4. Lachlan #2
The part of the west wing where she's supposedly at is darker than the rest of the house, the hallway narrower. I reach the one Tommy said was hers and find it's closed but not locked, and I push it open slowly, carefully, my gun raised and ready for anything.
The room is plain and sparse, more like a staff bedroom than a room belonging to a mafia princess. And sitting up in bed, frozen with her attention on the window as she shrinks back away from it, is Adriana.
Even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, I can see how thin she is, how fragile she looks compared to the girl I remember. There are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn't had a full night's rest in years. She looks exhausted. Haunted.
She's mine. I'm so close. After all these years…
For a moment I just look at her, drinking in the sight of her after ten years of wondering and imagining and dreaming about this moment. Even like this, she's even more beautiful than I remembered.
"Adriana," I say softly.
She jerks around with a gasp, her eyes flying open, and for a second she just stares at me like she's seeing a ghost. Her wide-eyed gaze flicks over my face, my black fatigues, the bloody hand at my side, the gun in my hand, and her mouth drops open.
"Lachlan?" Her voice is barely a whisper, rough with sleep and confusion. "What—how—"
"I'm getting you out of here," I tell her, keeping my voice low and calm even though my heart is pounding. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to grab her and run. "Get dressed. We need to move."
She's wearing an oversized T-shirt and pajama shorts, and she looks smaller than I've ever seen her, vulnerable and scared. "I don't understand." Her hands are shaking as she pushes her hair back from her face. "You can't be here. If Gio finds you—"
"Gio's not going to find me." I stand up, moving to her closet and pulling out the first clothes I see. "Get dressed. Now."
"Lachlan, you don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." I turn back to her. I know my expression must be hard, showing some of the fury I'm barely keeping contained, because she flinches. "I'm getting you out. That's all you need to know right now."
She shakes her head. "I can't leave without Matteo. I can't—he's my son, Lachlan. I won't leave without him."
"My men are getting him right now. Is he in one of the bedrooms at the end of the hall?"
Her eyes widen, and her whole body goes rigid with panic. "Lachlan—"
The sound of my name on her lips, after all these years, reverberates through my whole body. "He's safe. I promise you, he's safe. But we need to move. Now."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to decide if she can trust me still—if this is real or some kind of trap, or a dream she's going to wake up from. Finally, she nods.
"Okay," she whispers.
She gets dressed quickly. It feels like it goes against every part of me to turn away, to not look at her after all these years, but I do.
I want to see her, compare her to my memories, see who she is now…
but I give her privacy, my pulse beating in my throat.
Anger seethes in me again at the thought of not being able to look at her when that guard was drinking every inch of her while he pleasured himself to those photos, but I remind myself, teeth gritted, that he's dead.
Dead, with his eyes jello on his face. He can't look at her any longer, and soon enough I'll have her home and safe, and I'll be able to look my fill.
When she's done, she clears her throat, and I turn back around. She looks terrified, and I want to pull her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay. I want to promise her that I'll never let anyone hurt her again.
But we don't have time for that. Soon, I promise myself. Everything can be said soon, when we're away from here.
"Stay close to me," I tell her, taking her hand.
Her fingers are ice cold, but I feel a flood of heat at her skin touching mine for the first time in ten years, a buzzing arousal filling my veins despite the utter inappropriateness of the timing.
"Don't make a sound unless I tell you to. Understood?"
She nods again, and I motion for her to follow me as I step out into the hall. I can feel her trembling next to me, but she doesn't make a sound.
We're almost to the service entrance when I hear angry male voices coming from the direction of the main staircase. I pull Adriana into a darkened alcove, pressing her back against the wall and covering her mouth with my hand when she starts to speak.
For a brief moment, I'm eighteen again, nineteen, twenty, stealing moments in places just like this with the girl I'd fallen in love with, risking death for a kiss.
For a moment of my lips on hers and her scent clinging to my clothes afterward, when I'd sneak off to relieve the desperate lust she roused in me.
