"Wait," he begs, his voice cracking. "Wait. We were just following orders. Please."
I walk up to him. I press the hot barrel of the Glock directly against his forehead. The metal burns his skin. He whimpers.
"Tell Bellanti the shipping logs belong to me," I say, my voice devoid of any human emotion. "Tell him the girl belongs to me. Tell him if he sends another squad to my territory, I will come to his house and butcher his entire bloodline."
The man nods frantically. Tears spill over his mask.
"Now run."
I lower the weapon. He turns and sprints down the alley, disappearing into the shadows. I let him live solely to deliver the message.
My security team swarms the alley. Six heavily armed Costa soldiers secure the perimeter, checking the bodies, securing the black SUVs. My captain walks up to me. He looks at the carnage, then looks at my boots standing in the blood and broken glass.
"Area secure, Boss. We have the cleaners on the way."
"Burn the vehicles. Make the bodies disappear. Increase the guard detail to twenty men. Nobody sleeps."
"Yes, Boss. You okay?"
I look down at my hands. They are steady. The feral rage is slowly retracting, leaving behind a cold, absolute certainty. The war has officially started. The Bellantis are arming up, and they will come back. But they will never touch her.
"I am fine," I say gruffly. I turn around and walk back into the shattered restaurant. The smell of gunpowder and blood is heavy in the air.
I walk to the private elevator. I punch the code. The doors slide open. I step inside and hit the button for the penthouse. The ascent feels agonizingly slow. The adrenaline crash is imminent, but my only thought is getting back to the bedroom. Getting back to the vault.
The elevator chimes. I step out into the pristine, silent living room. The contrast between the slaughter downstairs and the luxury upstairs is jarring. I cross the floor, entering the master bedroom. I walk straight to the closet.
I press my bloody thumb against the biometric scanner. The light flashes green.
The heavy steel door slides open.
Clara is sitting on the floor of the panic room, her knees pulled tight to her chest, wrapped in my oversized black shirt. She looks up at me. Her eyes scan my body, searching for bullet holes, searching for fatal wounds. When she realizes I am unharmed, a massive, shuddering sob tears through her chest.
She scrambles to her feet. She runs out of the steel box and throws herself directly into my arms.
I catch her. I wrap my heavy arms around her back, burying my face in her neck. Her sweet, familiar scent hits me, instantlywashing away the smell of the alley. She clings to me with desperate, trembling strength.
"You are alive," she whispers against my skin, her tears wetting my shoulder. "You came back."
"I will always come back to you," I vow, tightening my grip until she is pressed seamlessly against my chest. "You are mine. The war stays outside. You stay with me."
I lift her off the floor, carrying her away from the steel cage and back to the bed. The world is burning down around us, but in this room, she is the only thing that matters.
7
Clara
My arms lockaround his neck like a vice. His chest is a wall of solid muscle and Kevlar, radiating heat like a blast furnace.
Copper coats the back of my throat, thick and metallic.
Gunpowder burns my sinuses.
He is covered in death. The man holding me just walked through a firing squad and came back painted in the blood of his enemies.
He does not push me away. His massive hands, sticky with red, hover over my back for a fraction of a second before he gives in. He wraps his arms around my waist, crushing me against him with bone-snapping force. He buries his face in my hair. The brutal, violent underboss of the Costa family clings to me like a drowning man.
Beneath the reek of slaughter, his signature scent wraps around me—an intoxicating, masculine spice. It is the most comforting smell in the world.
