Chapter 39 – Serena
Tension reigned supreme in the dining room. My throat was raw from yelling. Sandro’s face was red from shouting. Penelope watched her plate, her sunny disposition subdued.
This—this clustered mess—was unacceptable.
I slapped my fork against the table and shoved the fresh set of papers onto the ground.
Penelope jumped, and Sandro sighed. Penny might have destroyed the first set of documents, but Sandro wasn’t an underworld king on good looks alone.
He’d figured it out quickly. Now hell was here and demanded payment.
“It boils down to this: You don’t think I have a place in the famiglia.” Triumph rang through my words.
Those black eyes glowered at me. “You don’t think I would give you a seat at the fucking table, sorellina?”
“No, I don’t,” I pushed back, fingers turning white as they pressed against the table.
“I made her my right hand!” Sandro stabbed his finger in the air, pointing at his wife.
“If you showed even a drop of inclination to serve the famiglia, I would have rejoiced! You’ve been aimless, spoilt, and despondent for twenty-some years, Serena.
I would have welcomed the desire to make something of yourself! ”
“Sandro,” Penelope cautioned, voice stern.
Wrath sizzled under my veins. “I found my place, my calling, Sandro. And now you’ve taken me prisoner.”
“For your own good!” he spat. “You went on a vacation and wound up kidnapped! Clearly, you can’t be trusted—”
“Enough!” Penelope banged her fist against the table.
Piccolo barked, fangs bared. Her faithful sidekick dared us to turn our anger against the queen.
“I won’t have this hostility in our home,” Penelope snapped. “It would serve you both right to lock you in a room and let you starve for a few days until you make up.”
“She—”
“He—”
“I said enough.” Penelope’s words were pure ice. “Serena, your brother was worried sick. He barely slept these last weeks. And Alessio...you need to let her go, my love.”
The first calming breath I’d taken since coming north filled my lungs. As consigliere, Penelope’s job was to advise the don. Lucky for me, he happened to listen to her ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time. I mentally crossed my fingers this wasn’t the point-one time he didn’t.
In the silence that ensued, Sandro’s phone rang. He flicked a glance at the screen and cursed.
“Pronto.” He listened to whatever was said on the other end of the line.
Then something happened that I’d never seen before. My big brother, the mighty and terrible don, blanched. The color drained from his face. His hands freaking trembled. And his gaze darted about, glancing at the exits and windows as if a poltergeist haunted the shadows.
“Quick, under the table,” he ordered, waving his hand—which had his pistol in it.
Piccolo moved close to Penelope, growling low in his chest.
“Alessio, what’s happened—”
“I said take cover!” my brother shouted as a quick pop-pop broke the glass.
I shrieked and dove. Unlike the first gunfights I experienced, this was horrific in the extreme. As I hid shivering under the table, I realized why.
Markos wasn’t here.
My brother was a capable fighter, but his wife came first, just as duty came first to his soldiers.
I was alone.
In a gunfight.
Screw this.
I scuttled from under the table, duck-walking to the kitchen. Shepherd hid weapons in there, and sure as shit, there was a shotgun in the false side of the pantry.
Aiming around the aperture, I took a deep breath. First rule of gunfights: never show fear. Second rule: shoot straight.
Or so I assumed.
The kitchen was empty, but the sounds of gunfire echoed from the dining room. Glass shattering. Furniture splintering. Piccolo’s ferocious barking mingled with my brother's bellowed commands.
I pumped the shotgun and moved toward the chaos.
A man in black tactical gear stepped into my path. His eyes widened behind his balaclava—clearly not expecting to find me armed.
I pulled the trigger.
The recoil slammed into my shoulder, but the intruder went down. My ears rang from the blast. In the dining room, more men poured through the broken windows, their automatic weapons spraying bullets across the room.
Bracing myself for the kick-back, I aimed again. My finger curled around the trigger. The shotgun boomed.
Again, and again.
“Serena, get back!” Sandro roared when he spotted me.
I ignored him. Fear pulsed through me, but something else did too—a strange clarity. Markos would be proud. Hell! I was proud. My hands were steady on the shotgun. When the magazine clicked empty, however, I bit my lip.
What now?
