Page 2 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

My blood runs cold. And suddenly, I’m brutally reminded of the one thing that, after four years of staying away from my family’s mafia, brought me back to Manhattan to live at the Rossi mansion again—the death threats.

“L-Luis?” My voice comes out as a staggering breath as I dart my eyes around in search of the second guard. He’s nowhere to be found, and that heightens the dread in my stomach.

Moving shakily, I cautiously lower myself and turn the limp guard face-up. Bile rises in my throat at the sight of blood dripping from a hole in his eye. But then I hear another gunshot, and that’s when I’m in full-on panic mode.

Do I run? Hide?

I open my mouth to scream when a hand clasps it shut from behind, smothering the sound. “If you stay quiet, I’ll make your death painless,” he mutters into my ear, voice cold and deadly.

The hair on my nape rises, and I feel goosebumps all over my skin as he trails the barrel of the gun down my neck to my arm.

“Maybe we can have some fun with you before we send you to hell. What d’ya think, pretty?” he snarls.

A sob almost rips my throat, but I chug it down. No… I can’t die like this. There’s still so much I want to achieve.

I shake my head and instantly begin thrashing around in his hold. His grip around my torso tightens, stealing air from my lungs, but I don’t stop. My teeth clamp down hard against his flesh, and I taste blood just as he releases me.

Then I bolt, heading out of the parking lot. The headlights of a taxi briefly blur my vision as my heart pounds in my ears, my feet thumping against the concrete. Adrenaline surges in my veins when I hear footsteps closing in, behind me.

Almost there…

As I try to run faster, suddenly, a figure appears and tackles me to the ground. My forehead hits the concrete as he cusses in Italian. Releasing a grunt, he flips me over and smirks, lips peeling back into a sick grin as he roughly pulls me up.

The face in front of me is a nightmare.

Silver teeth gleam between muddy, brown gums. His bald skull is a map of horrid tattoos. Spiders, skulls, serpents, unrecognizable symbols swirling in chaotic loops. His breath reeks of rot and something foul, making my stomach twist with disgust.

My head is pounding like a war drum. I writhe in his hold while I release the loudest scream I can muster. But that only makes him smile more.

“Don’t scream, pretty,” he says in my face. “I swear you’ll enjoy it.”

Then I hear a sharp crack, and his hold loosens. It sounds like a wet, meaty impact.

The bastard drops me like a sack of discarded clothes when another fist slams against the side of his head.

I crash onto the pavement once again, the impact jarring through every bone. Droplets of spit and blood splatter across my cheek. I blink hard through tears, pushing myself up on trembling elbows to take another look at my assaulter’s ugly face.

One of his silver teeth lies on the ground, glinting under the street lamp. The hooded figure who hit him doesn’t look at me, not even once. He’s too busy pounding his fists into the monster’s face with pure rage.

Each blow is vicious enough to shake the ground beneath me, and as I watch, I catch the first assailant whom I bit, disappearing into the first taxi that drives by. What a fucking night.

My savior doesn’t run after him; he simply focuses on the assailant at hand until his body grows limp. Then he rises slowly, fists dripping with blood and knuckles a shredded, crimson mess.

He turns to me, and my heart skips a beat at the familiarity in his eyes. His hood has now fallen off his face. Am I hallucinating?

Before I can let anything out, the familiar black Porsche drives into the parking lot. Peter!

I watch as Peter hurriedly climbs out, eyes widening in horror when he takes in my form. Pain ricochets in my cranium as I turn my head back to the hooded figure to thank him, but he’s staring at Peter. Peter mutters something to him, maybe thanking him, and it’s like they’re conversing, but I can barely hear a thing amidst the ringing in my head.

***

The Rossi mansion glows in warm amber light, but nothing feels warm tonight. I limp inside with the help of Peter by my side, ignoring the guards bowing slightly as we walk past.

My head buzzes with pain, and all I want is to shut my eyes and go into a deep slumber. But Enzo’s voice cuts through the hallway before we reach the stairs.

“Elena.”

I close my eyes, turning toward the living room. Ugh.