“Barely shot! Alessandro, there’s no such thing as barely shot!” My voice is rising, hysteria creeping in at the edges. “You got shot because of me. Because we were standing there kissing and someone shot at you and—”
“Hey.” He cups my face, forcing me to look at him. “Breathe. You’re okay. We’re okay.”
“Someone tried to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“At a Christmas market.”
“Yes.”
“While we were dancing.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He brushes snow from my hair with surprising gentleness. “I should have known better. Should have had more men positioned. Should have—”
“Should have what? Not taken me out? Not tried to have one normal evening?” Tears are burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. “This is my fault. I pushed for this. I wanted normal, and someone almost killed you because of it.”
“This is not your fault.” His voice is fierce. “None of this is your fault. This is Greco. The Russo family. My world bleeding into yours. But Elena, you need to understand, this will keep happening. As long as we’re together, you’ll be in danger. They’ll keep coming after me, and anyone close to me becomes a target.”
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning.
He’s giving me an out. A chance to walk away before things get worse.
I should take it. Should run as far away from Alessandro De Luca as possible. Should go back to my safe, quiet life making flower arrangements and drinking coffee in my little apartment where nobody shoots at me.
But when I look at him with snow in his hair, blood on his coat, fear and hope warring in his dark eyes, I know I can’t walk away.
“Then I guess we’ll need to be more careful,” I say.
“Elena—”
“No. I’m not leaving. I’m not running. I’m...” I take a shaky breath. “I’m terrified, and I’m probably going to need therapy after this, and I’m definitely going to have nightmares. But I’m not leaving you.”
“You should.”
“Probably. But I’m stubborn, remember? When I want something, I don’t give up easily.” I touch his face, feeling the tension in his jaw. “I want you, Alessandro. Even with the guns and the danger and the people trying to kill you at Christmas markets. I want you.”
He closes his eyes like I’ve hurt him. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Let’s hope not literally.”
A choked sound escapes him, half laugh, half sob. When he opens his eyes again, there’s something fierce and possessive there that sends heat racing through me despite the cold and the fear and the chaos.
“Boss, area’s clear.” A voice crackles, in his earpiece. “Shooter’s down. We have an exit route.”
“Copy.” Alessandro stands, pulling me with him. His coat swings open, and I catch a glimpse of the shoulder holster, the gun now tucked away. “We need to go. Police will be here soon, and we don’t want to answer their questions.”
“But people saw—”
“No one got a clear look at us. Paulo made sure of it.” He’s already moving, his hand firm around mine. “Come on.”
We slip away from the Christmas market through a back alley, leaving behind the screaming and the lights and the shattered remnants of our almost-normal date. A car is waiting, not the Mercedes, something smaller and less conspicuous with Paulo at the wheel.
“Hospital?” Paulo asks as we climb in.
“No. It’s barely a scratch. Take us to Elena’s.”
The drive is silent. Alessandro keeps his arm around me, and I let myself lean into him, suddenly exhausted. My stuffed penguin is somehow still clutched in my other hand, a ridiculous reminder of what this evening was supposed to be.
