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e down into the assassin’s dark clothes.
“I’m one second away from slitting your throat,” Tristan warned, his voice so chilling she shivered. “I suggest you start answering some questions.”
The assassin looked at her. “You shouldn’t have gone digging old graves.”
Before she could even blink, the man twisted his arm, turning the gun and shot himself through the head.
A shriek left her and she clapped her hands over her mouth, shock coursing through her as she watched the now-dead assassin fall, his blood splattered over Tristan. She stood rooted to the spot, her heels falling from her numb hands, as she watched Tristan quickly pocket the knife, squatting down to pat the corpse swiftly.
Morana stayed frozen.
He found a wallet, taking it out and rummaging through it, before pocketing that as well. Suddenly stopping, as though remembering she was still there, he looked up through a face splattered with blood, so much blood, his blue eyes sparking with something cold. Those eyes perused her quickly, thoroughly, before locking with hers.
“Get back to the house,” he ordered quietly, without getting up.
Morana opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head, just once, silencing her for the first time. She didn't even know what she would have said. Her mind was blank. Just the idea of staying behind with the body made her feel nauseated all of a sudden.
She swallowed, her eyes going to his house just feet away, lingering, coming back to him in silent question.
His eyes blazed. He didn’t respond.
Slightly dejected at still being uninvited, Morana sighed and moved around him and the corpse towards the treeline.
“And text Dante,” his voice said from behind her, still quiet. He was in his mode but something was simmering under the surface, in a way she hadn't seen him in before. “Tell him to get here.”
Morana nodded, pulling up the contact on the phone, making the call. Dante picked up on the second ring.
"Morana," he greeted, his voice neutral. She could hear the party in the background.
"You need to come by the lake," she told him, her voice so neutral, surprising her. She sounded so calm, too calm.
Dante paused. "You two okay?"
Morana looked at the dead body, then at Tristan, still covered in blood, checking the man's gun. She gulped. "I think so."
"I'll be there in 5."
Dante disconnected and Morana relayed the information to Tristan. He nodded and looked pointedly at the house.
Morana hesitated, part of her wanting to stay and help. But she didn't know anything about taking care of dead bodies and what to do with them. It wasn't her forte. And looking at the blown-out face of the assassin, she never, ever wanted it to be her forte.
"I need you to leave, now," Tristan told her, still crouched on the ground. He needed her to leave. He needed her to go so he could do whatever he had to do. She was a distraction at the moment. Realizing that, Morana nodded and walked back to the house without turning to look behind her, her steps quick. Thankfully, she didn’t encounter anybody on the way. Entering through the main door, she climbed up the stairs and went straight to her room, locking the door behind her.
Heaving a shuddering breath in, reaction finally set in. With trembling hands, she took off her dress and jewelry, pushing them off and going straight for the shower. Stepping in, she closed her eyes as the warm water poured over her, the image of the assassin shooting his head off, his blood spraying back all over Tristan, burned in her memory. Scrubbing her skin, as though the blood was on her, Morana shivered in the warm water, her body shaking even as she tried to calm it down.
It was okay. Nothing happened. She was fine. He was fine. She was fine. He was fine.
She repeated it over and over like a mantra, eventually feeling her heart catch its normal rhythm. Blowing out a breath, she shut off the water and wrapped herself in a towel, her brain finally putting the pieces together.
Tristan had set a trap.
Like a true predator, he had taken her knife, perhaps because he’d been unarmed, and left her on the dance floor, knowing she would want to escape and her would-be assassin would follow. Somehow, without her or her assassin even getting the slightest hint, he had followed them, stalked them. And then he’d had the other man exactly where he’d wanted him - on the other end of the knife.
Getting into her new, cute pajamas, a sense of comfort washing over her, Morana got into bed, turning the light off. Her eyes open, she watched the lights from outside play on the ceiling, still surprised at the entire evening, at the meeting with the man who was her ‘new friend’, at the way Tristan had reacted at the party and then everything that had happened by the lake.
The last words of the man echoed in her head. Words he had said right before killing himself. She was digging old graves and someone, somewhere really wanted to keep them buried. But the thing was, she had no clue what she was digging into and who wanted to silence her so bad that they’d sent an assassin to the house of the Maronis. It didn’t escape her attention that anybody gutsy enough to send an outsider in Maroni’s property was either really desperate or fearless. She did consider if it was Maroni himself but discarded the idea immediately. If something happened to her, he would be the first suspect for Tristan and Tristan would go rogue on his ass, which Maroni couldn’t afford at the moment for some reason. It couldn’t be her father, not after the scene she had witnessed between him and Tristan.
And he had protected her, yet again.
