17. Simone
SIMONE
T he two men face each other across the narrow alley, and I can feel the violence crackling in the air between them. This is going to end badly—I can see it in their postures, in the way Tristan’s men are positioning themselves.
I have to do something. My instincts tell me that Sal isn’t alone.
Out of the corner of my eye, at the other side of the alley where I was blocked in by the back of the shops, I see movement.
My stomach drops as I realize that there are other men moving in from the narrow spaces between the walls, and from the tilt of Sal’s mouth, they’re his.
This is going to be a firefight.
“Sal.” My voice catches. “Just let me go back to Tristan. Maybe… maybe we can work something out later. Just let me go.” It hits me as the words come out of my mouth that I’m asking Sal to let me go, not Tristan. That in this panicked moment, my instinct is that Tristan is the safer of the two men.
Knowing Sal, I think that might be the right choice.
I can see Tristan's men moving into position, using the cars as cover, their weapons drawn but not yet aimed. Sal's men are doing the same thing, and I realize with growing horror that I'm sitting right in the middle of what's about to become a battlefield.
"Simone," Tristan calls out, his eyes never leaving Sal. "Get out of the car. Slowly. And come to me."
"I don't think so," Sal says, and his hand slips into his jacket, drawing a gun more quickly than I would have thought he would be able to. "I think she stays right where she is."
"You don't want to do this, Sal." Tristan’s voice is sharp, commanding. A sliver of heat runs down my spine. “Step away from my wife.”
"Don't I?” Sal smirks. “Because from where I'm standing, it looks like I hold a better hand. I have your wife—you have her father’s territory. Without her, you haven’t been here long enough for the other bosses to trust you."
"She's not a playing card,” Tristan growls, and my gaze snaps to him, my chest tightening.
"Isn't she? In our world, women are always playing cards. Your father knew that. My father knew that. Hell, even her father knew that." Sal smiles, that oily smile that I’ve always hated. He’s enjoying this. He doesn’t have a single thought for how this is making me feel, for my fear.
I don’t know if Tristan cares how terrified I am, either, but right now, every instinct in my body is screaming at me that I should not go with Sal. That I need to get to Tristan.
The man I just ran from is the one that my gut is now telling me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I need to run to .
I can see the rage building in Tristan's face, the way his free hand clenches into a fist. "Let. Her. Go."
Sal laughs. "Make me."
The words hang in the air for a moment, and I can feel the tension ratcheting up to a breaking point. Everyone in the alley knows what's coming next. Everyone except me is prepared for it.
"Simone," Tristan says again, his voice urgent. "When I say move, you get out of that car and you run to me. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I call back, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
"Good. Because this is about to get very ugly." Tristan aims at Sal, his face impassive. “There will be blood, and it’s not going to be mine.”
Sal's smile falters, and I can see him realizing that he's miscalculated.
That maybe Tristan isn't as soft as he thought.
His gaze sweeps to either side, and I can see his men creeping closer, moving into range.
I tense, waiting for the first shot, the first crack of a bullet, and when it comes, the sound jolts through me like a shock.
"Now!" Tristan shouts.
Everything happens at once. Gunfire erupts from both sides of the alley, the sound deafening in the confined space. I throw myself down in the front seat of the car, glass showering down on me as bullets shatter the windows.
I can hear shouting, cursing, the sound of running feet. Someone screams, and I think it might be one of Sal's men—it’s coming from that side of the alley. The air smells like smoke and blood and fear.
"Simone!" Tristan's voice cuts through the chaos. "Move! Now!"
I don't think. I just react. The irony of it all hits me—that I’m obeying the man I’ve fought against since day one, running to the man I ran from—as I throw open the car door and start running toward the sound of his voice, keeping low, trying to make myself as small a target as possible.
A bullet whines past my ear, so close I can feel the heat of it. I stumble, catch myself, keep running. Behind me, I can hear Sal shouting orders, but his voice is moving away from me, toward the back of the alley.
Strong hands grab my arms, and I look up to see Tristan's face, his green eyes wild with something between relief and fury.
"Are you hurt?" he demands, his hands running over me, checking for injuries. They’re hard and urgent, and as he drags me to the other side of a large Mercedes G-Wagon, I realize the gunfire has stopped. It was so fast , is all I can think as I glance over and see bodies in the alleyway, all of them on Sal’s side of the fight.
