Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Bella
The kitchen smelled of my two favorite scents, vanilla and melted butter.
I stood at the counter, piping perfect buttercream rosettes onto cooled lemon cupcakes, making each one identical.
I’d learned this skill in Zia Madonna's trattoria when I was just fourteen, in her cute restaurant tucked into the cliffs of Taormina overlooking the Ionian Sea.
Tourists paid too much for pasta and the view, but they always left happy.
My hometown was half a world away from Koolaroo Ranch.
And yet I still didn't feel safe.
It never fully went away. The fear. The waiting. The certainty that “I'm safe here” was just another lie I told myself to get through the day.
I piped another rosette with the kind of precision that came from years of working in restaurants.
Cooking with sugar was my kind of therapy.
Measure, mix, bake, decorate. Repeat until the storm in my mind quieted to a hum I could live with.
Then I’d smile as if I didn't have a care in the world when people tasted my food and their faces lit up.
That made me happy.
But I shouldn't be happy, not after what I'd done.
Here, in this sun-drenched kitchen in the middle of nowhere, I could almost pretend I was just a woman who loved to bake. Not a murderer with enemies who would never stop hunting me.
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away, and reached for the next cupcake. The buttercream swirled beneath my piping tip like cream-colored silk, forming a perfect peak that would be destroyed within two bites.
I didn't mind. That was exactly what I wanted.
Declan especially loved my cooking.
He was different from his brothers, and yet still dangerous in his own way.
Mitch was all cowboy swagger and protective alpha energy.
He was easy to categorize, and easy to keep at arm's length.
Kayden was total chaos and so unpredictable that I'd already given up trying to figure out his moods.
Cassidy seemed sweet enough, but I had a feeling that if someone crossed her, they'd regret it.
But Declan was different.
He had this calmness about him that was like soothing balm after the dread that had been chewing me up for weeks. Whenever he came into the kitchen, his light blue eyes tracked me as if he were solving an equation, noticing all the things I tried so hard to hide.
And he was kind, gentle, and patient.
Like he understood the pain of being hurt by someone you trusted. Someone you loved. No, not just hurt. Completely shattered.
And I was shattered because of my fiancé.
Everything I’d thought I’d known about Vincenzo had been a lie.
I'd been fooled for years. I hated how much I'd loved him, how I'd wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
All his lies flicked around my brain like knives, slicing at my sanity, cutting away every last shred of what I thought I knew about the people I’d loved. I grabbed another cupcake, forcing my swirling thoughts into swirling the icing into perfect peaks.
Sicily felt like a lifetime ago and yesterday all at once. Every detail of that final night was etched into my mind, permanent as a scar. Just like the scar on my hip that still hurt every time I pulled clothes on.
I tried to lock those memories in a box at the back of my brain and build walls around them with flour, sugar, and forced smiles.
Some days, the walls held.
Some days, they didn't.
I reached for another cupcake. Koolaroo Ranch was thousands of miles from that hell. I was safe here in the red dirt and endless sky, about as far from Sicily as a person could get without leaving the planet entirely.
The lie tasted bitter, but I swallowed it anyway.
As I tugged the loose strap of my dress back onto my shoulder, footsteps echoed down the hallway. I already recognized the way Declan walked, like he was apologizing for interrupting me before he even appeared.
I turned toward the oven, and using the dish towel, removed the tray of steaming hot meat pies, setting it on two cork mats on the counter. Delicious aromas wafted through the kitchen as I picked up the piping bag again. Smiling, I anticipated Declan's reaction when he saw them.
He appeared in the doorway with that hopeful half-smile that made him look equally nervous and cute. His wild brown hair was falling into his eyes again, but there was wariness in his expression that made my heart hammer.
“Bella.” His voice carried a strange tone I couldn't place. “Your brothers are here.”
My heart halted. I don't have brothers.
I have a dead father, a dead mother, and a dead fiancé. I have no family left. None.
Oh God. Oh God. They’ve found me.
The piping bag slipped from my fingers and hit the counter with a wet slap that seemed to echo in my suddenly airless chest. The world tilted sideways, everything going sharp and bright and wrong. My vision tunneled. My lungs forgot how to work.
Two men stepped into the kitchen behind Declan, and terror slammed into me like a physical force. Cold. Absolute. Paralyzing.
Rocco and Pike.
Vincenzo's men.
Every nightmare I'd had since fleeing my blood-spattered kitchen in Sicily crystallized into this single moment.
My hands shook. I couldn't breathe. “No.” The word ripped out of me, raw and desperate. “No, no, no.”
“Hey.” Declan spun toward them, his voice sharp. “I told you to wait in the dining room.”
They didn't look at him. Their cold eyes locked on me. Evil and predatory.
My lungs seized. My heart hammered. Their expensive shoes and slicked-back hair looked wrong in this country kitchen, but the dead-eyed emptiness in their expressions was sickeningly familiar.
They're here to kill me.
