I grab Elena, yank her against me, and take her straight to the ground behind the table—my body covering hers completely, every inch of me braced to take a bullet before it touches her.
She gasps, panic flashing across her face—but she doesn’t scream. She clutches my jacket, shaking, but steady. Across from us, Nico throws himself over Gia, slamming her to the floor and shielding her with every ounce of his massive frame.
But Gia, being Gia—throws an elbow, reaches into her waistband, and pulls out a gun.
“Fucking assholes,” she snarls, aiming at the front doors.
Nico grits, “Gia, STAY DOWN—”
Too late. She’s already aiming over his shoulder.
Rocco doesn’t wait.
He’s the first to return fire—controlled bursts, not panicked, tracking the shadows by the entrance. Plates explode, lights flicker, people crawl under tables.
I see two men sprint for the exit.
Rocco takes off. No hesitation. No fear.
I surge upward, ready to follow—
But I stop. Because under me is Elena. Her breathing is ragged, her fingers gripping my shirt with desperate strength.
My wife.
My responsibility.
My life.
That thought makes me stop—slow down.
“Are you hurt?” I demand, searching her face, her arms, her body for blood. “Elena—tell me.”
“I’m okay,” she whispers. “I’m okay. Go.”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“You have to.” Her voice is steadier this time, eyes blazing with something I’ve never seen before—
Courage. Fierce, stubborn courage.
“I know who I married,” she says, gripping my shirt. “Be that man now. Go after him.”
I freeze. Because the timid girl from her father’s controlled world—the quiet, obedient bride—is telling me to go into gunfire.
To protect my men. To protect our family. To protect our name. She looks at Nico, who is still crouched over Gia with a gun in his hand.
“I’ll stay with them,” Elena says, voice trembling but firm. “I’ll be safe. I promise.”
My eyes snap to Nico. He gives me a sharp nod, voice rough. “I’ve got them.”
That’s all I need. I press a quick, fierce kiss to Elena’s lips. Her hand catches my wrist, holding me for one heartbeat.
Then I’m gone—racing after Rocco and the shooters, heat pounding in my ears, every instinct burning. Because they fired at me. Because they fired at my people. Because they fired when my wife was in the room.
And someone is going to fucking pay for that.
Chapter 15
