Chapter 14 #2
I force my expression into the defeated mask I wore for twenty-two years, the one that kept me alive in this house, the one that convinced him I was too obedient to be dangerous.
My shoulders drop. My chin lowers. My voice comes out small and trembling in a performance worthy of every dinner party I've ever attended in this suffocating mansion.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I was foolish." I press the back of my hand to my forehead and let a convincing shudder roll through my frame. "Could I have some water? I need a moment to think."
Enzo's lips curl with satisfaction. He waves a hand at one of the guards, a dismissive flick of the wrist, and turns his attention to his phone. In his mind, I'm already handled. Just another piece moved into position on his chessboard.
The guard turns toward the sidebar where a crystal decanter and glasses sit on a silver tray. Enzo's eyes drop to his phone screen.
It’s the only break I need.
And my hand closes around the letter opener on the edge of his desk.
The metal is cold against my palm, slim and sharp, heavier than it looks.
It is the kind of decorative weapon that rich men keep on their desks because they've never had to use a real one.
The handle is carved ivory, smooth beneath my fingers, and it fits my grip as if it was waiting for a woman desperate enough to pick it up.
And here I am.
When the guard turns back with the water glass, I drive the letter opener deep into his thigh.
His roar of pain rips through the study as the glass shatters against the marble floor.
I'm already running, my heels skidding on the polished stone as I sprint for the door with one hand clamped over my belly and adrenaline flooding my veins with a heat that turns the world sharp and bright and impossibly fast.
My lungs burn and my legs ache with a heaviness that reminds me I haven’t hit the gym in a long while.
I kick off my heels and run barefoot on cold marble, rounding one corner then another before slamming into a wall of muscle that stops me cold.
Thick arms reach for me, pinning me against the wall.
A fist slams into my ribs, then another into my face. My head snaps to the right as pain shoots through my body, lighting my nerve endings on fire.
Then the front entrance explodes inward.
The sound hits first—a concussive blast of splintering wood and shattering glass that reverberates through the marble corridors like thunder trapped underground.
The vibration travels through the marble floor and up through my legs, rattling my teeth and shaking dust from the crown molding overhead.
The guard holding me releases his grip and spins toward the noise, his hand reaching for his weapon, but he never gets it clear of the holster.
A fist connects with his jaw and he drops like a marionette with severed strings.
Luca stands in the wreckage of the hallway, his hair loose around his face, the leather cord that usually holds it back gone. Dark waves fall wild across his forehead and jaw. But it's the gun in his hand that draws most of my attention.
He crosses to me in three strides, his free hand reaching for my face before he's fully closed the distance. For one heartbeat our eyes lock and nothing else matters.
He tilts my chin up with the soft press of a thumb.
His eyes burn black with fury, the gold flecks completely swallowed. His chest heaves with each breath, and that is when I see the blood splatter covering the front of his shirt. From the quick glance I give, I don't think it's his. It is as if he slayed an army to get to me.
A cut above his left eyebrow seeps a thin line of crimson down his temple and into his beard, and he doesn't bother to wipe it away. His fingers wind around jaw, cupping my face with a grip that trembles against my skin.
"Are you hurt, jungle flower? Our baby?" His voice scrapes out rough and desperate, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones, his dark eyes scanning my face and body for damage.
Hot tears roll down my cheeks. "He was going to kill our baby, Luca.” My body trembles with the delayed rush of adrenaline.
Luca struggles to keep his calm. I see it in the way his whole body vibrates from the strength it takes to hold himself in check. “I’ll deal with him,” he finally manages. Are you okay?”
“I'm fine. The baby's fine." I don't pull away from his touch even though every rational thought in my head screams that I should. My body knows his hands before my heart can override the instinct, and right now survival takes precedence over betrayal.
“Where is he?”
“In the study. I think my mother is there with him. We have to help her.” I want to rush to her, but I did that once and look what it got me.
“In a minute. First I need to check you.”
“Tell me again. Were you hit anywhere or are you bleeding?”
I mentally run through the last five minutes of my life. It’s all a blur. “I uh, yes. A guard. He hit me in the ribs.” I don’t feel the pain yet, but I know I will once the adrenaline fully wears off.
