Feeling self-conscious and more than a little used, I pulled my hair up into a hair clip to hide Achilles’s artwork. There was no need to advertise what we’d been up to in the lavatory. Now that I had the time to digest the denied orgasm and mortification, I was plotting his slow, violent murder.
Only killing him wouldn’t be enough. Too quick and impersonal. He thought I’d hurt him with my first betrayal? Well, he better buckle up because I had something much worse in store.
He’d pay for what he did to me. Foreverythinghe did to me.
A private air hostess lowered the stairway, and we poured out into the sweltering heat. A driver in a black Cadillac waited on the tarmac and drove Achilles and me to a hangar a few miles away.
His soldiers stayed back, taking care of the cargo.
From my place in the back seat of the Cadillac, I spotted two sleek, black SUVs already parked inside the hangar. Two Camorra soldiers leaned against them. Both middle-aged,dressed to the nines, with large golden cross pendants on their chests.
I wasn’t normally a fidgety person, but being smack in the middle of two Camorra families just looking for an excuse to off one another wasn’t exactly a lifelong dream of mine.
Achilles unzipped the backpack between his legs and took out a gun. He checked the chamber, loaded, and cocked it. “Stay here.”
“Like I have anywhere else to g?—”
I didn’t have time to finish the sentence. He’d already slid out of the car and slammed the door in my face.
Not one to sit around and wait, I reached for the door handle before hearing the automatic click of the vehicle locking from the inside. I flashed the driver a scowl through the rearview mirror.
He shrugged. “Just following orders,” he said in English.
I redirected my attention to Achilles and the men. He reached them, his gun concealed in the pocket of his hoodie, where his hands were casually stuffed. Words were exchanged. Achilles appeared standoffish and bored, whereas the men furrowed their brows, exchanging confused glances. I rolled down the window, hoping to hear the conversation, even though my grasp on the Italian language was minimal at best.
“C’è stato un cambio di programma,” Achilles announced.Change of plans.
The men answered in a rush of heated words I couldn’t decipher, but I did recognize some of the curses thrown in. Then one of them spat out,“Siamo qui per prendere la rossa.”
Rossa. Redhead.Me.
My heart doubled over. They were Coppola’s soldiers, not the Ferrantes’. And they were here to collect me. I slouched in the seat, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. The angry, pissed-off men craned their heads to catch a glimpse of me in the car.
I reached for the asshole’s backpack in search of another weapon, but there wasn’t any.Fuck. I was decently trained in martial arts. Could probably fight them off if things went south. But if they drew a weapon on me, I was toast.
Achilles’s voice remained calm as he spoke, which only seemed to aggravate them further. One of the soldiers—the bulkier man, the muscle—gave him an aggressive shove. Not enough to move him a millimeter but enough to piss him off. Achilles pulled his gun out and put two bullets between his eyebrows. The second man tried taking his gun out, but Achilles was faster, shooting him twice in the throat. They both dropped to the ground.
What the ever-loving fuck?
What the hell was he doing?Fuck. Could this man go through a twenty-four-hour periodwithoutreenacting the Red Wedding?
Achilles’s soldiers materialized from the open mouth of the hangar. They got down to business wordlessly, taking care of the two bodies like nothing was amiss. Jeremie knelt and quietly collected bullet casings. Nico rubbed a spatter of blood with the tip of his shoe, pressing his phone to his ear as he barked orders. Finally, His Highness waltzed over to the passenger door and threw it open.
“Out.” Achilles pushed the gun into his waistband.
I stayed put, arms folded over my chest. “Nice way to start our weekend sexcapade.”
“Thought you wanted out of your marriage with Stefano.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of my seat. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
I wanted him to negotiate a different deal with the don. Not to go on a killing spree and make everything worse for everybody. Vello was going to blow a gasket when he found out.
“Doesn’t it screw things up in the Alliance even more?” I stood up and smoothed my dress over my legs.
“Don’t look so fucking concerned. Watching my blood shed is your favorite hobby.”
Achilles turned his back to me and strolled over to a parked freight truck. He stepped on a ramp, rolled up the door, and got inside.
A Ducati identical to the black one he had at home was parked there, facing us. He picked up two helmets from the floor and put one on. He mounted the bike and revved it up, riding it the short distance to me. When he reached me, he pushed a black helmet on my head and adjusted the straps under my chin with a rough tug. My hair clip fell to the ground, and he leaned down, picking it up and securing it over the hem of my dress. The small gesture made my pulse stutter in my chest. It was the kind of thing the old Achilles would have done.
