CHAPTER 10 #3
We drift together in a strange, heavy half-sleep.
It’s a brief, stolen moment of peace right in the middle of a literal war zone.
Angelo remains highly vigilant, his body tense, his ears clearly pricked for any unnatural sound coming from the upper levels of the bunker.
I finally succumb to a dreamless, incredibly heavy slumber, my fingers still gripping the dark fabric of his shirt as if he might suddenly disappear into the shadows.
In my sleep, I subconsciously nuzzle my face deeper into his warm neck.
He immediately responds by tightening his heavy arm securely around my waist. Total surrender.
The mafia princess is dead. Only the survivor remains in the dirt.
As I rest, my head shifts awkwardly against his collarbone, and the sharp, pointed edge of my diamond earring violently pinches my earlobe.
The sudden, sharp spike of pain jolts my brain back into a state of rapid semi-consciousness.
The tracker. The tiny, silent beacon hidden inside the diamond that tells Alessio exactly where I am.
I reach a trembling hand up to touch the cold stone, my fingers hesitating as I seriously consider ripping the jewelry right out of my flesh.
If Alessio comes down here, he will kill Angelo.
And if he kills Angelo, I have absolutely nothing left in this world.
"What is it?" Angelo asks immediately, his voice dropping into a low, alert whisper. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing," I lie smoothly, dropping my hand from my ear. "Just a dream."
Angelo clearly senses my sudden tension.
He reaches out and pulls the heavy tactical jacket even more securely around my bare shoulders.
He slides his hand under the leather, his rough fingers slowly stroking the bumpy line of my spine.
The strong scent of his dried sweat and stale gunpowder is deeply embedded in the jacket's lining.
Instead of being repulsed by the grime, I inhale it deeply, filling my lungs with his scent.
I am wearing his skin. I am totally marked by him.
"It’s mine. You keep it on," he orders, his hand resting heavy on my lower back.
"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper back, burying my face deeply into the thick collar of the jacket.
I close my eyes and let my breathing even out again, letting the lingering biological high create a warm cocoon of false peace.
I ignore the biting dampness of the concrete, focusing solely on the steady, radiating heat of Angelo pressed against my side.
I am right on the very edge of dropping back into a deep sleep when a sudden, subtle change in the environment rips me awake.
A tiny pebble of loose concrete dust falls directly from the dark ceiling, landing with a soft grit onto my cheek.
The distant, low hum of the bunker's ventilation fan suddenly cuts out, leaving behind a dead, unnatural silence.
"Stay still," Angelo commands, his voice dropping to a lethal, flat frequency.
"What is it? Angelo?" I whisper frantically, wiping the grit off my face.
A low, heavy vibration rumbles ominously through the thick concrete walls.
It’s not the wind howling above ground. It’s the distinct, rhythmic thud of heavy tactical boots and the violent shifting of rubble directly above our heads.
Angelo’s hand immediately tightens protectively around my waist, pulling me hard against him.
His other hand moves blindly across the dark floor, his fingers wrapping securely around the cold grip of his Beretta.
He presses his palm flat against the floorboards, physically feeling for the frequency of the vibrations coming from the ceiling.
"They’re here, aren't they?" I ask, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. My brother’s scouts found the bunker.
"Quiet. Not a sound, Fiorella," he shushes me, his thick finger pressing hard and bruising against my lips.
He pulls me even tighter against his side, his large body shifting to act as a solid, physical shield between me and the reinforced steel door.
The entire power dynamic of the room fully shifts in a split second.
He is absolutely no longer my captor. He is my only line of defense against the monsters I share blood with.
I cling desperately to his thick forearm, my nails digging half-moons deep into his tattooed skin as I listen to the terrifying scratching sounds echoing from above.
A muffled, staticky radio transmission leaks through the ceiling.
"Don't let them take me," I whisper, pure, unadulterated fear lacing my tone.
"They'll have to go through me first," Angelo replies, his thumb disengaging the safety of the Beretta with a loud, metallic click. "Cazzo, I mean it."
Angelo rises smoothly into a low, tight tactical crouch, the gun aimed dead steady at the bunker entrance.
I stay crouched low right beside him on the concrete, pulling his leather jacket tightly around my naked body.
I reach out and press my trembling hand flat against the hard muscle of his lower back, a silent, desperate gesture of absolute solidarity.
I watch the narrow gap under the steel door, waiting for the breach.
"Whatever happens... stay behind me," he orders without looking back.
"I'm not leaving you, Angelo," I say, my voice finally steady. The beam of a high-powered flashlight flickers menacingly under the door gap, cutting through the pitch black. Let them come. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.