“After the shooting in the lounge, Il Diavolo gave me strict orders to make sure you were safe, no matter what.”
My mouth drops open.
“He wants you where no one can hurt you, Pfeiffer.”
I stare at her, even as the doors hiss open on the very top floor. She steps out of the elevator first but glances over her shoulder, her brows arched. “Make of that what you will.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Fiero
The room is filledwith tight breaths and accusatory glares. The former largely from the Di Santo’s—they’re understandably a little embarrassed and very apologetic about bringing a fucking heathen into my club—and the latter from my brothers.
Remo’s glare cuts like a knife into my side. Cass and Brando were less aware of my growing infatuation with my childhood crush, but now I’m pretty sure they’re up to speed. And their expressions aren’t filled with approval.
But right now, with the barrel of my gun still hot and my veins crackling with the embers, I don’t give a flying fuck.
Augie Zanotti, Cristiano’s underboss offers an apology.
“Bring her to the wedding. Let her see we’re not all total asshats.”
Remo jumps in before I can respond.
“Thanks for the invitation but we’re not bringing the fuckinghelp.”
He pairs the last word with a glare in my direction. I run my tongue along my teeth. I want to hurt my brother for saying that.The best thing I can do is get out of this room and cool the fuck down.
Cristiano clears his throat. “Shall we adjourn for now? I’ll send in a cleaner to deal with the mess.”
My gaze follows his to the imbecile with the absolute fucking audacity to leak his blood all over my floor.
“Might be for the best,” Cass says, good-naturedly, sliding his mask back over his eyes. “Let’s go get a drink in the lounge.”
Brando remains seated, the blade turning once again.
I stand, feeling Remo’s eyes track me. “Don’t you go to her,” he barks.
I turn to him slowly. Everything I felt when he confronted me in the penthouse still stands. My brothers are still everything to me, but no one—and I meanno one—tells me what I can and can’t do. Especially when it comes to Pfeiffer.
“Last time I checked, you weren’t my fucking father,” I spit. He jerks backward, surprised I would throw that accusation his way. “Don’t turn into him.”
I leave him seething, with only Brando for company, and I stalk out of the exit Vivienne took Pfeiffer through, and head to the twentieth floor.
The elevator doors slide open and I stride into my apartment, my gaze searching for her. She’s standing by the window overlooking lower Manhattan, her arms wrapped around herself. Her hair has fallen loose over her shoulders, and her cheeks are stained with tears.
The moment she hears me enter, she turns and those liquid blue eyes find mine instantly.
For one terrible second I brace myself. She just watched me put a bullet through a man’s skull without blinking. Is she revolted? Afraid?
She knows I murdered her uncle—she’s seen the gruesome photographs—but she wasn’tthere. She didn’t see my fury completely unleashed.
She hasn’t physically seen what I’m capable of doing. Andup until now, the prospect of me killing another personfor her, was an idea, not an actuality. Tonight, there was no escaping it.
Any sane woman would run from me now.
“Are you alright?” I ask carefully.
The words have barely left my mouth when she moves.
