Fights are breaking out all around, but no one from our side seems to have spotted the two dons rolling about on the floor.
The fight is too evenly matched. I watch in horror as Rubio’s knife slices too close to Leon’s throat.
He needs me. Now.
“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me,” I hiss, each word said clearly and with spite. My words are the only warning I give before I use the pressure on my arm to walk myself up his body and wrap my thighs around his neck.
The sudden extra body weight has him toppling to the floor, releasing his grip on me in order to break his fall.
I land on top of him, using his ribs to cushion the blow, before scrambling off into the crowd. Pulling my knife from its sheath, I charge at the figure that has finally managed to find his footing.
Amos Rubio stands tall, knife twirling expertly in his hand as he steps forward toward Leon’s prone body.
I don’t think, I just launch myself at the kingpin’s back and bury my knife in his shoulder.
Rubio hisses in pain and snatches his knife up in his non-dominant hand to try and swipe at me blindly. I drop low to avoid him, only for him to kick me in the chest and send me hurtling to the floor.
“Mia.”
Leon is kneeling over in a second, his eyes flashing with both relief and fury.
“Seems like you need a hand,” I wheeze, ignoring the pain in my ribs.
Behind us, Amos is wrenching my knife from his shoulder with a cry of anguish.
“You need to get the hell out of here,” Leon growls as his arm slips around my waist to pull me to my feet.
A part of me sighs in relief at the feeling of being pulled into his chest. He’s solid and alive. So very alive.
But he needs to stay that way, and I can’t be sure he will unless I’m here, too. “Are you being serious right now? You almost just got yourself killed!”
“This isn’t a discussion!”
My knife flies through the space between us. It would have embedded itself in my cheek had Leon not pushed me back.
“Mia, get out of here!” Leon growls as he goes to meet Amos’ swing, ducking under it and slamming a fist into his face.
“Not a chance!” I yell back, dropping low to avoid the wild swing of his blade, trying to disarm him.
Amos leaps back before I can, wiping blood from his mouth. His eyes gleam with rage as he looks between us.
“So, it’s true,” he sneers, his words dripping with venom. “The little mercenary and the Italian don. How quaint.”
“Shut up and fight,” I snap.
Amos lunges first, his knife flashing in the strobe lights. I block his strike, twisting his wrist to disarm him, but he counters with another brutal punch to my ribs that sends me staggering.
Leon is on him instantly, as if we’d been training together for years, driving Amos back with a series of precise strikes. Bloodspatters on the floor as Leon lands a blow to Amos’s jaw, but the Cartel kingpin doesn’t go down easily.
I recover quickly, circling around to flank Amos, watching as Leon grabs Amos’ injured arm, twisting it behind his back. I step in to try to snatch the knife from his hand once more.
Amos roars in pain as my fingers wrap around the handle, trying to use the distraction to pry the damn thing away.
It doesn’t occur to me that he might be faking.
It doesn’t occur to me until the second his grip miraculously tightens, and the knife is suddenly on a trajectory to my chest.
“NO!”
