I would do anything for you. —Love, Enzo
Enzo
Then—
Another bang.
Lucas’s mouth parts, eyes widening before they flicker shut.
A bullet hole forms right between his eyes.
He falls, crumbling to his knees.
I look up, meeting Izzy’s powerful gaze. The gun is still pointed at where Lucas used to be. Her eyes—wild, blazing with fury—soften whenthey look at me.
She takes off running, her feet pounding the ground as she barrels toward me.
Panting, muscles screaming, I push up from the floor, just in time for her to jump into my arms; her weight is a welcome comfort. A small "umph" escapes my lips as I wince from the impact. My body is still sore from Lucas's attack and the tender muscles scream in protest.
I cradle her to me, relishing in the feel of having her in my arms, using her as a reminder that I’m alive. That she is too.
“I thought he was going to kill you,” she whispers, her voice a little frayed.
“Good job you were here to save me,Piccola.”
She slaps me on the chest, pulling back to glare at me. “What have I told you about using that nickname?”
I feign ignorance. “That you love it and wish I’d use it more?”
Her mouth pulls into a frown, her eyes narrowing. “I hate you.”
I set her down, her barely five-foot frame ending at my chest. “But it fits so perfectly.”
She grumbles, folding her arms over her front.
I'm jolted back to reality by a gunshot, a reminder of the others in the room.
Sometimes, when she’s around, I become so entranced by her presence—her captivating smile, the melodic timber of her laughter—that I forget the rest of the world exists.
The event room is in chaos, guards lay dead, guests cower or run for the exits. I realize now that the ones that started firing before are not real guests. They’re Phoenix operatives.
Gio is missing, likely finding the girl he came here for.
This has not gone as planned.
But I can’t say I’m disappointed by the outcome.
Lucas is dead.
That’s the most important thing for me.
Now we have to make sure that no one takes his place in leading this operation.
I shoot a text to Dante.
We round up the remaining guests—evil bastards here to bid on girls, or at least watch the spectacle. We’ll turn them over to the police, the ones in our pockets. Many will receive little morethan a slap on the wrist—in that case, we’ll deal with them. Or Phoenix will.
After thirty minutes, Dante appears, along with my papa and some more of our men.
