, the blood still staining his clothes and hands doesn’t seem to bother him at all.
Yeah, he’s no angel. In fact, the angel Michael probably doesn’t even exist.
No, I know he doesn’t exist.
Where was the mighty Michael when my parents’ car slipped during that rainy night on the highway? Where was divine protection when that robber took everything we had and then took their lives too? Where was heaven’s warrior when I needed him most?
Angels don’t exist. Period.
I shake my head to clear these useless thoughts and start to follow him, my hand instinctively reaching for my necklace—only to feel bare skin. My heart lurches, and I stop walking as I frantically pat my neck.
It’s gone .
Then it hits me. The chain snapped during the scuffle with my attacker earlier. He had it in his grip.
I spin around, feet slapping the ground as I run towards the trunk of Michael’s car.
Please, please, let it be there. I can’t lose this too. I can’t.