As he held me from behind, his chin on my head, we gazed out at the city and the top half of the Golden Gate Bridge standing far in the distance. It felt like everything was at peace with the world.
Then Renzo’s phone rang, and the bubble burst.
Chapter 43
“Heknew,Renzo.Quelfiglio di troia sapeva. It was an ambush.” That son of a bitch knew. Tore panted into the phone. “They fucking knew. We have a rat. There’s no other way. It’s bad, man.”
The metallic click and snap of a lighter being opened and closed had never sounded more reassuring. Whatever had happened, he was well enough to fidget.
“How many injured? Give me everything you know.”
I grabbed Ainsley’s hand without a word of explanation and jog-walked back to the car. She didn’t argue, seeming to catch on quickly, and followed my strides without protest. Tore listed the stats: three dead and nine injured on our side, with similar or greater numbers on the Greeks’ side. To make matters worse, Dimakos’ people torched the bar on the ground floor and the apartment they’d been staying in above it. Now the fire department was involved to stop the spread to the rest of the apartment units. That meant we were unable to do the necessary cleanup before the authorities walked through it.
“I’ll drop you off at your place,” I told her as I peeled out of the park and back onto the hilly streets.
“Definitely not. Where’s Doc?”
“He’s been called.”
“I can help, Renzo. He can’t be everywhere, and two is better than one.”
“You don’t have your degree yet.”
“I’ve been pulling out bullets, placing IV lines, and suturing wounds for three years now. I’ve even assisted Doc in a clandestine surgery. Don’t tell me what you think I can or cannot do.”
Her righteous anger made me want to lean over, capture her lips, and devour the rest of her words. She was right. Whatever the state of my injured men, her extra set of hands would be appreciated. I just didn’t like involving her. It meant exposing her to the maelstrom and risking her life in the process, which conflicted with this need bubbling in my chest to keep her wrapped up and cocooned far away from trouble. And yet, the fight in her, the strength, and the stubbornness were all what made herher. I clung to that in her letters for years. I fed from it to fuel my own. I relished it when I was inside her. It shouldn’t ever be stifled.
“Fine,” I gritted out.
Stuck in traffic, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Rush hour wasn’t for another hour at least, but with one street cut off for emergency services, the car crawled at a snail’s pace this close to the bar where the Greeks had been holing up. I needed to see the building for myself.
Sirens wailed up ahead. Fire alarms rang. A fire truck’s trilling horn quickly blasted. Cars honked in all directions as drivers stopped and started, bumpers colliding.
Ainsley sucked in a harsh breath as we passed the block where the fire raged, further down the perpendicular street to ours. Flames licked the balcony above the first floor. Scorch marks scarred the white exterior. It was a chaotic mix of bellowed orders under the roar and whoosh of flames, the blare offire alarms, the engines of trucks, and the rush of water. Loud pops boomed, and glass from windows exploded outward.
“Holy freaking fudge,” she whispered. “Do you think everyone got out?”
Her concern lay with the people whose lives were upended by the fire. Mine was with whether any of this could be tied back to the outfit, to my men, to our lives. Shell casings would be found. Stray bullets, too, but at least with the way the fire raged, DNA was unlikely. Nothing was certain, and tension seeped into my shoulders.
“It’ll be on the news,” I said, then I floored the accelerator as soon as the road was clear.
It took ten more minutes to reach the safe house that Tore redirected our men to and park in the underground lot.
“Where are we?” Ainsley asked as she got out of the vehicle and flung her door shut. The slam echoed through the parking lot despite the three vans and the Maserati parked a few spots down.
“Somewhere the cops won’t bother us.” I held my hand out to her. Her delicate fingers wrapped around mine and gave a little squeeze.
“A safe house?”
With a nod, I led her through the garage door and started up the stairs toward the ground floor, two floors up. Our footsteps bounced off the walls.
“Until today, only four people knew about this place: Tore, Vinny, Natale, and me. When my father died, I scrapped and sold off all his safe houses, since I couldn’t be sure how many people knew about them. Then I started buying new ones under several different European front companies.”
She stopped a few steps up the stairwell. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You’re my woman.” Stray strands of wavy hair fell in front of her eyes. I swept them back toward her ponytail, then wrapped my hand around its base and gave a little tug. Her head tilted back, putting her neck on display like a sweet offering. “I trust you.”
Her responding smile was an intoxicating mix of sweetness and mischievousness. I was looking forward to pressing my cock against that pixie mouth of hers and watching it widen to swallow me whole. Not now, unfortunately. Another time. Instead, I pecked that smile before starting back up the stairwell. Her sandals clacked against the cement stairs, slowly overtaking me until she was one step ahead. Another thing I enjoyed about her: she didn’t cede easily or let herself fall behind others.