When I still thought we could escape and live our whole lives together.
She goes rigid against me, her eyes wide and terrified, and the momentary spell is broken. Adriana ten years ago was never afraid when we were hidden away like this. Pulse still beating hard, I lean in close, my lips nearly touching her ear.
"Don't move," I breathe. "Don't make a sound."
The voices are getting closer. I can hear footsteps—heavy boots—and I count at least three men, maybe four.
A gunshot splits the air. Then another. The sounds of chaos spill up the hall—shouting and more gunshots, rapid-fire from the stairs where Cormac and Rian should be with my son.
Fuck.
"Move," I tell Adriana, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the alcove. "Run."
"Matteo—" she gasps, and I pull her with me, forcing myself to ignore the way she tries to balk and escape from my grip. "Lachlan!"
"My men have him," I grit out. It's killing me, tearing me apart to drag her with me and not listen to what she's saying, but I trust Cormac and Rian to get him.
She has no reason to, which means she just has to trust me.
I understand why she wouldn't be able to think about anything other than getting to her child… but we have to get out of here.
We sprint down the hallway toward the service entrance—or rather, I sprint, pulling Adriana along—and behind us I can hear more shouting, more footsteps. The door is just ahead, twenty feet, fifteen, ten—
We burst through it into the thickly warm night air. Adriana tries to balk again, begging me to stop, to go back for Matteo, and I feel her wrist nearly slip out of my grasp, sweaty from running and adrenaline.
I spin on my heel and grab her. She lets out a high-pitched shriek that cuts down to my soul, and I tell myself she'll understand.
Once we get to the car, once she sees our son is safe, once we're on the plane, in Chicago where she'll see what I've done to get her back and how well I can protect her now…
all of this will be forgiven. Nothing that happens tonight will matter.
When I scoop her up into my arms, she smacks at my chest with her hands, wrestling against me, and fuck, the scent of her skin and the feeling of her warm body against mine, clutched in my arms, has arousal thrumming through my veins even as I run for the opening we made in the fence.
I see Tommy running from the house, and he catches up just as I set Adriana down and push her through the opening in the fence.
"Cormac has the kid at the car," he pants. "Rian is right behind me. Go."
Adriana's face goes white, and suddenly she's not fighting me any longer. She runs with us as we head toward where the car is waiting, and as we round the corner, I see Cormac in the driver's seat with the engine already running.
Vaguely, through a back tinted window, I see the shape of a small boy, and my heart nearly stops. My son.
I don't have time to think about it. We all pile into the car, Rian leaping in at the last moment, and the tires squeal as we tear away from the Santoro mansion.
No one follows us—yet, at least. But even if they do, we have a head start, and Cormac takes a roundabout route to the private airport.
Adriana is shaking next to me, holding the boy against her, who is trembling as well. Neither of them says a word—not to me, anyway. Adriana looks down at him and nowhere else, murmuring soft words in Italian as the car speeds toward our getaway. I want to reach for them both, but I stop myself.
Not yet. Soon.
The tires squeal as Cormac slams on the brakes next to the plane, and I usher Adriana and the boy out. She spins to face me, her complexion still pale.
"Where are we going?"
"Chicago." I press my hand to the small of her back, and I feel her flinch, another knife to my chest. "Come on. We have to go now."
"I don't know if—" She starts to protest, and I scoop her into my arms again, ignoring the way she gasps and shoves at me as I carry her up the stairs. Behind me, Cormac ushers the boy up as well, and the door closes behind us as we all finish boarding.
Within minutes we're taxiing toward the runway, leaving New York and the Santoro estate and everything behind.
When I turn back to look at Adriana, standing exactly where I set her down still, I expect to see relief.
Gratitude. Maybe even tears of joy, now that she realizes we're getting away safely.
Instead, Adriana turns to me with wild eyes, her whole body rigid with tension and fear… and something that looks a lot like betrayal.
"What the fuck is going on?"