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My chest swells at the confirmation of her emotions, but I play it cool and raise a shoulder. “Maybe she was just grateful.”
“I’ll bet she showed you her gratitude after dessert,” he says.
I smirk. Emberly had dragged me upstairs before I’d even finished coffee, and spent the rest of the evening fucking me breathless. If women rewarded knights like that all the time, there’d be no organized crime, only chivalry.
“Can I be the one to tell her everything was a scam?” he asks.
Cold annoyance seeps into my gut, powered by Cesare’s words. I grit my teeth and spin around to face him, but his features are hidden behind the bulletproof helmet.
“What?” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“I just want to see her reaction.”
Heat surges through my blood, and I breathe through flared nostrils. My jaw tightens so hard that my molars grind.
I curl my gloved hands into fists. “Stay away from Emberly.”
Cesare huffs. “At least let me join in when it’s time for her to die.”
Something inside me cracks, and I spin around, grabbing the straps of his bulletproof vest. “How many times do I need to tell you that Emberly Kay is mine? There will be no ambushing, no killing and no fucking spectacle.”
Cesare’s eyes widen behind the helmet, and he raises both palms in surrender. “I was only joking.”
“You’re not listening.” I give him a hard shake. “She’s not a toy. She’s mine. Stay the fuck away.”
“Okay,” he says, his voice oddly low. “I won’t go near her.”
“There’s a truck approaching from the freeway.” Gil’s voice fills my earpiece.
I release my little brother, leaving him leaning against the side of the van, and we both turn our attention to the road.
“Get ready.” I shove my elbow into the side of the van, alerting its occupants.
A medium-sized truck turns onto the deserted road, making my heart race with anticipation. From what Cesare’s little assassin said about the Moirai Group, they’re not likely to bazooka us while we’re standing so close to four of their operatives.
She added that they would shoot us in the heads, which is why we’re wearing so much armor.
As the truck approaches our van, I catch the first glimpse of its driver. He’s a nervous-looking young man, who I assume is hired help or an apprentice. Cesare has learned through his interrogations that the Moirai recruits its assassins young and organizes itself like an academy where only the strongest survive.
The truck stops, and its back doors open. Four masked figures step out, each dressed in bulletproof vests and holding automatic weapons.
“Where are they?” the shorter of them asks.
Cesare walks to the back of the van and opens its doors, revealing four of my men wearing large sacks over their upper halves.
“Walk them over,” their leader says.
My brother leads them out of the van and lines them up, letting them hobble across the road to the assassins.
“Tell your boss this ceasefire is bullshit. He needs to call off the hit,” I say.
The leader doesn’t reply, seeming more interested in the captives.
“An answer would be nice,” I say.
“We’ll be in touch,” he mutters.
The other three operatives lead the fake hostages into their truck, step inside, and shut the door. Cesare and I retreat behind the van and break into a sprint.
