Page 44 of Unravel Me

Nothing.

Rocco is probably stunned. No one ever interrupts his activities, as everyone knows what the consequences would be.

After all, he's considered second only to the capo himself, the underboss of the Ferro mafia. Maybe only my cousin Ennio, as consigliere, carries influence equal to his.

Me? I don't matter around here.

But I can't just walk away, and I won't.

The door flies open, revealing Rocco half-naked, wearing only his pants. His face is flushed, and there's a fresh scratch across one cheek, but unfortunately, he's blocking the doorway, so I can't see inside the room.

"What the fuck do you want?"

My fingers tighten around the phone I've already typed my message into.

"Let the omega go. Let him leave."

My voice converter delivers the sentence in its usual calm, emotionless tone.

Rocco bursts out laughing. "Get the fuck out of here, kid, before I beat your ass."

But I’m not backing up. Instead, I grab his arm and try to shove him aside so I can see the omega, but Rocco has other plans.

A lightning-fast left hook crashes into my jaw. I'll admit I didn't expect him to turn violent that quickly. That was naïve of me.

If years of training hadn't toughened my face and made me tolerant of pain, that punch probably would've put me flat on the floor. Now I know my only chance is to tie him up in a clinch, so I grab hold of him and drive him into the wall with a half-turn of my body.

Rocco is an inch shorter than I am, but he's far heavier, and the second we lock up, I know this isn't going to end well. Still, I have to try.

A surge of unexpected determination rushes through me as I drive my knee into his stomach. When he doubles over, I smash my elbow into his chin, making him grunt and curse.

For the first time, I see genuine surprise flash across his face.

We've sparred countless times, and he's always had the upper hand. Not now. I'm one step away from taking control when I realize I've made a terrible mistake.

I never would have guessed that, even while half-dressed, Rocco was still armed, the pistol tucked into the back of his waistband.

Fuck.

He yanks it free and slams the grip into my brow with enough force to send me crashing to the floor. Blood pours down my face, and I curse silently as my vision blurs.

At that exact moment, when I hit the ground, my angle changes just enough for me to finally see inside the room.

The omega is lying on the bed, his wrists and ankles tied down.

For one brief second, our eyes meet.

I can only see him through one eye, because the other, along with half my face, is buried beneath a curtain of blood. I want to say something, but I can't. My throat refuses to obey me, just as it always does, and I haven't spoken a single word in twelve years.

Instead, I simply reach toward him and make the sign that means I'm sorry. With trembling effort, I curl my hand into a loose fist and press it against the center of my chest, then begin tracing a small circle.

Even that simple movement costs me more strength than I have left.

My arm starts shaking before I can finish the gesture, then falls limply to the floor.

Rocco crouches beside me.

"Never get between me and my fucktoys. Especially this one. The tastiest of them all."