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He chuckles. “Is all your bravado coming from the fact that Christian told you he’s coming to save you? Trust me, sweetheart, your fiancé’s going to die today. And you’ll be all alone. I can help you.”
“Fuck off, Richardson.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ve got some mouth on you.”
“Would you like it on you? I’m sure I’d be able to tear off an adequate amount of flesh before they ripped me away!”
Christian was right. My mouth is definitely going to get me killed. That becomes extremely clear when menace bleeds into Richardson’s eyes. He lifts his hand and delivers a stinging slap to my face. I gasp in shock and tears well in my eyes.
Then he leans down to whisper in my ear. “Behave, Evans. Or you’ll regret it.”
Richardson walks away and I’m left with a cut in my lip and the realization that this situation is dangerous. It settles in my gut that I might actually die today. And Christian might, too.
I’m not sure when the first tears fall. All I feel is them running down my face.
* * *
Romano returns an hour later.He takes one look at me and his footsteps still.
“Who did that?” he demands, anger barely concealed in his voice.
Richardson steps forward. “I did, boss. She pissed me off.”
One punch to the face and I hear something crack. Romano’s body quakes with raw power as he stands over Richardson, who’s on the ground.
“Are you fucking stupid? He’s going to take one look at her busted lip and lose his shit. We’re dealing with a fucking D’Angelo.”
I would smile but I’m frozen in terror when Romano brings out a gun.
“I should kill you for this.”
Richardson finds his way back to his feet, his hand cradling his jaw. “But you won’t. Because you still need me. The Santos won’t survive without me.”
Romano’s jaw ticks, but that seems to placate him because he moves away and walks toward me. “Sorry about the bruise, sweetheart. Your fiancée’s almost here.”
My jaw is shut tight right now. I don’t say a word, I barely even look at him. The men in the room get into position, and my pulse starts to race as everyone waits for Christian to show up.
When he does, my eyes widen. There’s a briefcase in his hand and he’s completely utterly alone.
His eyes find mine immediately—icily calm, dull amber eyes. Despite myself, relief fills me. He’s here. I’m safe. His steps falter for a beat. Christian’s fury cools and burns my skin as his gaze skims my face.
“Who touched her?” His voice is low, dark and fucking terrifying. Christian doesn’t need to raise his voice—when he speaks, people listen.
Romano clears his throat, casually waving the gun in his hand. “That was an accident, D’Angelo. My apologies.”
Christian doesn’t react to his words. His eyes flick to the man closest to me. “Untie her,” he orders.
In a room full of men armed and dangerous, he’s still giving orders. I’m not sure if I admire him or want to hit him. Surprise fills me when Romano actually turns and nods at the man.
“Yes, untie her. Then press a gun to her head so he knows I’m not fucking playing.”
My heart stops, then restarts again at the calm, easy expression on Christian’s face. The only thing that’s thrown him off is the bruise on my face. Of course he has a plan.
The ropes at my hand and feet are cut and I’m dragged roughly to my feet. Christian’s lips press together but he doesn’t comment. He tosses the briefcase at Romano’s feet.
“There. Ten thousand dollars in cash,” he states.
One of Romano’s men walks forward to grab it.
