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His fingers tightened. He gave her a yank, angling a hard, cold look down at her.
Something heavy and terrifying eclipsed her heart—something she hadn’t felt since she pressed her shaking fingers to the fever burning up Serafina’s forehead and heard the rattle in her chest. It wasn’t just terror—it was the absolute certainty that the world was about to come crashing down. “Roman? What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her, just tugged her so fiercely that she nearly tripped, pulling her toward the bullets singing out as they kissed pavement and brick. The acrid sting of gunpowder polluted the air.
The Betsy abruptly fell silent when they came into view of the office window; the gunman must have seen her. One of the Prohibition boys shouted out a cease-fire, but they kept their weapons at the ready.
Sabina stumbled along, dreadful certainty swallowing her whole. Ice. Numb. She silently called for it, wishing it could douse the flames consuming her, but it was no use. She could still feel the terror with every stumbling step, every pulse of the veins under Roman’s fingers.
Roman was supposed to have been different. He was supposed to have loved her. He was supposed to have seen something in her, more than who her father was and what he owed him. He’d said he did, he had. He’d made her feel, for the first time in too long, like she was worthwhile.
But now he was dragging her straight into the line of fire, straight toward the Bureau boys, his stride sure and fast. She could smell it now on the rain-heavy wind. Cop.
Her stomach rebelled at the thought, but she couldn’t deny it. Not when Roman, who had waltzed into her life six months ago and brought light back into it, stepped up beside the man who had been shouting and tugged the megaphone to his own lips. “Come out, Manny, or your daughter dies!”
Ice. Numb. For three years she’d been moving through the floes, training herself not to feel the things that would only crush her—why did the ice abandon her now, when she needed it so dearly? But it wouldn’t come. All that came was the burning, panicked dread. Sabina tried again to pull free, but Roman’s fingers—the fingers that had caressed her cheek two days ago—dug in harder.
A sob wanted to rear up, but she had too much practice fending off tears. No. Perhaps the ice wouldn’t come, but she still had pride to fall back on. She lifted her chin, straightened her spine, and glared at him.
The fair-haired man beside them shifted, clenched his jaw. “Roman…”
“Shut up, Cliff.”
Rain dripped down her face, crying for her. It soaked her new hat and dress, likely ruining them. She’d bought them especially for her dinner with Roman tonight. Roman, who had actually looked at her like she was as beautiful as everyone said. Roman, who had kissed her like he wanted to.
Roman, who thrust her forward now like some kind of sacrificial lamb, still keeping his grip on her elbows. “Get down here, old man! If you love her as much as you say you do, come take her place!”
“Roman…” the man he’d called Cliff said again, his voice heavy with warning as he mopped the moisture from his face. He flicked an uncertain gaze to Sabina. As if he cared about her, this blue-eyed stranger who screamed Cop! with his every movement. No. He was only here to ruin her life, her family, all they’d worked for. He was here to steal, like they all were.
Roman snarled. “Give it a rest. Get ready to take him into custody when he comes down.”
Finally, that blessed ice drifted over her—first her limbs, then her body, and finally her very soul. But it didn’t feel comforting anymore. It didn’t insulate her from the pain; it only trapped it inside her.
This was her fault—all her fault. Papa…and what would Mama say, and Little G? All the lieutenants and cousins and uncles? The Mancari operation was their world—how they survived, how they fed their children. With Papa pinched, they would all suffer. All because she’d trusted Roman Oliveri—because she’d dared to believe that he could actually love her.
Her eyes burned, but she forced herself to look to the door of the building. She knew what she’d see in another moment. Her father wouldn’t have had time to escape yet, so he would come down and give himself up for her. Because he loved her. But this stranger, this monster beside her… How could she possibly have let herself be used to ruin her own family?
As if sensing her thoughts, Roman looked down at her. His gaze, though softer than a moment before, had never been so cool in their half-year acquaintance. “Look, Sabina, I’m sorry you got dragged into this. You weren’t supposed to be here today.”
“That’s all you have to say to me?” The words burned her tongue as she spat them, flint and spark and fire that melted her hard-won ice from the inside. “I shouldn’t have been here today? After six months of lying to me, using me—”
“Sabina…”
She had no intention of stopping there. But the front door of the building opened, and her father walked out with his hands held above his head.
She hadn’t cried in three years, not since the day of Serafina’s funeral. Not since she leaned one last time to press her lips to that precious little cheek and realized that her sweet little sister, the girl she’d given so many years to raising and loving, was gone forever. But a sob heaved its way up now, her tears finally mixing with heaven’s. “Papa!”
Giorgio Mancari should not have come to this.
He walked straight toward her and Roman, his chin up and eyes steady. None of the other agents made a move to stop him. Given the gold and gems sparkling on their hands—treasures no one could purchase on a Prohibition agent’s salary—she wasn’t surprised.
“Get your hands off my daughter.” His words were a low growl.
Roman obeyed with a smirk. “Of course. She’s free to go, so long as you show yourself into the car without a fuss.”
Papa shook his head. “You’re a coward and a rat. After you ate at our table, after we gave you our trust, you would do this to us?”
Sabina forced a swallow as guilt ate away at her stomach. Papa never would have looked twice at this newcomer if she hadn’t asked him to give Roman a chance. She was the one who had trusted him. She was the one who had been duped. Her father’s only mistake had been to trust her judgment.
