39. Delilah
THIRTY-NINE
DELILAH
They frisked Santino, taking the gun from his jacket. Then they confiscated our phones and dumped them. My father’s men stuffed us into Santino’s car, and Luca sat in the driver’s seat, showing no trace of discomfort as he drove to my father’s house.
The lights turned on as the garage door rolled up, and we went inside. Many people had disappeared after entering my father’s garage. I knew because the ductwork from the garage led to a floor in the upstairs bedroom. Growing up, I sometimes heard strange noises. When I mentioned it, Dad told me that his men liked to watch scary movies in the garage. But one day, I worked up the courage to sneak inside the garage, and I only saw concrete, rusted tools, and lawn equipment.
Santino didn’t react as they hauled him out, prodding him in the back with a gun toward a chair in the middle of the room. My father was behind it, arms crossed. Beside him stood my loathsome ex-fiancé. A sick feeling pitted my stomach as his wrathful gaze zeroed in on Santino.
That was it.
I’d never see Santino again.
I wanted to clutch onto his arm and scream, but my lungs didn’t work. Santino didn’t even glance my way. He lounged in the chair, legs spread, the muscles in his arms taut.
“Good boy, Luca.”
Dad patted Luca’s shoulders like he was a golden retriever. Luca’s dispassionate gaze swept over me as he stood in the corner. Well, he had warned me not to trust anybody.
“Delilah, come,” my father said, beckoning me forward. “You don’t need to see this.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Santino.”
Dimitri shot Santino a glare. “What did you do to my fiancée, you prick?”
Santino shrugged, his mouth twitching. “Just had some fun with her, that’s all.”
My heart twisted. I knew Santino too well by now and could see the lie for what it was—a desperate attempt to shield me from the worst of what was coming. He thought he was done for, and this was his way of making sure I wasn’t dragged down with him.
Dimitri sneered, fists clenched at his sides. “You think you can just walk in and take what’s mine?”
“I already did. I had your girl wrapped around my finger.”
My stomach churned as I looked around for an escape. Santino was trying to buy time. Dad gestured to one of his men, who grabbed Santino’s hair and wrenched his head back.
“Enough,” my father growled. “Delilah, come here. Now.”
Santino’s throat bobbed, but his lips turned up in a smirk. A silent plea gleamed in his eyes. He wanted me to go.
I latched onto the back of Santino’s chair, refusing to let go, my fingers digging into the worn leather as if it could somehow anchor him to this world. My father’s gaze hardened, and Dimitri’s face twisted with fury.
”You dumb bitch. You’re defending him? After everything he’s done?”
Santino’s jaw tightened. “She’s just confused. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Dimitri snorted in disgust and raised his gun to Santino’s temple. “If you want chunks of brain in your hair, fine by me.”
There had to be some way out of this.
I caught my dad’s gaze. “Please don’t do this.”
Dad glowered. “Get out. This is no place for a woman.”
“What will you do with him?” I pleaded.
“Oh, we’re gonna take our time,” Dimitri snarled. “I’ll make a soundtrack of his screaming and play it during our wedding night.”
Santino’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes said only one thing—run. I probably could. I’d disappear into the night, hole up with Santino’s relatives in Boston, and raise Santino’s baby in peace, far from the reach of my father.
I’d be miserable for the rest of my life. No, leaving Santino was unthinkable. I couldn’t force myself to go any more than I could stop breathing. Everything in me wanted to fight.
But how?
Three men surrounded us, plus my father. Everybody had a gun. Santino probably carried a knife. After we had sex, I’d watch him strap on his weapons. Each holster and blade.
My heart pounded.
He always had a small switchblade tucked into his boot. I remembered him joking once, saying it was his “good luck charm.” Could they have missed it?
I glanced at his boots, trying to gauge if he was prepared to use it. His eyes met mine, and he subtly shifted his stance. Santino wouldn’t go down without a fight. If he was going to make a move, it had to be soon. My father and Dimitri were eager for blood. I could see it in their eyes. They’d make him pay for daring to touch me.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. If Santino had the knife, he could take out one of them. But then what? There were too many guns. We’d both be dead in seconds.
Santino’s gaze flicked to me. He knew the odds, but he wasn’t going to give up. Not if there was a slim chance of getting us out of this alive.
I had to act. I couldn’t stand here and watch him get torn apart. My mind raced. I needed to create a distraction, something that gave Santino the opening he needed.
Santino’s hand twitched. The knife was still there, hidden and waiting. He just needed a brief moment of chaos to tip the scales in our favor.
I had to create that moment.
“Boris,” my father snapped. “Take her out of here.”
A bald man grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door. I elbowed his chest and scratched at his arms, screaming my throat hoarse. The man shoved me toward the door. I stumbled, grabbing a tire iron off the wall. I turned, swinging it hard.
It slammed into Boris’s face. He staggered, clutching his cheek. Then I lunged forward, grabbed the edge of a table, and flipped it over, sending a toolbox crashing to the floor.
Santino’s hand flashed to his boot. Then he plunged silver into Dimitri’s thigh. Dimitri screamed, clutching his leg. His gun clattered to the ground. Santino dove for it. He grasped the handle?—
Two loud bangs erupted.
My eyes widened as Boris crumpled to the ground, a neat hole between his eyes. Luca held a gun, his narrowed gaze focused on my father. My father staggered, blood blossoming on his shirt. Dimitri struggled on the floor, writhing in his blood. Santino emptied his clip into Dimitri, the shell casings pinging the concrete.
People inside the house shouted. Luca hit the garage door opener, and the sound of the motor drowned out the shouts of confusion. Santino grabbed me, opening a car door and shoving me inside as Luca scrambled into the driver’s seat.
The door flew open.
Men burst into the garage, guns drawn.
A hail of gunfire cracked the windshield as Luca turned the car on. The engine roared to life, and Luca peeled out of the garage, tires screeching. Santino forced my head all the way down. He didn’t let up until we’d merged onto the freeway.
Santino raked a hand through his hair, grinning. “How does it feel to be free?”
Luca growled something indistinct. He didn’t say another word, his face a mask of concentration. The blood on his shirt and the wild look in his eyes were the only signs that he’d shot his way out of a death trap.
“Luca,” I said, my voice cracking.
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “We’ll talk later. We need to get somewhere safe.”
Santino squeezed my hand, drawing my attention back to him. “Everything will be alright.”
Luca took a sharp turn, the tires squealing as the car sped onto a side road. We made it out alive. Survival was just the beginning.