Rocco takes my hand, pushes me behind him and shouts, “Vieni dalla mia parte adesso.”
A dozen men rush forward to surround us. Their weapons are pointed at the Bratva soldiers. Chaos breaks out as the soldiers shout in Russian, and Rocco’s men shout back not to move. Finally, the Russians, breathing hard, eyes darting around, stand still and slowlylift their hands.
Rocco watches this with a dark smile and then says. “You have two choices. You can all die here tonight. Or you can tell me who put that mark on Don LaRocca’s girl.”
Their nervous glances all land on Kir.
Rocco’s gaze slides over to me and I nod. Then he steps forward and punches Kir in the face. A loud thud and a crack of bone break the silence. Rocco hits him again, this time with the butt of his rifle in the gut.
Kir grunts and falls to the ground.
Rocco turns to the man on my right and flicks two fingers toward the line of Range Rovers. The man rests a hand on my shoulder and leads me down the driveway to the street.
I turn back before I get in the backseat. Kir is curled up in a ball, Rocco ruthlessly kicking him. The circle of Russians are backing away, their attention locked on the Italians’ weapons pointed at them.
I close my eyes and wait.
***
The elevator door slides open. Rocco guides me with a steady hand on my back into Sandro’s penthouse. It feels like a fortress, like a tower sitting high above the danger of real life below. I take in the glittering view of Tampa Bay through the wall of glass. It’s beautiful, but I’m too numb to appreciate it.
“Here, have a seat,” he says, bringing me to a caramel leather sofa. “Do you want water? Tea? Whiskey?”
I settle into the buttery soft leather. “Water would be great, thanks. Sandro’s not here yet?”
Rocco had explained on the ride over that Sandro was meeting with a captain in the Russian mob. Oleg Romanov. The man who held me in the garage. Then he had to calm me down from a panic attack.
“He texted. He’ll be here soon.” When he returns, he has the glass of water but also my purse. “We recovered some things from Sandro’s wrecked car.”
“Oh, thank god.” I open it and I’m relieved that my wallet, keys and phone are there. “Do you have a charger? I’m sure Sloane has blown up my phone. We usually text every day.”
“Sure thing.” He takes my phone and returns to the kitchen. I hear him rummaging through the drawers.
I’ve managed to drink two glasses of water, text Sloane to let her know I’m okay, and fight off the exhaustion when the elevator door finally slides open. Sandro steps out. His eyes find mine and the relief softening his expression is instant.
His long legs eat up the distance between us as Gunnar, Big Tony, and a blond man I don’t recognize file out of the elevator behind him.
He falls to his knees in front of me and grabs my hands. “Thank fucking god,” he chokes, his eyes bright with emotion. When I givehim a small smile, he drops his head into my lap and wraps his arms around my middle. His whole body shudders, and he exhales a hot breath against my thigh.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him, though that’s a big fat lie. I’m physically still experiencing the side effects of the car crash and whatever drug they gave me. Emotionally I’m numb. I run my fingers through his thick, dark hair to soothe both of us.
Someone clears their throat.
I blink and look up, realizing the three other men have taken a seat around the living room and Rocco has joined them. Embarrassed at them seeing the intimacy between me and Sandro, I tap his shoulder. After all, he’s an engaged man.
He slowly lifts himself up and sits on the sofa next to me, pulling me into his warm body. I feel him go still as he notices the fresh red mark on my face. He runs his knuckles over it and glances at his brother.
Rocco gives a curt nod, which seems to satisfy Sandro. He drops his hand and squeezes my thigh.
I catch Gunnar’s eye, and he throws me a smile and a wink. I return the smile. Gunnar had always been kind to me and protective.
Then I notice the stranger sitting in the armchair, his stare intense but not unfriendly. He lets his gaze move from me to Sandro. “How are we doing this, mate?”
I feel Sandro stiffen. “I’ll tell her.”
I glance up at him. “Tell me what?”
“You may want to rethink the whiskey offer,” Rocco chuckles.
