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The wine glass shatters against the floor as I leap to my feet, Sig drawn, safety off. “Get down.”
Sophia’s eyes widen—fear flashing bright—but she obeys. I shove her behind the marble counter, my finger to my lips. Her breathing comes fast and shallow. Mine steadies into cold focus.
The alarm shuts off, allowing us to hear the footsteps of two—maybe three—men thunder down the hall.. Their measured paces suggest trained professionals, not panicked amateurs who stumble in the dark.
A shadow crosses the doorway. I curse under my breath because I know exactly who it is before he even steps into the light.
Rocco’s thick neck and shaved head gleam in the shadows like a polished bullet, then Vito slides in behind him, his snake tattoo visible and his hair slicked back like he’s attending a funeral.
He’s probably hoping it’ll be mine.
These are Benedetti enforcers. They’re not enemies in the traditional sense, but they’re not allies either. Just men following commands from someone who wants me gone.
Perfect. Just what I need when I’m trying to keep my wife from getting caught in the cross fire of mob politics.
I move into the open, my gun raised. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Rocco shrugs. “You gave us the codes two years ago, remember? Back when we were still on the same side. I just entered a wrong number the first time.”
I curse myself for that past trust.
Rocco’s lips curl at a corner, his tone full of bravado. “Orders. You’re coming with us.”
“Whose orders?” I don’t blink.
“Does it matter?” Vito’s hand twitches toward his holster.
Behind me, Sophia stands, ignoring my glare. The woman has the reckless courage of a saint.
“Stay down,” I hiss.
She doesn’t. Instead, she picks up the Glock from the counter with steady hands. “You taught me to shoot.” She levels it at Vito. “Let me use it.”
Pride and terror tangle in my chest. “Only if you have to.”
Vito’s eyes flick to her as he draws his gun.
His mistake. I shoot, and he drops the weapon, howling, blood spilling from his hand. Just a flesh wound, but painful enough.
Rocco lunges for my gun with unexpected agility. I try to sidestep, but his weight catches my shoulder, spinning me sideways. Pain explodes through the old injury.
I pivot, but Sophia acts faster, slamming a vase into the side of his head. He crumples.
For a second, silence returns. My heart pounds like it’s trying to break free of its cage.
She’s shaking but standing, determination blazing in her eyes.
A low, dark laugh escapes me. “You’re dangerous.”
“Learned from the best.”
I holster the gun and step over Rocco’s writhing body.
He spits blood while flexing his scarred knuckles. “Gabi said if you don’t come willingly, we have to make you.”
Gabi’s cornered, and that makes him a rabid dog. His attempt to leash me reeks of fear.
A Benedetti Padrino should never fear men like Vincent. If Gabi can’t keep his head during this debacle, what storms await the famiglia later?
