Extended Epilogue
Adriano
I've killed thirty-seven men with my bare hands. I've tortured information out of the most hardened soldiers.
I've burned buildings to the ground with men still inside them.
But nothing—fucking nothing—has ever knocked the breath from me like seeing her face again.
Eva.
My Eva.
Standing there in the dim light of a nearly empty building, bruised and limping, but alive.
Fucking alive after four years of my visiting an empty grave.
The informant had sworn she was alive somewhere in Jersey.
I'd nearly cut out his tongue for daring to lie about the woman who’d taken my heart and then was taken from my life.
But here she is, flesh and blood, with fear in her eyes.
She's limping down the street, each step looking like agony.
Her hair's shorter, dyed blonde, but I'd recognize her anywhere.
My heart jack hammers in my chest as if it's trying to run to her.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, forcing myself to stay put. Someone did this to her.
Someone took her from me, made the world believe she was dead, kept her prisoner for four years.
I'll find them. I'll make them beg for death long before I grant it.
She pauses, her head turning slightly as if sensing me watching.
I duck lower, not ready to reveal myself until I understand what's happening.
Until I know who I need to kill.
That's when I see it.
Her arms aren't empty.
She's carrying a small child who rests her head against Eva's shoulder, tiny fingers holding on for dear life.
I don’t know much about kids.
This one is smaller than my nephew Enzo who is seven, but bigger than Matteo and Alessia who are less than one.
All of them are my siblings' kids.
Before I can process what it means that Eva appears to be on the run with a child, I spot movement.
Not random pedestrians, but purposeful shadows following her.
Three men.
Bratva.
I recognize their hulking silhouettes, the way they communicate with subtle nods.
The same Russian scum who've been causing problems for my family since before my father died.
They're converging on Eva from different directions, boxing her in.
Her body language shifts instantly.
She spots them too and her pace quickens despite her limp.
She pulls the little girl closer to her, murmuring something.
The fear radiating off her is palpable even from this distance.
Without conscious thought, I'm out of my car, the Glock I carry already in hand.
I don't give a fuck who sees me.
Don't care about witnesses or consequences.
Nothing matters but getting to them.
Eva backs toward an alley.
Fuck no, not there.
She must not realize it’s a dead end.
The Bratva close in, one speaking into a phone, the other two with hands inside their jackets.
I move faster.
By the time I’m at the alley, they’ve cornered her.
The child is no longer in her arms.
I can’t see the kid at all, which tells me Eva’s hidden her somehow.
Perhaps behind the dumpster.
Then Eva pulls out a set of knives.
Jesus, there’s no way she can overtake three men with knives, but I do admire her fight.
I stand in the shadows watching as one Bratva soldier reaches for his weapon.
It’s the last thing he does as I fire, the bullet catching him in the base of his neck.
The second, the back of his head as he’s falling.
“What the fuck?” the second man growls, turning toward me. Two shots to his chest, one to his head.
The third pulls a knife instead of a gun, which I suppose is smart in close quarters, but not against me. Not when my woman is in danger.
He rushes toward me, blade arcing toward my gut.
I sidestep, grab his wrist, and force the knife upward, driving it beneath his jaw and into his brain.
His body twitches as I let it slump to the ground.
Three bodies. Less than ten seconds.
Not my cleanest work, but effective.
I turn to Eva, blood spattered across my face and coat.
She's on her knees, her daughter having run to her once the threat was over.
"You're alive," I say stupidly, as if this fact weren't obvious.
Eva’s eyes dart between me and the bodies, like she’s not sure what to think. It pisses me off a bit that she’s unsure of me. I just saved her and the kid, after all.
The little girl shifts, her eyes peeking at me from the safety of her mother's arms.
I approach them both slowly. Even with a split lip and dirt smudging her face, Eva is still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" It’s a dumb question considering the wounds I can see. I wonder how many I can’t.
She doesn't answer, just clutches the child tighter.
"I can get you somewhere safe," I continue, reaching toward her. "Both of you."
Eva flinches away from my outstretched hand. There's no relief in her eyes, no joy at seeing me. Only fear.
"You weren't supposed to find me," she says. "You were never supposed to know I was still alive."
TO BE CONTINUED.