33. Chloe
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHLOE
NOW
Panic thrums through my veins as Damon gently pushes me toward the front of the house.
Growing up in a Mafia family, I’m no stranger to dangerous situations, but this is different.
I only got a glimpse of the men crossing the yard, but the masks make me think they aren’t Lombardi men.
Unless the brothers being here is a trap.
The thought slams into me, taking my breath away in the process.
Ronan and Ryker seemed genuinely relieved to see me, even in the compromising position they found me in.
But I wouldn’t put it past Damon to betray just about anyone to get his revenge.
I try to stop in my tracks, but the brothers move me forward despite my desperate attempts.
“For once in your life, can you just fucking do as you’re told?” Damon snaps.
“Get your hands off me!” I reply, but as soon as I twist out of his hold, Ronan blocks my path back to the kitchen.
“We’re just trying to keep you safe, Chloe,” he says calmly, eyes moving over the room for threats.
“You may be, but I wouldn’t trust your brother if he were the last person on the fucking planet.”
Damon rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “The feeling is mutual, Duchess. I already miss the years I thought you were dead.”
“Then you shouldn’t have taken me back to Miami, should you?” I hiss. “If you’d just left me in New York, none of this would have happened.”
“Guys,” Ronan says carefully, but I’m not done. This asshole deserves every bit of my anger.
“In fact, if you hadn’t assisted in torturing me all those years ago and had stuck up to your daddy, I never would have been in hiding.”
“Wait. He did what?” Ronan growls. “You tortured the mother of my goddamn child?”
“Hardly. She got a couple of cuts and bruises from some of the guys. I never laid a hand on her.”
The tension in his body eases slightly before his attention falls on the front window. “Fuck.”
I follow his line of sight, and my stomach dips when I notice two men dressed the same as the ones around the back approaching the house.
“We’re surrounded,” Ronan calls out to Kingston and Ryker.
“Panic room upstairs in Chloe’s room. Get her there now!” Kingston barks out the order, and I find myself rushed forward by the brothers.
“We’re not leaving them!” I thrash against them, but the second we hit the stairs, I’m over Damon’s shoulder.
“Never met anyone so intent on getting themself killed.”
“Really? Because you’re such an asshole, I’m certain you’ve made it your life mission to make everyone you meet want to kill you.”
He scoffs. “I forgot you could be funny when you’re not being annoying as fuck.”
“Will you two stop bickering for five seconds?” Ronan growls.
“She started it.”
“Are you five?” I shove against his back to look up at Ronan walking up the stairs backward, his gun trained on the front door.
“Which way to your room, Duchess?”
“To the left,” I huff.
As badly as I want to fight him, I’d rather not die today, and the sooner I’m safe, the easier it will be for Ryker and Kingston to neutralize the threat without being worried about me.
I may be pissed at one of them, but I’m well aware of how much he cares for me.
Ronan continues walking backward as Damon takes measured steps down the hallway, and when we reach the room I woke up in, I let him know.
He finally puts me on my feet, but none of us move.
“I don’t know where the panic room is,” I admit. “King didn’t even tell me there was one in here.”
“Fantastic,” Damon drawls sarcastically.
Ronan shoves the gun at Damon and moves to the closet, his eyes darting around at the rows of designer clothing.
He shakes himself off and starts pushing things down the railing, searching for the entrance to the panic room.
I’m frozen, torn between doing as I’m told and wanting to be helpful. It’s been so long since I’ve held a gun, only going to the shooting range with John and Camilla a few times over the years, but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike, especially when our lives are at risk.
Damon steps toward the open door and slowly peers out into the hallway before cursing.
“We have company,” he calls out to Ronan.
Fresh panic crashes over me as I remember how many times the three of us watched horror movies as kids, laughing at the stupidity of those who were running up the stairs and trapping themselves.
Isn’t that what we’ve done?
Turned ourselves into sitting ducks?
A series of gunshots sound from downstairs, and I rush to the window.
Blood seeps into the grass beside one of the wedding organizers, and guilt slides into my chest beside the panic.
If it weren’t for Kingston’s need to have me agree to marry him, they wouldn’t have been here today. If I’d just signed the marriage certificate, she would be alive right now.
A few yards away there’s someone else motionless on the lawn, but there’s no blood, giving me hope that they’re alive.
“Get away from the window,” Damon snaps.
“Whoever was out there is in the house,” I tell him, ignoring his snarky tone.
I’m starting to wonder if he knows how to not be an asshole.
“Get in the closet with Ronan,” he orders.
“I’m not leaving you out here to die,” I argue.
He throws me a smug smirk over his shoulder. “Would you be sad if I died, Duchess?”
I roll my eyes. “No, but Ronan would, and Salvatore wants me dead enough already without being responsible for his heir’s death.”
“Just get in the goddamn closet.”
“Give me a gun.”
“So you can shoot me?”
“No, so I can help you, you idiot.”
There’s something so familiar about bickering with him that eases the panic thrumming inside me, but when more gunshots ring through the house, it all comes crashing back.
“Get in the fucking closet, Chloe,” he grinds out, and for once I decide not to fight him.
I may have kept up with my training over the years, but I haven’t faced actual hand-to-hand combat since the drills our fathers used to put us through when we were teenagers.
Reaching the closet door, I find Ronan on his hands and knees at the back of the large space, shoving dresses aside.
Kingston really should have been more specific.
“Do you want me to check the bathroom?” I ask.
He glances over his shoulder, fear and determination battling in the depths of the green, but it’s the indecision that has me making the choice for the both of us.
Ronan has been faced with losing me too many times for him to choose anything that could lead to me being hurt. The problem is, both options are just as dangerous as the other.
I step back from the doorway, but I only make it a few steps before another gunshot fills the house, but this time it’s not downstairs.
It’s right outside the door.