Page 117 of The Viper's Wife

She won’t want me if it means her life is constantly at risk.

My companion shuts up when I tell him I’m in a real fucking hurry and would he please drive a little faster, until we turn the corner to the street outside Valeria’s house.

“Damn, I feel bad for the poor bastard who lives there.”

For one horrific, infinite moment, I’m frozen in place, sucked into a pit of black tar while my heart pounds and my mind screams at my useless muscles—I have to be dreaming, I need towake up.

Her house is on fire.

22

NICO

I throwmyself out of the car and sprint across the street. A team of firefighters shoot hoses of water into the building.

“Valeria!”

It’s my voice. I’m screaming.

I barrel past the first firefighter and shove past the second. The third tackles me, and I strike out before I know what I’m doing, elbowing him hard in the gut. The heat against my face from the house is blistering. The fire roars.

“Valeria!”

“Hey, man.” A full-face mask swims into my vision. “There’s no one inside!”

I lunge at the firefighter who spoke and snatch his jacket. “A tall woman with black hair, she’s still inside—Valeria, her name is Valeria.”

The mask shakes. “We swept the place. It’s empty.”

“Boss!” A car pulls up with the passenger window rolled down. It’s one of Salvatore’s men—Camillo, the short guy with face scars. “She’s at your place. Giovanni’s with her.”

I dash down the front steps.

Giovanni has her. I’m going to kill him, shoot him in the fucking face, rip out his jugular with my goddamn teeth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I dive into the passenger seat. “Give me your fucking phone—now.”

I heave like a trapped animal as I call up Salvatore and wait for him to pick up. It takes all my willpower not to lash out at Camillo.

“She’s unharmed,” Salvatore says. “My men are watching her.”

“Watching her?” I spit into the phone. “They’re supposed toprotecther. They’re supposed to be keeping her safe. You’re supposed to keep her safe, Salvatore.”

“Giovanni left his weapons outside. I won’t deny him a conversation?—”

I hang up. “My place,now.”

Camillo burns rubber down the road as I try not to crawl out of my own skin. I can barely breathe—I’ve never felt this out-of-control, not even when Father had me arrested.

I clutch at the car interior so I don’t punch through the glass.

I need to know she’s okay. If he hurt a fucking hair on her head, if he scared her—my thoughts spiral into a deafening roar as Camillo takes the turn toward my apartment building. The second the car slows, I tear onto the asphalt, stumbling as I race for the elevators.

I jab at the call button.

Too slow, toofuckingslow.