“Who are you?” I croak.
He frowns, and Rosa rolls her eyes, saying, “Amnesia.”
His frown deepens as he walks toward me. “You don’t remember me? How can you not remember me?”
I have no idea how to respond. Or how I should respond, because there’s a maniacal look in his eyes that’s terrifying as hell.
“He’s Carmine Albano. We went to school with his daughter,” Rosa explains.
I study him, trying to get a memory or even a flicker of recognition about him, but there’s nothing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t remember—”
Carmine slaps me, turning on a dime to violence. “How could you not remember me? After youtauntedme whenever I visited Santa Elisabetta. You wanted me!”
I shake my head, knowing for a fact that what he claims is not true.
I try to escape from him, but he slams my back against the wall and closes his hand around my throat, choking off my air.
His breath is sour, and my stomach turns, and I claw at his hand, trying to remove it from my throat. He eases the pressure so I can suck in a bit of air, and leans in closer, pressing his big, soft body against mine.
“You were supposed to be mine; your father had it all arranged. I was to have you when you left school. The private jet was to bring you to me—my prize, mytoy—while he finalized the deal with Emanuele.”
Tears burn my eyes at another betrayal at the hands of my father, who is nothing like myBabboof the past.
“Everything would’ve worked out perfectly if you hadn’t been so willful and stubborn.” His hand tightens again as I fight to push him off me. “I wouldn’t have had to waitmonthslonger for you.Iwould’ve been the one to take your innocence.” He steps back, releasing my throat, but trails his hand over my breast, and a sob catches in my chest. “You might be used, damaged goods now, but I’ll still use you as a whore.”
I don’t even get a chance to break down with hysterical fear, or to look around to see if anyone in this room will help me, or to try to fight to protect myself. Because in one instant, Carmine is standing there, threatening me with a heinous future, and in the next, his head explodes in a shower of red mist.
Blood and gore splatter and coat me, and Rosa’s shrill scream fills the room, along with Arturo’s shouts of alarm.
I’m rooted to the spot, and blink. Not daring to believe my eyes.
Because Tommaso is standing beside an open door in the wall that I had no idea was there, holding a massive gun, which just obliterated Carmine.
I blink again, in shock, my eyes moving to the bloody heap of man on the floor. The grotesque scene should make me gag or puke, yet I don’t. My eyes only move back to Tommaso as he hands the gun to Marco, then he’s striding toward me. Marcoand another man I don’t know go to Stefano, while Vincenzo, Salvo, and Tomas file into the room.
Rosa’s screams and Arturo’s shouts fill the room with chaos, but it’s like I’m trapped in a bubble, and the only thing I hear and see is Tommaso. He’s as powerful as ever in his impeccable suit and his neatly styled dark hair. But the scars on his hands give it away that he’s not a businessman couped up in his ivory tower, ruling behind a desk.
When he reaches me, he cups my face with one hand while the other wipes away some of the blood that’s splattered on me. “Il mio sole.”
His deep, gentle voice—so gentle with only me—and his strong, powerful presence tell me I’m not hallucinating in fear, wishing him into existence, and the tears I’ve been holding back break free.
I don’t break down in sobs of relief, though; the tears just silently flow down my cheeks as I tremble.
They gut Tommaso. “I’m sorry. We needed to draw out who the other conspirator was with Arturo.”
Realization quickly dawns, and I suck in sharply. “You used me as bait?”
His mouth presses thin, and he nods. “It was the only way. I have a tracker in you,” he reminds me. “I knew where you were at all times. And my father—”
“Isn’t he in on this?” I look at Stefano, who is watching me as he talks with Marco, the other man, and Vittorio. Then I watch Salvo and Tomas restrain Arturo and Rosa, who are both screaming at Vincenzo. “Vincenzo didn’t betray you?” My eyes snap back to Tommaso. “Zeus?” I ask in panic.
“He’s fine,” he reassures me. “No shots were supposed to be fired, but he knew the risks with the plan.”
Vittorio leads Vincenzo, Salvo, and Tomas out of the room, while the latter two drag a screaming Arturo and Rosa with them.
The noisy chaos disappears, and I focus on Tommaso, narrowing my eyes. “You used me as bait,” I accuse this time rather than ask it as a question.
“There’s the fire that’s needed to rule beside my son as his queen,” Stefano says, stepping closer. His face isn’t the impassive, cold mask it’s been since I met him.
