Dammit. I shouldn’t have ended the bastard with so many unanswered questions, but I defy any man to listen to a piece of shit like Santini talking about defiling his pregnant sister and not react in the same way.
Still, killing Santini is a rookie error.
I curse with annoyance as I shove my gun back into its holster. It won’t be long before my father’s men come running. At least one of them must have heard the gunshot. He sure pays them enough to be vigilant.
But I don’t plan to hang around waiting for them. There’s a cashmere throw resting on the arm of a nearby sofa, so I grab it and toss it over the corpse before switching the lamp off. Unless someone looks closely, they won’t spot Santini.
The house staff will discover him at some point, but by then I’ll be long gone.
The corridor is empty when I step outside and pull the door shut. I check my reflection in a gaudy baroque mirror hanging over a console table to make sure there’s no blood on my face or shirt, and satisfied I look pristine, I head back toward the drawing room where my father is holding court.
He’ll have noticed my absence, so I’ll have to make some excuse for my tardiness. Maybe I’ll say I was busy fucking my wife. He’d love that.
I get halfway down the hall when I hear footsteps thundering behind me. When I spin around, my hand sliding toward my gun, it’s Kane.
“I can’t find Chiara. She went to the bathroom and never returned.”
For fuck’s sake. That fucking woman!
I grind my teeth while thinking fast. There’s no way she’s ventured outside. Not after I warned her about the dogs. And since Santini is now dead, I don’t need to worry about him.
There’s only one person who might have a vested interest in stealing my wife away.
My father.
35
Kane
Lorenzo swerves out of the way a fraction of a second before the iron poker splits his skull open. I swear the old bastard has nine fucking lives.
It’s a shame Chiara missed. The world would be a better place without him in it. Time slows down as the poker completes its arc, and then my gaze snags on the dark bruises flowering around her neck.
Without thinking it through, I charge into the room.
Only Angelo reaches Chiara first. Lorenzo releases his grip on Chiara’s throat. She falls to the floor, choking and wheezing. As I move to grab her, Angelo slams his fist into his father’s face with a satisfying crack.
From Lorenzo’s shocked expression, Angelo’s attack came out of left field, but there’s only so many times you can kick a dog before he bites back.
Chiara doesn’t protest when I pick her up and pull her out the door. She pushes something into her purse and lets me tug her down the hallway toward the main entrance.
A woman screams from deeper inside the house, and a few moments later, Lorenzo’s guards rush past us, heading for the study. Lorenzo must have pressed his panic button. There was a time when he’d have bested Angelo in a fight, but not now.
“Will Angelo be okay?” Chiara frowns as we hurry outside. Several servants mill around, confused and worried, but I pay them no attention.
“He’ll be fine, kitten,” I reassure her. Lorenzo might be mad as a hatter, but he’s not stupid enough to kill his son and heir. “Did he hurt you?” When we reach the Escalade, I stop and examine her neck and face. Fingerprint bruises mar her perfect skin, and there’s a nasty bruise on her cheek.
If Angelo doesn’t kill the old bastard, I will.
“A bit,” she admits before grinning. “But it was worth it.”
A chuckle escapes. “You’re crazy, you know that?” She really is the perfect match for us.
“Not crazy. Just awfully drunk.” She giggles before her smile fades. “Fuck. What about Fina? We can’t leave her in that House of Horrors! Not with Santini slobbering over her like a dog with a bone.”
Her gaze skitters over my shoulder toward the gardens, and we both hear the dogs howling in excitement. Has Lorenzo unleashed the hellhounds?
“Quick, get in the car,” I urge. He’s insane enough to set the dogs free in a tantrum, even if innocent guests end up mauled to death. The mad bastard would see that as unavoidable collateral damage.
