SIXTY-FIVE
Harry
Rage consumes every part of me until I can feel it scorching my skin. Once I get my hands on the bane of my existence, I’ll wring them around that pretty little neck of hers. She won’t expect me to be stupid enough to go charging in after her – so that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
After landing on the ground, I advise the getaway truck to stand down and wait in the backstreets while I collect the package. I’m too angry to even think of a foolproof plan, so I storm the mansion steps as if I own the gaff, throw my suit jacket to the ground, and push the shirt up to my elbows to ready myself for business. Strangely, though, besides the two people guarding the front of the property, whose throats I slit as I barge through, there’s no one around.
Italians and their fucking fortresses. You’d think they’d have tighter security.
Then it hits me how serious Gigi’s presence must be to these assholes.
Surely, they’re not …?
I shake my head, refusing to jump to conclusions.
Pushing my hands into my front pockets, I stroll leisurely inside. The hallway plays host to no less than six guards circling around two people in the centre. I recognise one of them instantly as Gigi. The guards and their heavy weaponry turn in my direction as I step closer.
“Hello, men,” I say in greeting .
Gigi’s head whips towards me at the noise, her brunette strands catching against her lips. She throws her head back in annoyance, staring up at the ceiling on my approach.
I smirk, coming up beside her. “I’m going to fucking kill you if we make it out of this alive,” I whisper in her ear, and I notice the pebbling of her skin.
Interesting.
“I think it’s time we go,” I say.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Do you know this man?” a man with a thick Italian accent asks.
I turn to the voice, forced to do a double-take.
Paolo fucking Ricci.
His hair is neatly gelled for the early hours of the morning, and his grey suit is accompanied by a handkerchief, his dress shoes freshly polished. If I had to put money on it, I’d bet he was expecting this interaction.
What the actual fuck?
“He sure looks like he knows you,” the Italian states.
Pissant.
“Who the fuck are you?” I spit despite knowing exactly who he is.
“Is this man bothering you?” he asks Gigi.
The little brat fucking smirks.
“He is.”
The guards nod in unison, storming towards me. I throw my palm up, keeping them at bay.
“If you still want to see your wife and kids for dinner, I advise you to take a step back.” Turning back to Gigi, I demand, “We’re going. That’s an order.”
She stares up at me. “You’re not the boss of me.”
My fists curl as I try to maintain my composure. “I’m not. But if you don’t come with me willingly, I’ll throw you over my shoulder or drag you out of here kicking and screaming. And trust me, princess, I don’t particularly want to lay a hand on you right now.”
Her brow furrows in frustration.
There’s so much beauty in anger.
“No,” she finally says.
Having enough of waiting, I grip her arm. Gigi tugs, but my strength overrides hers.
“Thanks for the show, gentlemen, but I think we’re both going to get going.”
As if in a robotic trance, the guards raise their guns in quick succession, pointing them directly at us both. We’re no match against all this arsenal. Though knowing Gigi, she’ll still have her gun holstered on her thigh.
But there’s two of us.
One weapon, excluding my daggers.
And at least half a dozen of them.
“Let the girl go,” Paolo says.
I sneer. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Harry, get off me.”
The Italian chuckles. “You have ten seconds—”
“You’re so generous,” I taunt.
“Ten … nine …”
“I’m working with them!” Gigi shouts.
Whipping my head down to look at her, I sputter on nothing. My lips close and part, struggling to say anything other than, “You’re what?”
She catches her breath. “I’m working with them.”
“You’re working with them,” I repeat tonelessly.
Gigi turns to me fully, clutching my biceps over my white shirt. She tilts her head, those pretty eyes trying to tear me down as she pleads, “Deep down, if there’s one part of you that still loves me, then trust me to know what I’m doing is right. Just give me ten minutes to speak with them.”
“I’ll come in there with you,” I insist.
The shake of her head is her only answer.
Help me, Lord.
I hate this woman, but I’m also so incredibly in love with her that it hurts every fibre of my being. Screw her for being my main priority throughout everything.
I begrudgingly nod my head.
“Thank you,” she says breathlessly.
“I will never forgive you if this ends badly.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not worth forgiving.”
You’re worth it to me.
Leaving a moment of pause, I take a step forwards so I’m toe-to-toe with Paolo. “You won’t touch her. You won’t lay a finger on her. If I know you’ve even looked at her wrong, I promise with my whole existence that it will end with your body in the ground.”
Paolo’s eyes widen at my threat.
