My apology to Dimitri is going to have to wait. I leave my plate of cookies on the kitchenette counter and head to my bedroom. It only takes a minute to trade today’s sweats for jeans and a t-shirt. My sneakers vanished somewhere in the club, so I’m stuck with my slippers. I grab the hoodie from its spot on the floor, flick my braid out of the way, and toss the sweatshirt on before pulling the gun Alik gave me from beneath my pillows. I slip it into the back of my jeans and zip the hoodie up to my neck, feeling slightly more prepared for whatever is about to go down.
Not a moment too soon.
An explosion detonates near the front of the house. The ground shakes, the windows rattling in their casings.
Heart in my throat, I rush to the terrace. Black smoke billows from around the building, coming from the direction of the garage. The air fills with the smell of burning gasoline, making me cough.
I retreat into the room, securing the terrace doors behind me with trembling hands. Panic sours my stomach.
We’re under attack. I don’t know how or why, or where Alik is.
Shouts come from outside my suite, followed by what sounds like suppressed gunfire. Four or five muted thuds, then quiet.
I stand rooted in place, straining my ears, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
A minute passes, then another. I start to wonder if whoever was outside has moved on. And that’s when I hear it.
The near-silent click of a door opening and closing. Footsteps on a carpet, somewhere in the living room. I stop just inside the open bedroom door, listen carefully. Someone is out there.
Not Dimitri or Alik. They would’ve called out already, made sure I knew who was here with me.
Heart in my throat, I risk a glimpse around the doorframe and instantly jerk back. How ishehere? How did he find me? Instinctively, I clasp my gun where it’s tucked in the back of my jeans, say a silent prayer that Alik gave it to me.
“I know you’re in there, Serafina. You can come out or I can drag you out. Your choice.”
It’s been ages since I heard his voice, but my reaction hasn’t changed. A cold sweat coats my chest and neck, my palms clammy. I grip my concealed weapon as I step into the living room and come face-to-face with Renzo di Salvo. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Hard eyes meet mine. “The same can be said about you.”
Everything about him puts me on edge. To an outsider, Renzo di Salvo looks like the quintessential successful businessman. Fancy suit, fancy watch, fancy shoes. If he’s to blame for the explosion and gunfire, it doesn’t show. He’s still wearinghis Board Room veneer. No reason to be sloppy, even when causing death and mayhem.
Renzo’s face is fancy, too. He’s always been meticulous about grooming, a habit he is apparently doubling down on the older he gets. His jet-black hair is always kept tightly trimmed and styled, as is his beard. His skin is deeply tanned, even during a Chicago winter, and the few lines he’s not been able to Botox away only enhance how good-looking he is. They add a touch of approachability, as do the streaks of silver weaving through his hair. Renzo looks like the kind of man young women want to call Daddy and gold-diggers of all ages want to call husband. But that’s only because they haven’t glimpsed past the surface, haven’t looked into those flat, murky-green eyes and seen the evil staring unabashedly back.
Lucky me, evil is all I see. The man who got my mom pregnant is feet from me, using his still-muscular body to eat up space, legs braced for a fight, the silencer on his gun leveled at my head. His expression is blank and I know better than most what that means. Renzo is having a blast, and he’s planning on putting me through hell.
“How did you get in here?” It’s taken a lifetime of practice to keep my voice from shaking. “How did you even know where to find me?”
“Valentin told me where you were,Principessa. Not intentionally, of course, but it was sloppy to have the club escort meet him at his own house. A real fuck-up for theArkhangel, if you ask me. I’ll never understand a man like him giving into emotion, slipping up like that. As for getting inside, that was also easier than it should’ve been. It’s amazing how distracting a big fire can be.” Renzo’s lips flinch. His version of a smile. “Your Russian’s guards aren’t nearly as thorough at checking all infiltration points as they should be. The ones who stayed in the house are less conscious, as well.”
“What did you do?”
Renzo’s shrug is so casual. “I slowed them down. Maybe left a few bullet holes too.”
My heart squeezes in panic. “Who?”
“Don’t worry,Principessa. Your big bald knight in shining armor isn’t one of them. Neither is Valentin. And after the shit you pulled at the club, I was looking, trust me.”
“I stopped trusting you a long time ago. We both know that.”
“You always were an ungrateful bitch.” In a rare expression of interest, Renzo cocks his head as he looks at me, like he can’t begin to figure out where our relationship went wrong. “Children are supposed to trust their parents.”
“Yeah, well, parents aren’t supposed to torture their children, so guess we both got it wrong.”
Renzo’s mouth does that flinching thing again. He’s laughing at me. “I see you’re sticking to your story, Princess. Always so dramatic.”
“And I see you’re still delusional. Always such an asshole.”
I expect the hit—he’s that kind of guy—I just misjudge where it’s coming from. Instead of hitting me with the gun, Renzo moves fast and lands his left fist into my stomach. He knocks the wind out of me, and I catch myself on my knees, one step short from falling over.
