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“Get your ugly mug out of my face,” a man bellows.
I hurry into the hallway and peer down into the living area. Two guards lay immobile on the floor as Sandro and another man fight in a full-on brawl.
“I’m going to kill you,” the man cries out, body-slamming Sandro and taking him to the floor.
“Not if I kill you first, you son of a bitch.”
I race for the stairs and quickly descend. By the time I reach the living room, both men are on their feet. Sandro faces me, his expression furious. He punches the man, sending his head pitching sideways. Blood splatters across the tile.
There’s a brief pause as the intruder recovers. And then the battle’s on.
Is this Emilio Conti? The man who hurt Sandro?
My fingers clench into a fist.
“Your men tied me to a hotel bed for days, you control freak.”
So, he does know Sandro.
“What else would you have me do?” Sandro snarls. “Hold your hand while the shit you snorted leaves your system? Allow you to bring down the Beneventi empire?”
“I’m not the one who was ambushed.”
Sandro launches at the man. Once more, the boxing match turns into a grappling session.
“You can’t keep me here.” His fist connects with Sandro’s side.
“Watch me.” Sandro knees him in the stomach.
I snatch the nearest vase off a table, dump the contents on the floor, and creep forward until I’m a few feet away. They’re about the same size. Same dark hair. Same tenacity. Sandro is more muscular, more strategic. His attacker is wild and unpredictable.
The man headbutts Sandro and flips positions.
Then he produces a gun.
“You fucking froze years ago,” Sandro taunts. “Now you’re going to shoot me, shitface?”
“Shut up.”
“You ruined my life,” Sandro continues. “Go on. Do it. Then you’ll be stepping up instead of shooting up.”
The man’s hand shakes.
“Pussy,” Sandro gloats.
“You controlling prick. I should put you out of your misery.”
I shift, and Sandro’s eyes snap to mine. “No,” he shouts.
Except it’s too late. I’m already swinging the vase. My aim sucks, and it connects with the attacker’s upper arm.
But before I can swing it a second time, the man’s up and on me, tackling me to the ground.
My head hits the tile floor. The breath is knocked out of me. But I’m aware of the gun to my temple. I stare at the man and see double.
“Don’t you fucking hurt her, Renzo.”
He looks like Sandro.
