“What’s going on?” I gasp, short of breath. “What do you want?”
My eyes continue to search for Fiero. Then they find him, and God?—
I’ve never seen anything more terrifying in my life.
He’s moving with horrifying speed, shoving through tablestoward us, eyes black with murder.
“Let her go,” he roars, “or I’ll rip your spine out through your throat.”
The Irishman laughs lightly as though he just won a prize at the funfair, and pulls me even tighter against him.
I feel something cold press against my ribs and my breaths falter. He’s no longer pointing the gun at the ceiling—he’s pointing it into me.
Fiero keeps advancing, reaching behind his back for the gun in his waistband.
No.
My heart sinks to my toes and my bloodless head sways.
He doesn’t take his eyes off the Irishman. “You don’t touch what’s mine.”
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach.Mine.
The Irishman laughs again. “I’ve found your weakness, Il Diavolo.”
Fiero doesn’t blink. “You seem to think that’s useful information, when you’re not even going to leave this building alive.”
The gun digs harder into my side and I steel my breath, sweat dripping down my temple.
Fiero stops three feet away, close enough that I can see the absolute fury vibrating beneath his skin.
Then his eyes flick to the right, noticing what everyone realises too late. There’s a second gunman across the room with a pistol aimed at Fiero.
Before I can process it, Fiero moves.
A gunshot explodes through the lounge—the sound is deafening.
My lungs burst as Fiero slams into me, wrenching me out of the Irishman’s grip with catastrophic force.
Another gunshot sounds, closer this time, almost perforating my eardrum. It had to be point blank range.
We crash to the floor together and he immediately covers my body with his.
More shots ring out above us, obliterating the sounds of screams and shouting. Glass shatters overhead.
Fiero’s weight crushes me protectively against the carpet, one large hand locked around the back of my head.
“Stay down.”
My ears ring violently as more men flood the room. From my position on the ground all I can see is an army of polished leather shoes descending on the lounge. More shouting, more pounding footsteps.
The Irishman who’d grabbed me is lying several feet away, his eyes wide, blood running from his nose and mouth. The second one is collapsed over a table, also bleeding and terrifyingly motionless.
There’s more gunfire but it’s receding now. Then there’s silence. Sudden, heavy silence. Even the music has stopped.
My chest heaves beneath Fiero’s body. It’s pressing me into the carpet so hard I can barely draw a breath.
“Fiero?” I whisper, brokenly.