“But I turned in time to absorb the blow on my side, away from the baby.”
He hauls me into his arms and presses kisses to the top of my head. “I will kill the fucker who touched you.”
I lean back and look up at him. “You already did.” We both look down at the man with lifeless eyes crumbled on the floor near our feet.
The relief that breaks across his features nearly buckles him. For one second the fury vanishes and all that's left is a man who was terrified of losing us. The fear hasn't finished leaving his eyes.
Behind him, Drake and Kon move through the estate's ground floor with brutal efficiency, breaking off from us to clear rooms and neutralize guards with a violence that is as methodical as it is devastating. Cries of pain are quickly snuffed out with a single blast of a bullet.
Once. The shot echoes against the marble.
Twice.
I swallow against the gurgling sounds coming from down the corridor. The men who put their hands on me are getting what they deserve. I do nothing to stop it. They had no problem hurting my baby so I have no problem with them finding their end.
I can’t help but wonder if that makes me a coldhearted killer as much as Luca and his brothers, but right now I don’t care. That's a deeper thought for later.
From behind Luca I catch the sight of a fourth figure. I don't recognize the man moving through the chaos with an unsettling calm that makes the violence around him look like a normal day in the office.
He's built like Kon but leaner, the family resemblance obvious in the jawline and the dark eyes. But where Kon overwhelms, this man dissects, assessing and dismissing threats like they're beneath his attention.
Where Kon is brute force, this man moves with surgical precision, dispatching guards with a cold efficiency and an expression of absolute boredom. The guards he passes don't fall so much as simply cease to be standing.
"Who the hell is that?" Luca keeps his body between me and everyone else. He scans the area and nods toward the new guy.
“Kon’s cousin.”
Speaking of. Luca’s brother steps out of a doorway to our left. He drops a guard on the floor and answers me as if he was part of the conversation all along.
"Da. My cousin. Cristian. Arrived yesterday." Kon's deep voice carries a rare note of pride as he steps over the dead body. "Wanted to see how Chicago handles business. He’s getting first hand experience."
That’s for sure.
Cristian's dark eyes find mine for a fraction of a second, and the small nod he offers carries the formality of a man acknowledging an introduction at a dinner party rather than in the middle of a war zone.
Then he's gone, melting into the shadows of the next corridor as if he was never there at all.
"Useful," Drake mutters from my other side as he and Rafael come up, both watching the space where Cristian disappeared.
“It’s clear in this direction. All threats neutralized in the east and west wings. I’m heading up to the second level.”
That’s Rafael.
That leaves the south wing where my father is. I turn my attention to Luca at the same time he turns to me.
“Your father.” His jaw hardens. “He owes me. Where do I find him?”
“This way.”
“Wait.” Luca pulls a gun from the back of his waistband and holds it out to me, handle first. "You know how to use this?"
I give a single nod. "Pretty simple. Point and shoot, right?"
His mouth twitches despite the fury still burning in his eyes. "Good enough. Stay close. I want to feel your hand on my back at all times. Copy?"
“Copy. He’s that way.” I'm not about to argue as I point down the last corridor.
We move together through the last stretch of corridor, my free hand pressed flat against his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath his blood-stained shirt with every step.
The warmth of him seeping through the fabric is the most confusing sensation I've ever experienced, the man who lied to me providing the only safety I have in a house built by the man who never wanted me.
I’ll be working that out in therapy for a long time.
Two guards converge from opposite ends of the hallway and Luca shoves me against the wall, blocking me with his body. He fires off twice in rapid succession–left and then right. It happens so quickly my brain doesn’t register everything until the bodies hit the floor.
Luca turns back to me, gun down. His large body is a wall in front of me. He tilts his head down and his gaze caresses over my body before finding my face. "Are you okay?” He wears a scowl that deepens the lines around his face.
I nod, not trusting my voice not to squeak.
I can see massive amounts of anger brewing behind those dark eyes. “Let’s move,” he husks deeply. “Watch our backs and don’t be afraid to drop anyone who isn’t part of our team.”
This man is looking to eliminate souls from bodies and I can’t say I blame him.