I didn’t know where a spare was or where to look for bullets to reload this one.
“Clear, signore!”
Sandro wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. With controlled commands, the don directed his soldiers.
I slumped against the doorframe.
“S!” Penelope scrambled over the chaos to me. “That was incredible, sis!”
My smile was half-hearted. There was a sliver of shock mixing with disbelief at the surreal turn of events.
Never had an enemy attacked this house. Sure, Sandro had been in many gunfights.
I heard him discuss them with his enforcer and other men, but to have assailants break into the dining room? During dinner? This was unheard of.
Sandro was equally confused. He and a guard pushed on the bodies, trying to find one alive to interrogate.
On shaky legs, I retreated into the sanctuary of the kitchen.
“You were amazing,” Penelope said, coming up behind me and wrapping her arm around my shoulder.
I managed a small smile, appreciating her support despite the churning in my stomach. The shotgun felt heavier now, and I carefully placed it on the kitchen counter.
“Thanks,” I whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”
My hands were starting to shake, the adrenaline wearing off. I gripped the edge of the counter to steady myself. The kitchen, with its polished marble and gleaming appliances, seemed surreal after what had just happened. Blood splatters marked the doorway where I’d stood.
“You did what you had to,” Penelope said, her voice gentle but firm. “That’s what this family does.”
This family. The words echoed in my head. For years, I’d never known what it meant to be part of the famiglia, yet here I was, defending it like I belonged.
But I didn’t. My heart held a different loyalty.
Sandro appeared in the doorway, his expression unnerving. “Care to explain why you disobeyed a direct order, sorellina?”
“Spare me the lecture,” I muttered. It was all I could do to breathe right now. There was no energy to get into it with my brother.
“Oh, we’re going to talk about it. You’re not getting out of it that easily,” he warned.
Done with him, I summoned enough strength to walk away. I pushed out the opposite door, intending to go straight to my room.
Ice flooded my veins, and my heart stopped working.
The door clattered against the wall as the don stalked after me.
But whatever he was going to say was silenced by the scene in front of us.
Dante pointed a gun across the foyer at a man covered from head to toe in a black tactical uniform.
The man leaned against the wall, a bored look on his face, body language screaming nonchalance.
It took a split second for recognition to set in, and then I ran.
He pushed off the wall, arms outstretched. A noise, part sob, part cry, fell from my lips.
Two hands snatched me, tugging me violently back.
“Let me go!” I screamed and gave my brother a vicious kick.
Sandro grunted as the impact bruised his shin.
“Get your hands off my wife, don.” The words were filled with a dark violence.
I struggled and bucked, but my brother held me tight. With his focus on me, the don wasn’t able to catch his bride. Penelope gracefully skirted us, moving into the middle of the room.
“Markos, is it?” Her voice was the texture of sunlight to the ear. “I’m the mistress of this house, and while I would normally welcome any guest of my sister’s, I’m afraid your arrival is at the worst possible time.”
“They attacked us,” Dante snarled.
“Is this how you treat your in-laws, Greek?” Sandro snarled behind me.
I elbowed him. “The attack wasn’t him, stronzo!”
“Quiet,” my brother snapped. “Penelope! Get the hell away from him.”
She didn’t listen.
Piccolo let out a warning growl, looking between my husband, brother, and the enforcer.
“My wife is correct. The enemy followed her here, and if it wasn’t for me shooting them, they would have invaded your home and caught you with your pants around your legs,” Markos scoffed. “Your guards had no idea they were on the premises, Italian.”
“I think you boys should lower your weapons, and we have a little chat,” Penelope said evenly. “Hear each other out.”
Sandro moved to catch her. I took advantage of his distracted movements to break free.
I ran.
Markos caught me easily, wrapping me tightly in his arms. His warmth enveloped me. The scent of sun and brine filled my nose. But when he tried to angle his body, protecting me from the madness, I jerked back.
“Shoot him, and I’ll cut your dick off with scissors and make you eat it before you bleed out,” I spat at Dante.
Penelope let out an appreciative whistle. Sandro tried to tug her away, but she stayed rooted to the spot in the room, taking her position as mediator seriously. Piccolo had the nerve to bark at the don, who shot the dog an annoyed look.
