Page 358 of Don’t Say Mafia

The way he said it made my stomach tighten.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, pushing myself upright on the couch.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides. “Mr. Thatcher sent me,” he said quietly.

The words did nothing to calm the unease creeping through me.

“Why?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

Zachary glanced toward the elevator again, his jaw tightening slightly like he was listening for something. “Someone is going to be here in a moment,” he said.

The dread that had been simmering in my chest suddenly flared into something much sharper.

“And?” I asked.

He looked back at me, and there was something grim in his eyes that made my throat tighten. “And it’s going to be bad.”

My fingers curled into the couch cushion beside me. “What does that mean?” I whispered.

Zachary stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Mr. Thatcher asked me to try to make sure you were safe. And I’m going to do my best . . .”

Safe.

“What are you keeping me safe from?” I asked.

He studied me for a second, and then something in his expression softened just slightly. “Miss Thorne,” he said quietly, “I’m going to need you to be brave for him.”

The tears came instantly, stinging my eyes before I could stop them. “Zachary,” I said shakily. “What’s happening? Is Jagger all right?”

Zachary didn’t answer. He had already turned away from me, his entire posture stiffening as he faced the elevator doors again. I watched him reach under his jacket and pull out a gun, and my breath caught as he raised it steadily and aimed it at the metal doors. “Fuck,” he growled as we both heard the quiet mechanical rise of the elevator.

His head turned slightly toward me, his voice suddenly frantic. “Eden, run!”

My body moved before my brain caught up. I bolted down the hallway just as the elevator chimed behind me.

A split second later a gunshot exploded through the penthouse.

Zachary shouted something, but the words blurred into the roar of blood rushing through my ears.

I ran harder.

The hallway seemed impossibly long as I sprinted toward the emergency exit at the far end, my bare feet slipping slightly against the polished floor as panic clawed its way up my throat.

I was almost there when I heard the emergency exit door burst open. The heavy metal slam echoed down the hallway, followed by the pounding of boots and voices spilling into the stairwell.

They were coming from both directions.

My chest seized with terror, and I spun around and darted into the bedroom. I rushed straight for the closet, shoving through the hanging clothes until the soft fabric surrounded me.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway as I crouched low behind the rows of jackets and dresses, pressing a hand over my mouth as my heart pounded wildly in my chest.

Another door slammed somewhere near the stairwell as a second group came through the emergency exit.

They were everywhere.

The bedroom door creaked open. “Search the place,” a rough voice said. I listened, shaking, as boots crossed the room and glass shattered somewhere near the bathroom.

I squeezed my eyes shut, barely daring to breathe as the men moved through the penthouse.