Pulling to a stop, I looked behind me and saw the black SUV that had been following me for a few blocks, slowly. "Straight into Letty's and tell her to lock the door." There was no clap back, no arguing, just a quick nod. She grabbed the door handle and jumped out of the car, moving with the efficiency of someone trained for situations like this. Without looking around, she ran into the store; she didn't wait for Letty. Emilia locked the door behind her and glanced up briefly to look at me. Our eyes met through the glass.
Two of my men exited the vehicle behind me and positioned themselves on either side of the door, weapons hidden but ready. They wouldn't allow anyone into that shop as long as they were alive. It was time to figure this out.
Driving down the block, I parked and waited. This felt like an ambush. Reaching for my phone, I sent a text.
Me: Be ready
I didn't expect replies; in fact, I didn't want any. It took valuable time and focus. My heart rate stayed steady as I watched the black SUV creep closer, prowling like a predator. Getting out of the car posed a huge risk, but I had to get back to Emilia.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the sun reflect off the window as it rolled down, and I noticed a gun barrel aimed at me.
That was a bold move, going right for me. Stupid, but bold. Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out the gun I kept at my side and stopped beside a car. Lifting it, I waited for the SUV to pull alongside me, and I shot.
The doors flew open, gunfire echoed amongst the buildings, and bullets tinged off metal. The sound was deafening, ricocheting off brick and steel. Thankfully, the side street was empty, and my men surrounded the vehicle in seconds. They moved like a well-oiled machine, practiced and lethal.
Gunfire quieted to a pop here and there as one of the black SUVs sped off, tires squealing, but the other was in the middle of the street. Blood splattered across the windows. Cautiously, I walked around, and all the occupants were dead. Opening the door, I found ID on the guy in the passenger seat. Enzo Bianchi.
"Carminatti men," I said to Antonio, who'd walked up beside me, his gun still drawn.
"You were right."
"Fuck that was faster than I expected." He shook his head and looked at me. "Vincent's not wasting time."
"Clean it up, run plates of damaged cars, and have Marino deposit replacement costs into each account. I have to get to Emilia." I slapped Anto on the back and walked away from the carnage. Thankfully, we made it out without injury. This time.
"Boss, do you think she knew?"
"Not before we did," I answered, hoping that was the case. Her room had been searched after we left, and there were no signs of a cell phone or any method of communication, so I think she was as surprised as we were. But with Emilia, I could never be completely sure.
Getting to Letty's shop, I knocked on the door and waited for her to open up. Through the glass I could see her hurrying forward, her face pale. "Nico." Her face was filled with concern, but I needed to know Emilia was okay. She walked out of a change room in a black, body-hugging dress with a plunging neckline, and the hem only reached her mid-thigh. The fabric molded to every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. The grin on her face told me she loved it, and quite frankly, I loved iton her, but I'd have to kill every man and some women who saw her in that dress.
Her grin faded when she saw me, replaced by concern, but there was something else—relief. "What happened?"
"Well, talk on the way home. That dress is a no." I moved closer to her and placed my arm on her hip as I leaned down and whispered, "It's actually a yes, but if it comes home, you won't be wearing it out of our bedroom." She turned a beautiful shade of red, the blush spreading down her neck, and retreated to the dressing room. The curtain wasn't pulled quite far enough, and I watched her lean against the wall and bring a hand to her mouth, and the other one crossed her body to where my hand had been. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly.
Well, I think my fiancé liked it when I touched her, unlike the vibes she's been giving off. Maybe this marriage thing might be easier than I thought.
CHAPTER 8
EMILIA
Niccolò's familyhadn't arrived on Wednesday, which I was happy about. The house had remained quiet, almost peaceful in its emptiness. I managed to avoid him all day. He was busy with the fallout from whatever had happened outside Letty's, his office door closed for hours at a time, voices raised behind the heavy wood. We hadn't discussed it like he said we would, but I didn't need a wild imagination to figure out what had happened, and I had a lead ball in the pit of my stomach thinking that my father was involved. The weight of it sat heavily, making it hard to breathe whenever I let myself think about it.
If I were right, this would stay quiet until after our wedding, which was a little over twenty-four hours away. Surely all parties involved would be able to keep their guns in their pants that long. But after, it would be war.
A war with a man who had nothing left to lose.
"My family will be here in five minutes." His voice startled me, and I turned to look at Niccolò. He was dressed in his usual white shirt and black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to the middle of his arm, and I caught my first glimpse of the tattoos that covered him. Intricate designs snaked up his forearms,disappearing under the fabric. I could make out what looked like a lion, religious imagery, and script in what might have been Italian.
My father had a strict policy that tattoos were not acceptable in the Carminatti organization, so seeing my fiancé's arms covered seemed like it was a little extra dangerous. Like he was advertising everything my father despised. "I'm ready." Standing from the window seat that had quickly become my favorite spot in this prison, I smoothed down the emerald green dress I’d bought at Letty’s. I couldn't help but look up at Niccolò and notice he was smiling.
"What?"
"You're perfect. They’ll love you." He reached for my hand, and I'm pretty sure my heart stopped. His palm was warm, his fingers long and strong as they wrapped around mine. Tomorrow at this time, he'd be my husband.
"I hope so, I am a Carminatti." I sneered, trying to inject some venom into my voice but failing.
"You're hours from being a Venosa, they'll accept you." I wished I could believe him, but my last name had always been the deciding factor on whether I was good enough or not. The name that preceded me into every room, coloring every interaction. Leaving the safety of my room had been something I'd longed for this week, but now I was wishing to be back there. Safe behind a locked door where expectations couldn't reach me.
