Page 169 of Don’t Say Mafia

I had to get back to Eden.

“Big words, Vale.” Declan smirked. “But you’re outnumbered. And we’re already moving. By the time I kill you—she’ll be ours. And Jagger will get to watch the videos. Every cut. Every scream. Every time she begs for you. Then we’ll put a bullet in both of your heads while she’s still screaming your names.”

He nodded to his men, and they opened fire.

Cruz and I dove behind the pallets. Bullets chewed through the wood, sparking off the metal and filling the air with the acrid stink of spent rounds. We returned fire—two quick bursts from me, three from Cruz—dropping the first three men inching toward us in sprays of red.

We moved, cover to cover, picking them off while trying to buy time we didn’t have.

But there were too many.

A round clipped the top of my shoulder, and I grunted as pain burned through me and blood began soaking my shirt. Gritting my teeth, I kept firing.

Cruz took a hit to his vest and went down, cursing for a second before rolling to new cover.

I emptied the rifle into the nearest group creeping down one of the aisles, dropping two more before the bolt locked back. A gun cracked somewhere behind me, and I whirled around . . . but I was too late.

Something smashed into the side of my head hard enough to make the floor tilt sideways.

I dropped to my knees as Declan stepped into view, smiling down at me. “Nighty night, lad. I’ll tell your girl you did your best.”

The last thing I saw before the dark rushed in was his boot coming toward my face.

And the only thought in my head was Eden.

I’m sorry, I whispered.

I’m so fucking sorry for what’s about to happen to you.

Eden

The television murmured quietly in the background, some afternoon talk show host laughing a little too brightly at a joke that didn’t land. I wasn’t really watching it. The remote rested loosely in my hand while I sat curled into the corner of the couch, my legs tucked under me as I stared toward the screen without actually seeing it.

My shift started in an hour . . . and it was my last one.

For the past few weeks, every time I’d walked onto the casino floor, I’d felt dread, and I’d finally gotten the courage to take the leap and be done.

One more shift. One last night in this uniform, weaving between tables and pretending I didn’t hear the comments men tossed after me.

For the first time in my life, I had someone I could trust to catch me when I jumped.

The future finally felt like something I could actually shape instead of something I had to endure, and I’d already signed up for some online college classes.

I was so fucking ready.

The audience laughed again, and I sighed, wishing Jagger wasn’t in a meeting across town with investors . . . even though it felt ridiculous how much I missed him.

As if the universe had read my mind, the elevator chimed, and I glanced up automatically, a small smile already tugging at my mouth. Jagger had a habit of showing up earlier than expected . . . because he always missed me, too.

But when the doors slid open, it wasn’t him. It was Zachary.

He stepped out quickly, the doors whispering closed behind him, and something about the way he moved made the smile fade from my face almost immediately. Zachary was always calm and composed. He had always seemed like the kind of man nothing in the world could surprise.

But right now he looked tense.

His gaze swept the room quickly before settling on me.

“Miss Thorne,” he said.