Gigi steps in front of me, pressing her hands against my chest and pushing me back.
“He’s joking,” she says.
No, I’m fucking not.
Ten minutes , my ass.
It’s been at least an hour. I’m pushed to limits, to the point I’ve started to count the wrinkles on the guard’s forehead. There must be at least fifteen. Probably from all the obsessive frowning .
I can’t deal with this anymore.
Rising to my feet from the decorative settee, I raise my hands, letting them know I’m not a threat.
Not yet anyway.
I’m not a threat right now, but I will be if they even think about hurting one hair on Gigi’s head. If they did that, I’d rip off their fingernails and feed them through their back passage.
Right on cue, she and Paolo walk through the large wooden doors.
“What took you so long?’ I charge forwards, pointing a finger at her.
Gigi raises her head quickly.
“Did he hurt you?”
She keeps me at bay by placing a hand on my chest. If I wasn’t so angry I’d be relishing the feel of her touch.
“I’m fine,” she says. “He didn’t touch me.”
“We’re leaving.”
“Thanks for our delightful conversation, Gigi,” Paolo says. “I’ll make sure to think thoroughly about what you said.” He smirks and gazes between us, though his attention is elsewhere. “Gentleman, if you will …”
The guards around the room suddenly raise their weapons in our direction.
Christ, not again.
I wait to hear Gigi confess this is another secret she’s been keeping. Instead her entire body stiffens and her face quickly drains of colour.
“You set me up,” she grits.
Out of all the men, my anger is directed at Paolo, who aims his own gun at my princess’s forehead.
“Did you really think I was his enemy?” he drawls in his thick Italian accent. Anger swarms Gigi’s features as he mimics her with a feminine voice. “I’m so sorry, Harry. You deserve so much better than me.”
What is he talking about?
I turn to Gigi slowly, confused. Her face turns a shade of red as she keeps her eyes forwards.
Paolo throws his head back with laughter. “Richard will have a field day when he hears about your disloyalty. From a Thomas , no less. The irony is astounding.”
I whip my head towards Paolo. “What about Russo De Luca?” I reference the man Andy and I killed after he was “spotted” near Richard’s offices searching for damning information last year. “You’re saying it was all a set-up?”
“De Luca was a guinea pig,” Paolo clarifies. “He ratted me out within minutes of your interrogation. He was a risk to my empire.”
“And Lorenzo Gallo?” The sadistic bastard from the casino.
Paolo shrugs matter-of-factly.
Realisation slaps me in the face, a haunting memory hitting the forefront of my brain. The signs were right in front of our eyes.
“Did you hear Poppy is engaged?” Andy asks.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.” He nods. “They were talking about it on the drive over.”
My brows hit my hairline. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t remind me,” Poppy groans. “Not something that happened by choice, I might add.”
“Who to?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Some descendent of the Mafia. Richard set it up.”
“I didn’t know Richard was getting friendly with the Italians. That’s news to me.”
“Maybe this is his way of calling a truce. Besides, if I get a good payday out of it, who cares who the guy is?”
“Did you hear my son is getting married?” Paolo asks as if reading my mind. “I’d be a fool not to work alongside the most feared man in all of London. Everyone answers to him after all. ”
How were we so oblivious?
Fury rising, Gigi’s hand edges towards her gun, and my pulse races. If she uses her Glock, she’s practically asking for a motive to shoot. And I don’t plan on dying today.
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss. “Neither of us are getting out of here alive if you use your gun.”
Paolo smirks, my warning going amiss. “Don’t take it personally, Miss Thomas. It’s strictly business.” He switches off the safety. “I’ll tell Richard I did him a favour.”
“Fuck it—” Gigi reaches for her gun.
“NO!” I roar.
A bullet goes off, and a bloody roar sounds through the white noise, quickly followed by a high-pitched feminine scream that shatters my barricades.
FUCK!
At the sound of the shrill cry I turn to Gigi immediately. She’s watching on in complete and utter horror. Blood splatters stain the fabric of her dress and her picturesque features.
In a fit of panic I whip my head towards the sick fucking bastard who shot her.
But his gun isn’t pointing at her …
It’s funny, really, how you don’t feel pain until you see the cause of the issue.
Sweeping my gaze lower, I watch as the blood pours unforgivingly onto my white shirt.
Squeezing my eyes shut to rid the sight from existence, I immediately get flashbacks to my first initiation.
So … much … blood …
Then the pain hits.
“HARRY!”