At that, his eyes narrow, surely wondering how I can be so sure.
“You’re right about one thing,” I call out to him, subtly clicking my safety off as I keep the short barrel trained on him. “I am attached.”
“Then you’ve already lost.”
“No…you did.”
Glancing over, I catch as Roman makes a subtle movement with his chin. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s enough. One of his men mirrors it, and as I meet Orlando’s gaze again, everything falls into place.
I meet Elena’s gaze. “Get down.”
Confusion flashes across all their faces, and at once, the lights cut out.
With a low drone of power draining, the rooftop plunges into complete darkness, and only the helicopter’s blades punctuate the silence. Then, I pull the trigger.
His men erupt instantly as the shot rings out, cursing and shouting orders.
Immediately, there’s a shuffle of action through the dark, and my eyes adjust just enough to make out some of their figures moving. But it all happens so quickly, it’s hard to keep track of everyone on the rooftop.
All the while, all I can think about is Elena. If she got down and managed to stay clear of it. My heart races, blood pounding in my ears.
When I catch Roman’s command barked out in Russian, I’m already lurching forward, crouched low as I try to find her in the darkness.
A second goes by, then another, and without warning, bright light slams through the space again, freezing the entire rooftop mid-motion.
It’s harsh at first, and many of us raise a hand to shield our eyes from it. But before long, I adjust again, and I see it.
Orlando’s on the ground, sprawled on his side with the pistol several feet away. A fresh pool of blood spreads dark and fast across the concrete, staining his shirt. His face is slack with shock as his mouth opens and closes, as if he can’t quite process what’s happening. Then the light fades from his eyes entirely.
And his sons…
They’re gone.
I hear the muttered confusion from the guys behind me, pinning the remaining Grimaldi men and searching for the twins. The helicopter has already lifted, pulling away as quickly as possible. Cowards.
But I don’t care about anything else.
I’m moving, hurling myself towards her.
“Elena,” I breathe, reaching her and sinking to my knees.
She blinks back at me, on her side with her arms still bound behind her in an awkward position. Her chest heaves, forced to come to terms with the shock all at once. But she’s alive.
As carefully as I can, I help her sit up, adjusting her before pulling out my pocket knife. The blade slides through the zip tie with relative ease, freeing her wrists.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, not realizing how many times I repeat it as I reach for her, hands gripping her shoulders.
She looks at me, still pale and dazed. Her eyes are wide and gleaming under the bright lights, looking at me in quiet disbelief. “Wyatt…”
Then, she reaches up, gripping my jacket first before pulling me closer.
Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around her, holding her as tight as I can. It’s by no means gentle, but neither of us protests.
Elena’s face presses into my neck, breathing hard and fast.
I feel it too—how close all of this came to ending wrong. How easily this could’ve gone differently.
But as easy as it might be to fall into those thought patterns, I remind myself that it didn’t. It turned out this way because we willed it to. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to let anyone take her away.