“You came for me,” I breathed, lacing my fingers through Markos’s hand.
That blue gaze, the color of the ocean waves, dropped to mine. “Of course, prinkípissa.”
With my free hand, I traced his abdomen. I couldn’t feel the most recent wound under the tactical vest. But the smallest of winces told me it was there, raw and tender.
“I’m taking my wife, since you aren’t capable of protecting your sister, don,” Markos said, but he didn’t take his terrible gaze off me.
“It’s your fault they attacked!” Sandro countered.
“Yours, actually.” Markos swept a hand over my hair, brushing a lock behind my ear. “You took something that didn’t belong to you and invited our enemy to take a shot at her.”
“Luckily, your wife knows how to shoot back,” Penelope said brightly.
Markos cut her a look, then arched a brow down at me. “I know that.”
I nodded, feeling my dinner threaten to make a reappearance.
“She took down seven of them!” Penelope beamed.
She was a cheerleader in high school, and it never left her. Right now, I was grateful for her pep. It kept me from retching on the floor.
“You have a lot of explaining to do, Greek,” Sandro menaced.
“No, I don’t.” Markos laughed, the sound free of mirth and filled with disdain. “I take Serena, and this stops. You keep her? And they’ll attack again. Judging by your piss poor defenses, they’ll do better next time.”
“Did you find out who they are?” I breathed, speaking only for the pirate’s ears.
He gave me a small nod.
Hope filled my chest. That was good! If we knew what we were up against, then we could stop them.
“Like it or not, we’re bound as a family now,” I interrupted my brother’s tirade.
“The divorce papers are drafted—again. This charade is over.” Sandro flicked a glance to Dante.
I caught the motion. “No!” I yelled, making myself as large as possible, covering Markos and making myself the target. “Don’t you dare, minstrel.”
“Tell them,” Penelope insisted, panic breaking her voice.
I tore my gaze from Dante to look at my sister-in-law. The sunny disposition was gone, and terror etched lines in her face.
“Tell them?” I breathed.
“Who do you think Shepherd sent to the pharmacy?” Penny insisted.
It didn’t surprise me that she knew. The little consigliere was clever like that—which was one of the things my brother adored about her.
Taking a deep breath, I lowered my hands to my stomach. “I will forgive you forcing those papers on me, Sandro. But only if you let me walk away.”
“Not happening.”
“Oh, but it is,” I snapped. “I said we were bound as family. I didn’t mean the marriage—which should have been enough to make you respect my decision.
Since it isn’t, maybe this will change your mind.
You’re going to be an uncle, and if you want a role as godfather, you’d better not shoot my baby’s father. ”
“I’m going to be an auntie,” Penelope whooped and gave Sandro’s arm a tug. But there was no missing the beat of fear that trickled through her features. “Alessio, stop this insanity. Let’s make up. I’m not spilling any of my niece or nephew’s family’s blood tonight—or any night.”
“Is this true?” Sandro’s voice was cold.
But it was the gentle touch on my hips, urging me to turn that I listened to. Biting my lip, I spun into the force of nature behind me. I focused on his chest, the part of him that was eye-level.
“I never wanted to sign the papers,” I breathed.
“I know, prinkípissa.” Markos gently cupped my chin, forcing it to tip up. “A baby, Serena?”
I nodded, worrying my lip to the point of pain.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
I squeezed my eyes closed, battling the fear of his rejection. Our marriage wasn’t exactly a thing of beauty. There had been too many forced moves and vengeful countermoves. But out of it, something beautiful happened.
I fell for the monster.
And now, his baby was growing inside me.
Trusting those feelings, I opened my eyes.
His blue ones sparkled down at me. Moisture glistened there, but knowing the ruthless pirate, he wouldn’t let it fall. Not here, with my family to witness.
“Are you happy?” I choked out.
“So happy,” he whispered, and his mouth covered mine a second later.
Any remaining drop of fear fizzled away.
I leaned in closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him, and pressed my lips firmly against his.
It was a gentle, tender kiss, full of unspoken emotions and promises.
As the kiss deepened, I felt a flutter in my chest, a mix of excitement and comfort that seemed to linger in the air around us.
The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in that moment.
Until a gunshot broke the spell.