The thought punched through me like a wrecking ball.
Rocco smiled at me as if we were old friends, and bile rose in my throat. He'd always given me the creeps, even before I’d known who he was. What he was.
And now that they'd found me at Koolaroo, there was nowhere left to run.
“Salve, Bella. Ti stavamo cercando.” His voice was as lethal as arsenic.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Of course, they'd been looking for me. All this time, they'd been looking. “Cosa volete?” I backed away until my spine hit the refrigerator, icy fear spreading through my veins.
“What's going on?” Declan moved around the counter, positioning himself between me and the two assholes. That small gesture made my heart explode.
He was protecting me.
But he couldn't save me. Nobody could. I'd caused this. Me. And now, I'd dragged Declan into danger with me.
“Bella, talk to me.” His eyes searched mine, desperate for understanding.
What could I say? How could I explain what I’d done? I shook my head as my whole world crumbled around me.
Declan's expression hardened as he faced them. “I don't know who the hell you are, but you need to leave. Now.”
“Don't.” I grabbed his arm, but he didn't move.
Rocco and Pike exchanged a glance, amused.
“Get out of my house.” Declan's tone became cold and dangerous in a way I'd never heard from him before.
“Sei una stupida del cazzo se pensavi di poterti nascondere da noi.” Pike's voice was oily, almost pleasant, the vulgar words dripping from his mouth.
He called me stupid. Maybe he was right. I was a fool to think I could outrun Vincenzo's men.
“What do you want?” I blurted, my fingernails digging into my palms.
Pike smiled. “Ti riportiamo a casa.”
“What are they saying?” Intense fury blazed in Declan's eyes.
“He’s telling me he's taking me home.” But they weren't taking me back to cobblestone streets and lemon groves. They were taking me to the hole they would have dug to bury me in. That's how Vincenzo's enforcers operated. No bargaining. No mercy.
I was sick of running. Sick of being afraid. Sick of men thinking they could own me. Hurt me. Control me.
“No.” My voice came out steadier than I’d expected, hard as the Sicilian stone my father used to say made up my bones. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”
Declan's jaw tightened, and fear flashed across his face, but just for a second. Then his expression hardened into fierce resolve. Reckless even. “You need to leave.” His voice shook slightly, but he didn't back down. “Now.”
Rocco laughed. He was younger than Pike and meaner, with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow that was still red and raised even though he'd had it for years.
“Get out!” Declan pointed at the door, his voice rising.
Rocco took a step toward me, his hands clenching into fists.
Declan stepped in front of me, blocking Rocco's path with his body, and my heart wept at his foolish bravery. His shoulders were tense, his breathing quick. A slight tremor shook his hands, yet he didn't back down.
“Declan, don't,” I warned, reaching for his arm to pull him back.
Rocco shoved Declan and lunged for me, his hand raised to strike my face.
I dodged the slap, and primal fury ignited in my chest. Not fear this time. Rage.
Pure, white-hot rage.
I grabbed the hot baking tray, barely noticing the fire on my fingers, and swung it at Rocco's face with every ounce of strength in my body. The meat pies flew through the air as the tray connected with his cheek and nose with a sickening crack.
He screamed and stumbled backward, clawing at his face where boiling-hot chunks of meat and pastry seared his skin. The smell of burnt flesh mixed with stewed beef made my stomach churn as the tray clattered to the floor.
Pike's expression turned murderous.
“Get the fuck out!” Declan grabbed my meat cleaver from the dish drainer. His hand shook as he threw the knife at Pike.
The blade spun wildly, end over end, wobbling through the air before clattering against the wall and falling to the floor with a metallic clang. It didn't even come close to Pike.
The room went silent except for Rocco's groaning.
Pike stared at the fallen cleaver, then at Declan. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.
Declan's face flushed red, yet he grabbed the carving knife from the block and held it like a weapon. “Get out!” His voice was tight with barely controlled panic, but underneath it was rage and defiance.
Rocco was bent over, moaning as he tried to scrape boiling meat from his neck and face. His skin was already blistering, turning an angry red.
Pike reached inside his jacket.
“He has a gun!” I yelled.
“Don't!” Declan's voice cracked slightly, but he moved closer, putting himself between Pike and me. The knife trembled in his grip. “You touch that gun, and I swear to God—”
Pike's hand froze. Not because he was afraid of Declan's shaking knife, but because he was savoring this. The moment before a kill. Because that's what he was. A stone-cold killer.
“Leave us alone!” I yelled. “Go away. Please.” My heart thundered.
Pike's gaze snapped between Declan and me. I'd seen his fury firsthand. He wasn't one to back down. He'd rather die than give in.
And that meant Declan and I were in serious trouble.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
I'd always known they'd come for me, but I’d never thought it would be this soon.
How had they found me?
Now I'd dragged Declan into this nightmare with me. He was standing between me and trained killers, shaking like a leaf but refusing to move.
And we were both going to die.