Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
My back hits a corner, and a breath escapes. The warehouse area we’re in is wrecked, with clouds of sawdust threatening to make me cough and debris littering the floor.
“Stephanos?” I manage to say without hacking on the heavy particulate hanging in the air.
“Hurt, but he managed to trigger the explosion.” He pauses, and we both hear it: a labored wheezing a few yards away.
The hunt is not over yet.
Victor helps me step over splintered wood and creep closer to our quarry.
Stephanos is a slight form on the floor, grunting as he tries to pull his leg out from under a fallen steel beam. Trapped by the explosion he triggered.
I pause and look up at Victor, waiting for his signal. His ski mask is no longer black but gray with dust.
After a sweep, he raises his hand and touches his forefinger to his thumb, giving me the go-ahead.
I raise my hand and offer him my Glock. He understands instantly and trades my Glock for his knife.
For a moment, we stand together, holding our weapons and gazing into each other’s eyes. His gaze drops to my lips like he wishes he could kiss me. My body tightens. Okay, I signal back.
He touches my back gently. Go.
I step over a fallen board and stroll to the spot where Stephanos is pinned.
He’s smaller up close. Grooves line his face and sunken cheeks, surrounding his black, beady eyes. There’s an unhealthy pallor to his skin, and I know that time and heart disease would’ve ended him sooner rather than later.
But that won’t be his fate.
His eyes go wide, and he bares his teeth when he sees me. “You.”
“Me.” I sink down and plant a knee on his chest.
He blinks at me with sawdust-coated eyelashes. Up close and exposed like this, his ugliness is repulsive, like something crawling out from under a rock. He bats at me, but his arms are limp, weakened by the bullets he took to the chest. He struggles to breathe under my weight, his body fighting to stay alive.
I set the knife at his grime-streaked throat, ready to strike the way Victor took pains to teach me. “This is for my mother.”
Victor
The blade flashes as Lula cuts just as I taught her. I force myself to wait with my weight pitched forward into my toes until the stench of death rises in the air. I pull off my ski mask, meant to dull my distinctive hair.
Lula rises slowly, her dark hair swinging like a cape behind her. I don’t have to go to her. She returns to me, offering me the knife back. Her eyes are black. “You’re right. It is more satisfying.”
There’s blood on her jaw and cheek. I secrete away the knife and touch her face carefully, tipping it this way and that. There’s a dark stain in the corner of her mouth, blending with the brighter red of her lipstick. “You have some blood. . .”
“Don’t worry,” she murmurs. “It’s not mine.”
I swipe it away and bow to claim her lips.
My dark, vengeful angel.
The sound of a slamming door breaks us apart. “What—” She raises her empty hands. I still have her Glock.
“It’s all right,” I say, even as I draw us into the shadows. “Spiro made a call to your cousin.”
“Royal?” she says as her cousin appears, flushed and angry and glaring at me. His men fan out behind him, covering him.
“Lula.” His gaze sweeps the area, registering Stephanos’ still form before returning to us. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, someone else pushes forward, raising a gun with a shout.
Lula
I watch it in slow motion. Royal, looking angry and relieved, ready to tear me a new one. Enzo and the rest of our cousins are covering his back but turn toward the new threat.
It’s my brother, crashing through the debris, his gaze fixed on Victor. “You,” he snarls and swings his gun muzzle upward.
“No,” I shout and step between them.
Too late.
Gino’s pulling the trigger, but fate’s on our side. In his carelessness, Gino blundered into one of the booby traps. He’s already falling forward as the gun goes off. I flinch, but the shot goes wild. It hits a machine and ricochets. Everyone ducks.
Royal curses in Italian. “Someone take his gun.”
Enzo rushes to take care of it. Gino’s still flailing on the floor.
“Idiota.” Royal runs a hand over his face. He looks tired as he turns to me. “Lucrezia.”
“I’m okay.” I step forward, tears pricking my eyes at the sight of him. “I’m in a vest. Victor. . .” I turn back to where Victor stands silently, the sunlight filtering in through the dust gilds his stunning features. He looks calm, maybe a little sad.
Behind me, Royal clears his throat, and I realize I’ve lost my train of thought. It’s not often that that happens.