I stop when he says my name, my back to him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice quiet but with a dangerous edge.
“Nothing,” I lie, clutching the strap of my overnight bag tighter. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t pretend.” His tone sharpens. “Turn around.”
I shake my head, stubbornness rising even as tears sting the backs of my eyes. “I said I’m fine.”
He crosses the space between us in three long strides. He stops in front of me, his pale-gray gaze sweeping over my face before dropping lower. His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking once.
“You’re holding your side,” he says softly.
“It’s nothing,” I insist, taking a step back, but his hand closes gently, firmly around my wrist. “Now that I’m here, it’ll be fine.”
“Briar,” he says, voice low, controlled. “Lift your shirt.”
I freeze. “I…I can’t?—”
He doesn’t wait. One smooth tug, and the hem of my blouse rises just enough to reveal the mottled bruises spreading across my ribs and stomach.
His breath hisses out between clenched teeth. “Who,” he says, each word carved from ice, “did this to you?”
I swallow hard, my voice barely a whisper. “One of Matteo’s men just before I rang you.”
Mr. Moretti’s entire body goes rigid, a quiet, dangerous fury radiating from him like heat off asphalt on a hot summer’s day. He lowers my shirt carefully, his touch gentle despite the violence simmering beneath the surface.
Had I not known he didn’t mean me harm, I would’ve been terrified.
“You should have called me the second this happened,” he says, voice low and lethal.
“I did practically. I did as soon as I could manage it.”
His gaze burns into mine and I swallow. Hard. “This ends now.”
The promise in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I know he doesn’t lie and I know he means to do as he says. For a moment I almost feel sorry for Matteo.
Almost.
TEN
LUCIEN
I pull out my phone. “Anthony,”I say as soon as he answers. “Round up my brothers and bring them here on the quiet.”
“What’s happened?” Anthony askes. There’s music in the background, like he’s at a bar. Being after hours, it’s not unexpected.
“Briar was assaulted. We’ll discuss more when you get here.” I end the call and dial another number I haven’t used in years. It connects on the second ring. “Dr. Andrews,” I say. “I need you at my place. Tonight.”
“Understood,” he says, no questions asked, just that steady voice that patched me and mine more times than I like to remember. “I’ll be there within the hour.”
I slide the phone into my pocket and force myself to breathe. In the bedroom, I can hear the faint rustle of sheets. Briar’s quiet voice when she thanks my housekeeper for the water and Tylenol she gave her. She’s trying to be brave with suspected broken ribs. It puts a splinter under my skin.
How dare the bastard assault her. How dare my men miss one of Romero’s men gaining entrance to her building. Ragetears through me, and I force myself to remain still, to breathe, to think and plan.
I’ll kill him. I’ll kill them all.
It’s my only thought. I force myself to sit on the sofa and wait, to be patient and not act irrationally. Within half the hour, the elevator pings and Anthony and all four of my brothers stalk into the room. Hard eyes. Efficient hands. Loyal above all else. Men I would lay my life down to protect and know that they would do the same.