I swallow hard. "No, I don't think so?—"
"What the hell were you thinking?" He's shouting now, his voice raw. "You could have been killed! Do you understand that? You could have died!"
He sounds terrifyingly angry… but underneath it, there’s something else, too. A pained sound that doesn’t fit with everything I know of him. "I'm sorry?—"
"Sorry? You're sorry?" He grabs my shoulders, shaking me so hard that my teeth clack together. "You don't get to be sorry! You don't get to do something that fucking stupid and then apologize for it!"
I can hear his men calling out that Sal has run, the body count, saying that we need to get moving. But Tristan doesn't seem to care about any of that. All his attention is focused on me.
"You were frantic," I say, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "You were actually scared."
Tristan glares down at me, his face a tight mask of fury, jaw clenched as he speaks through his teeth. “Of course I was scared, Simone. You disappeared. You ran . And I found you cornered in the alley with a man who has done despicable things. You have no idea what kind of man Sal Envio is?—”
“I have some idea,” I mutter, and Tristan shakes me again.
“Why would you do such a fucking stupid thing, Simone?”
I try to yank myself out of his grip, anger flooding me again now that the danger has passed, but his hold on me is too strong.
“Why? Because you put me on my fucking knees and forced me to suck you off!” I shout the words, not caring who hears, and Tristan blanches, his hand flying up to cover my mouth as he backs me against the side of the car, pinning me there briefly as he yanks open the car door.
“You humiliated me! You hurt me! All you care about is making me obey you?—”
“Because when you don’t, this happens!” Tristan roars. I can feel the adrenaline still coursing through him, the way his body is vibrating with leftover energy from the fight. "Get in," he growls, practically shoving me into the back seat of his vehicle.
"Tristan—"
"Get in the fucking car, Simone."
I swallow hard. He’s overwhelming in this moment—possessive, angry, violent. I can feel a sharp, dangerous energy wafting off of him, surrounding me like a force field, and my own body responds to it the way I always seem to fucking respond to him, even when I shouldn’t.
I slide into the car, and Tristan is on the other side of me in an instant, slamming the door behind us. The driver doesn't need to be told where to go; he's already pulling out of the alley, heading for home.
“You almost died,” he snarls, turning to me. “That fucking piece of shit almost took you from me. All because you ran , Simone?—”
“You’re making this my fault?” I shriek, not caring if the driver can hear, and Tristan glowers down at me, his rage a palpable thing.
“It is your fault! What were you going to do on your own? Where were you going to go? Did you have a plan?”
“I—”
“You didn’t. And that fucker almost stole what’s mine, because?—”’
“I’m not yours?—”
“Yes, you fucking are.”
“Because you stole?—”
I never finish what I was about to say. Tristan’s hands are on my arms, dragging me against him, and his mouth crashes down onto mine in a searing, plundering kiss as his tongue plunges into my mouth and every thought in my head is driven from it in an instant.
“Maybe I haven’t done a good enough job making you mine,” Tristan growls against my lips, his body pressing mine back against the leather seats of the Mercedes. “Maybe I need to remind you what it feels like.”
My head bumps against the window on one side as Tristan’s hand wraps around the back of my neck, his other hand dropping to the button of my jeans. I gasp against his mouth, writhing in his grip, my gaze shooting to the divider between us and the driver.
“The driver is going to hear?—”
“No, he won’t,” Tristan growls. “Because you never moan or scream for me, Simone. But go ahead, célie , if you don’t think you can keep it in this time. Moan and scream my name. Let him hear how badly you want me. I want to hear how badly you want me.”
“I don’t?—”
“Liar.” His eyes are hot on mine as his hand slides into my panties, his fingers finding my slick folds. “Yelling at me turns you on, Simone. Luckily for us both, it turns me on, too.”
He grabs my hand, pressing it between us, against the thick shape of his cock in his suit trousers. He’s rock hard, straining against the fabric, and his mouth covers mine again as his fingers slip inside of me, thrusting hard as he grinds the heel of his hand against my clit.
“I haven’t fucked you since our wedding night,” he pants against my lips. “But I’m about to change that. I can’t wait another second to feel you wrapped around me again.”