I lurched to my feet, staring at the door.
I glanced back at the tablet screen. Maybe I should delete this email . . .
Silence.
Or maybe the person at the door had left—
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Crap, crap, crap.
They had found me.
The media. The Tempeste family.
Someone.
I hurriedly hit ‘Send’ on the email and shut off the tablet. No time to over think anything.
I whirled around, trying to decide what to do. Grab a weapon or hide?
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Hide it was.
I hit the floor behind the sofa, finding myself face-to-face with a ceramic Dopey the Dwarf lawn gnome.
No bullets entered the room. Which was . . . good. Progress.
Now what? Perhaps I could crawl to the balcony and wave down the paparazzi on the street below. Of course, if it was an aggressive reporter at the door, flagging down more paparazzi would only worsen the problem.
If it was the Cosa Nostra, however . . . would the Tempeste family put a bullet in me in front of media cameras?
Damn. They might—
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The knock sounded big and strong. My petite spitfire bones could practically taste the testosterone behind it.
Options. I needed better options.
Bam. Bam.
Yeah. A lot of anger issues there.
The handle jiggled.
“Chiara, I know you’re in there,” yelled an all too familiar voice. “Open the damn door.”
Oh.
Or it could just be Dante.
He had his angry eyebrows on when I opened the door.
“Good morning to you, too.” I grinned, mostly because that would annoy him.
My grin faded fast. There wasn’t just one set of angry eyebrows in the stairwell.
