Page 146 of The Don’s Omega

“Life isn’t fair, Elio,” he snarls. “If it were, my son would still be alive.”

“Look, I… I understand why you’re angry, but it sounds like your son took that deal willingly.” I hold his cold gaze. “My… my baby and I never did anything to you.”

“Save your breath,” he hisses. “There’s no talking me out of it. An eye for an eye is the only way I’ll find peace in this world.”

“The only way you’ll find peace is by brutally murdering me and my child?” I growl with outrage.

“I’m afraid so.”

Fury bubbles up inside of me and I’m out of the chair before I realize I’ve moved. The fireplace poker is the first thing I see. I grab it with both hands.

Salvatore’s expression changes. “Elio, put it down.”

“Promise me you’ll let me go.” My voice wobbles.

“I can’t do that.” He holds out his hand. “Give me the poker.”

“Hell no.” I swing the poker toward him.

He jerks back, knocking into the side table, which sends the tea service crashing to the floor. The noise brings footsteps from the hall. The big man who answered the door, Turi, appears in the doorway. His eyes go from the broken china to the poker in my hands and then to Salvatore.

“Don’t just stand there. Get him,” Salvatore yells.

Turi lunges and I swing. The iron misses his face by inches and cracks against the doorframe hard enough to jar my shoulders. He comes at me again and I swing just as he throws up an arm. The poker catches him below the elbow with a sickening thud. His face twists with pain, but he doesn’t stop.

His other hand clamps around my wrist, and I wrench backward. He holds on as panic explodes through me. I kick him in the shin. The knee. Wherever I can reach. My heel catches something solid and he grunts, but then his hand closes over the poker and we’re both fighting for it.

He’s much stronger than me. He yanks me forward and I fall into him. He tries to head-butt me, but I manage to avoid it. I’m against his body, his arm wrapped around my back as one hand grabs my throat. He begins to squeeze and I drive my knee up as hard as I can.

Turi makes a strangled sound and folds just enough for me to wrench free. I bolt through the doorway, but I barely make it three steps down the hall before his hand closes around the back of my shirt. The collar jerks tight against my throat. I choke, twisting and clawing at his grip, but he yanks me backward and my feet go out from under me.

My shoulder slams into the floor, pain shooting down my arm. I twist onto my stomach, reaching blindly for anything I can use. My fingers scrape over the runner before catching the leg of a narrow table. I grab it and pull with everything I have. The table tips and a lamp crashes beside me. Turi grabs my arm and starts hauling me up. My hand closes around a broken piece of the ceramic base and I swing it hard into the side of his head.

He grunts and lets go and I scramble to my feet and run. My shoulder screams with every stride and my knees feel ready to give out, but the front door is right there. Ten feet away. Maybe even less. I have to try.

“Don’t let him out that door,” Salvatore shouts behind me.

I reach the door and fumble for the deadbolt, nearly losing my grip on the broken lamp base. I twist the lock and yank the door open. Cold air hits my face but I barely have time to register the driveway beyond the threshold before the door slams back into me. I stagger sideways, catching myself against the wall.

Turi stands between me and the open door, blood running from his temple. He kicks it shut behind him. He doesn’t look calm anymore. He looks like he wants to murder me. I tighten my grip on the jagged ceramic lamp base and hold it out in front of me.

“Stay away from me,” I cry, slashing at him to make my point.

He ignores me and keeps coming. My shoulder throbs and I can barely catch my breath. I make a few stabbing movements to warn Turi away, but he grabs my wrist. He twists hard enough that my fingers open and the broken ceramic hits the floor. Then he drives me backward into the door. Panic surges through me and I claw at his face, and when my nails rake his cheek he jerks away, swearing. I go for his eyes, but he catches that wrist too.

“Get off me,” I growl.

“Stop fighting,” he hisses.

“Fuck you.”

I hear Salvatore saying something behind us in Italian, but I can’t understand the words. All I hear is my own breathing. All I feel is terror. If Turi manages to subdue me, I’m not leaving this house. I know that much. I’ll never see Marcello again and my baby will die with me.

Turi wrestles me down to the floor and his sizable weight pins me. I punch at him but he manages to trap my arms against his body. I buck beneath him, kick, twist, try to wrench one arm free, but it’s like trying to dislodge a water buffalo.

Desperate, I slam my forehead into his face. Pain roars through my skull, but his grip breaks. I roll away and crawl. My fingers slide on the polished floor and my breath comes in broken gasps. Turi grabs my calf and I turn onto my back and kick at him like an animal caught in a trap.

He catches one leg so I kick with the other. Salvatore is standing at the end of the hall now. He looks enraged at my audacity to fight for my life. Fuck him. Fuck both of them. I’m not quitting. I don’t care if I look like a wild beast fighting for its life. If I don’t win this battle there won’t be any others.