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“Alessio was here under your father’s orders. I’m going to have to tell him. I’m sorry, Gabriella, but I have to.”
I shake my head. “Please, Monty, please don’t. If you tell my father, he'll be furious.”
Monty nods, and a soft look enters his eyes. “I will keep your name out of this, Gabriella. I have to tell your father that I have Alessio hidden away. But I do not need to tell you about that.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God.
Monty exits the room Alessio is currently in, and I follow him out. I listen in on the conversation he has with my father. He tells him about the condition Alessio is in and that it was a call he received from an informant of theirs; that he knows Alessio is under my father’s orders to be here, and how the informant called him and told him where Alessio was.
I’m so very grateful that Monty won’t tell my father I was the one who took Alessio, but I cannot begin to understand why I was so, so stupid—to bring a man I don't even know into my home, and save him, after discovering he killed three men.
Monty tells my father about the men and how they're lying in the alleyway. My father assures Monty his men are on route as they speak.
I sigh heavily, relieved my father’s going to sort this out. I move away from Monty and back into the room Alessio is in. He’s still unconscious and very, very pale. He looks peaceful. I have a feeling it's very rare to see this man like this. I don't know what is wrong with me. Why I'm so connected to this man. I hate it. I hate that I put myself in danger. For years I’ve managed to keep myself out of the world my father lives in and now my anonymity could be gone in the blink of an eye.
The door opens, and Monty walks in. “Gabriella, I have to tell you,” Monty begins, and I brace myself. The look of fear in Monty’s eyes is scaring me. “The men Alessio killed were Russian Bratva soldiers. They belonged to Nikolai Vasiliev.”
Oh God, this isn’t good.
“The man is dangerous, Gabriella. He sent three of his best men to kill Alessio.”
I stare at the man I consider a friend in shock. If this Nikolai sent his best men to kill Alessio, and he was the only one to leave the alleyway alive, that means this isn't the first time Alessio has done this. He's trained for this.
I stare at the man on the bed, wondering just how fucked I truly am.
Chapter 3
Gabriella
Iglance at the cell phone on the table. This is the seventy-eighth time someone has called in the past four days.
I'm too scared to answer. I see the nameDanteflashing on the screen, and my blood runs cold. This isn’t good. They already know Alessio has been injured and that he killed three men, but they haven't heard from their brother. They're worried. I get that. I would be too.
A part of me wants to answer the call, to tell them he survived and is getting better but needs more time to heal. I want them to know that, but at the same time, I've already put myself in a precarious situation. I cannot out myself because no one in their right mind would have done what I did. No sane person would take a man they knew killed three people home with them to get him fixed up. But someone in their world would do that. And I know that if I answer the phone to Dante, he'll demand to know who I am, and then he'll do some digging, and it won't take long for someone like him to realize I’m the illegitimate daughter of Joe Ranieri. So, I just sit here, listening as the cell rings.
If Dante ever found out my identity, I know my dad would have my back. He'll always protect me. It’ll mean a war, andthat’s not something I want. I'm a lover, not a fighter. I don’t take after my father and all the people in this criminal underworld. I prefer my life to be Zen and happy. I don’t want to hurt anyone, nor do I want to cause harm to anyone. Hell, the thought of my words making someone cry, hurts me. Whereas my father kills people for a living, then he has people murdered for his own satisfaction. That’s not someone I could ever be.
It's been four days since I brought Alessio home. He's woken up once with a delirious fever. His wound is healing nicely—so the doctor says. Monty doesn't seem to be too worried about him. He said he's healing and will be back on his feet in no time.
But I can't help but wonder why he was hurt in the first place. What did he do to the Russians to make them come after him?
I'm curious by nature. I always love to dig deep into mysteries and find out what's going on. It’s why Raylee and I ended up in so much trouble a few years ago. Her father was trafficking women, along with his best friend, Ashton Banks, and they got on the wrong side of Malcolm Gallagher—who is now Raylee’s husband—the Irish Mafia boss in Spain. In doing so, Raylee and I lost our best friend, the man who meant the world to us, who was a brother to us. We watched as he was beaten to death, and there was absolutely nothing we could do to save him. I think seeing Alessio bleeding, and those three dead men, brought back a lot of memories. It was like I was back in Spain, being held back as men pounded into my best friend. They wouldn’t stop until he was lying on the floor, unmoving. That day haunts me. And it will haunt me for the rest of my life.
A part of me will always dislike Malcolm and his right-hand man, Christian, for holding me and Raylee back and letting those men kill Mayer. But the bigger part of me will always be grateful they did, because if they hadn't, I may have lost more than Mayer. I could have lost Raylee too.
The cell stops ringing, and I breathe a sigh of relief. One more day that I don’t have to talk to Dante, Romero, or even to someone called Makenna. Whenever her name flashes on the screen, jealousy hits me like the green-eyed monster. Is she his girlfriend? Wife? Fiancée? From everything I have learned, Dante and Romero are Alessio’s two brothers. All three are the sons of Matteo Bianchi, a man who raped, killed, and hurt so many women just for the fun of it.
I glance down at Alessio’s sleeping form and I can’t help but wonder what he did for those men to come after him. I spot the white bandage covering his wound and find myself glad when I see no blood seeping through. My eyes once again drift to an old wound so similar to the one he has now. It’s located on the other side of his body. He’s been shot before, and from what Monty said, it was quite bad. I can't help but feel that this man lives for the danger he thrives on.
There's no way anyone should have been able to survive being attacked by three Russian Bratva soldiers. Yet Alessio lies in bed, having done so. There’s just so many questions on my mind. I'm not one to just brush things under the carpet. I have to know why, how, and what of the situation. Poor Alessio. Once he wakes up, he is going to be bombarded with all the questions I have. But then, in return, I know he'll have questions for me. Ones I don't know how to answer.
How do you tell a man you don’t know that you're the reason he's still alive? That you saved him, when in fact you should have run and called the cops. Hell, I should have just left him there like a normal person would have done.
I know the reason I’m not a normal person. I never have been because the blood of my father runs through my veins, and as much as I pretend otherwise, I don't see the world in black and white. I do know right from wrong, but I also know that some people can’t control who they are. They were born to do thisjob, like my father and Alessio were. Some people were born to rule the underworld and be rich and powerful. You have to be both of those things to be able to rule so many men and women. Their way of life is unthinkable to most. It takes a certain person to be able to do it. It also takes a certain person to be able to take someone's life, and Alessio is one of those people, as is my father.
I don't judge people on their past, future, or present. I don't judge them on their job or what they have done. I judge them on who they truly are beneath the bloodshed, demons, and killings. I always judge people by their hearts. Because if I didn't, no one in my life would be here. Not Raylee, her family, her husband, Malcolm, and not my father. Raylee isn't a killer; she loves a man who is, as well as all her brothers, who are killers too.
I'm no one to judge anyone, because my father is one of the meanest sons of bitches in this world. And I love him. What does that say about me? I guess I'll never know. But I am loyal to a fault. And I am loyal to my father, because he helped me when my life was at its lowest. And I know no matter what, he’ll always help me, whether I like it or not. And that is the reason why I will never judge anyone by what they have done, what they are doing, or what they will do, and only judge them by who they truly are.
