Page 33

The doorbell rang. The chime cut through the house like gunfire. Everyone froze.

“It’s Mr. Romanov, sir,” a guard called, holding up a tablet that showed the Russian standing on the front stoop.

Paulo swore under his breath. “Why the hell is he here?” He shoved the tablet back to Mick. “I’ll handle Sal. You find Madelaine and you do not leave her side. Understood?” His tone was lethal.

“Yes, Boss.”

“I’m taking her away,” Paulo added firmly. “I know the plan and I know the issues, but I don’t give a damn. I won’t risk her getting hurt.”

He stalked toward the front door, the decision locked in his chest, harder than iron.

The door burst open and Sal barreled inside, pushing it wide as his own men fanned out by the entry, bristling with silent threat.

“Did you do this?” Sal snarled, shoving a tablet under Paulo’s nose.

Paulo grabbed it, staring at the grainy feed. Ronan Keane, baseball cap pulled low, swaggering through New York streets. The smug tilt of his mouth, the arrogant roll of his shoulders. There was no mistaking him.

Paulo’s pulse roared in his ears. “When was this taken?” he demanded.

Sal reclaimed the tablet, handing it off to one of his guards. His eyes locked on Paulo’s, cold and unrelenting. “The real question is—are you using her?”

Paulo knew exactly what Sal was asking. And it burned, because it was true.

“Back off, Sal!” he growled, his voice low, dangerous.

But his friend didn’t move. He stepped closer instead, his dark eyes like steel. “She’s innocent in all of this. Whatever past you’re trying to settle, whatever vendetta you’ve carried against Keane, I won’t let you drag Madelaine into this as bait.”

The words hit even harder because he was correct. That had been the plan. That had been the original reason he’d brought her here.

A gasp sounded.

Paulo turned quickly.

Madelaine stood in the doorway, heartbreakingly vulnerable in a ruffled apron. A smear of batter streaked across her cheek, a wooden spoon clutched in one hand, a mixing bowl pressed tight to her ribs with the other. But it was her beautiful blue eyes that shattered his heart as they shimmered with pain.

“Is this true?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Madelaine…!” Paulo began, his chest tightening. He couldn’t lie to her, not about this. He needed her to understand.

She took a step back the same moment that Paulo moved forward, holding the spoon out like a dagger. Her chin trembled, but her voice was fierce. “Don’t.”

“Let me explain,” he pleaded, taking another step, only to halt when she edged back again, the spoon still aimed at him.

Any other time, it might have been comical, her brandishing a spoonful of whatever baking disaster she’d concocted. But not now. Not with her eyes full of betrayal. Not when his heart clenched like a vice at the sight of her tears.

She turned to Sal, her voice steadier now. “That tablet.” She jerked her chin toward the guard holding it. “It shows my father, doesn’t it? He’s here.”

Sal hesitated, his gaze flicking to Paulo, then gave a single nod. “Yes.”

Her gaze swung back to Paulo, her eyes searing. Anger, hurt, disbelief. All of it swirled there, and Paulo hated himself for being the cause.

“Is it true?”

He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms, to carry her away to somewhere safe and explain everything where no one else could hear. But the warning in her eyes told him she wouldn’t let him touch her. And with that bowl of batter in her hands, he didn’t dare risk her fury.

“Yes, your father is in the country, but….”

“No!” Her voice cracked like a whip. She jabbed the spoon toward his chest. “Don’t dodge the question. Is it true that you brought me here to use me as bait?”