by Nicole Fox
He chuckles. “Such a lightweight.”
“How about I shoot you and see how you do?”
“I’ve been shot at before.”
“But have you been shot?”
“Maybe I’ll just leave you here to bleed out,” Phoenix scoffs.
“Are you two serious?” I explode, unable to hold it in any longer. Both of them look at me as though I’ve completely lost it.
“Uh, I’m the one with the gunshot,” Sarah says weakly. “Why are you freaking out?”
It’s a damn good question, but I’m not able to appreciate it in my current panicky state. “Kian just went out there alone,” I point out, throwing my hands up. “There’s no one with him, and… and… he’s injured. It may not show but he’s hurt all over…”
Phoenix looks at me with deliberate calm. All that does is piss me off.
“What?” I snap, voice dripping with venom.
He’s completely unruffled. “You need to breathe.”
“You need to keep your goddamn advice to yourself.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Yikes. All I’m saying is, stress is not good for the baby.”
I glare at him. “Who told you I was pregnant?”
“Kian did,” he replies. “Right before he left. Which is why I’m here in the first place. To take care of you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I can take care of myself.”
“Is that how you ended up with Rokiades in the first place?” he asks. “Was that you taking care of yourself?”
Guilt smashes over me first, extinguishing the anger. Every instinct I have to be defensive dies on the heels of the glaring and blunt accusation that I’m responsible for everything that’s happening right now. If I hadn’t run away, then Drago would never have called Rokiades. He’d never have captured me and used me as leverage to abduct Kian. None of us would be here right now.
Phoenix is right. He’s so fucking right.
“Can you two please stop?” Sarah moans, looking between us. “Christ, I might go ahead and die just so I don’t have to listen to you bicker anymore.”
The fabric I’d torn from the curtains is working wonders at stopping her from bleeding out. She seems to be more or less stable, though the pain still comes and goes in vicious waves.
Phoenix turns to her and shakes his head. Apparently, the two of them know each other, too. I feel extremely left out. Well, no. That’s not it. I don’t feel left out. I feel inconsequential. I feel useless.
All the people around me are fighting, and all I can do is sit here cowering in a corner while Kian fights my battles for me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I mean it. “I’m just—”
“Scared,” Phoenix finishes for me. “I know. It’s okay to be scared. But my father and his men are here. So is Kian’s brother and reinforcements from Ireland. This is not a fight that Rokiades can win.”
“He’s got the Lombardi loyalists,” I point out. “And the Marianis. That’s a lot of angry Italian mobsters who want Kian dead.”
“And do the Marianis know where you stand?”
I frown. “What?”
“Invitations to your wedding went out days ago. The Marianis are here fighting with the Greeks because they think you’ve aligned yourself with Rokiades.”
My eyes go wide. “You think they’ll stop fighting if I…?”
“I don’t know,” he cuts me off quickly. “I know next to nothing about the Marianis, their intentions, or their ambitions. All I know is that they were the last to swear allegiance to Rokiades. And their word came only after the invitations went out.”
At that, all the puzzle pieces click together. I realize something: I started this shit. Maybe I can help finish it.
Just then, the door flies open. I freeze. Phoenix jumps to his feet with his gun raised. “For fuck’s sake,” he breathes when he takes in the men at the door. “Took you fuckers long enough.”
Both men are tall and well-built. Now, the Russian I’d overheard earlier makes sense. Of course they’d be speaking Russian. They’re Bratva. Like Phoenix.
“She’s badly injured,” he tells them, pointing at Sarah where she’s still lying on the blood-soaked rug. “Gunshot to the lower abdomen. Make sure to be careful when you move her.”
The moment Phoenix finishes with his instructions, another man walks into the room. He’s basically an older version of Phoenix and his presence seems to fill the room.
“Son,” he says.
Fuck me—is this Phoenix’s father? The two of them look like they belong on magazine covers. That’s one hell of a gene pool.
“Where’s Kian?” Phoenix asks immediately.
“With Cillian.”
I step aside so that the Bratva men can move Sarah. As father and son talk to one another, I realize no one is focused on me. At least, not yet. And the thought is running through my head again and again: You started this. You can end it.
I pick up a stray gun lying on the floor and snake across the room as Phoenix and his father help ensure Sarah is in an appropriate position to be moved.
I’m right at the door, when Phoenix notices me.
“Renata!” he booms. “Where are you going?”
Two pairs of identical eyes fall on me. Maybe it’s because he’s close to my age, but I don’t find Phoenix intimidating.
His father, on the other hand, looks like a man you’d rather die than cross.
“I have to help if I can,” I stammer.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Phoenix’s father says firmly.
There’s at least five feet between me and the nearest Bratva soldier. Which means I’ve got to move fast. Thankfully, I’ve always been a runner. So, rather than answer, I bolt out of the room, just as I hear a loud curse and the stomp of boots pursuing me.
Phoenix is hot on my trail. Unfortunately for him, all those hours of forced treadmill running at Rokiades’s behest has really upped my game. I speed through the corridors towards the other end of the house, leaving him behind.
I’m going so fast that I fly into a random soldier who appears out of nowhere. We slam together and I crash-land on my belly on the floor.
He thumps somewhere adjacent to me, but he’s already twisting around, attempting to shoot. Then he sees Phoenix bursting around the corner and changes aim, eliminating the Greek before he can get his shot off.
You started this, I tell myself. Only you can finish it.
As I continue running through the house, I risk a glance over my shoulder. Phoenix is fighting off two new soldiers. But I’m reassured that he’s not hurt. Matter of fact, he looks like he’s in his element. Happy as a pig in shit, as Drago used to say about the Irishmen who’d stolen our heritage from us. The adage applies to the young Russian as he lays waste to the poor, outmatched Greeks.
I leave them behind and tear through the house, moving towards the sound of fighting rather than away from it. My instincts are screaming at me, but I ignore them.
Yes, I have to protect the child in my belly. But I also have a duty to make sure my child has a father. And if I can make the slightest bit of difference to this fight, then I’m going to try.
I’m not going to be a damsel in distress for a single second more.
As I rip around a dark grey wall, I run into yet another man. This one is tall and blonde and extremely familiar.
“Kian?” I gasp.
The man grabs me and holds me out at arm’s length. “Ah, so you’re the wildcat he walked into the lion’s den for?” he smirks.
The more I look at him, the less like Kian he seems. Their resemblance only goes surface-deep. Beyond the blonde hair and the blue eyes, they couldn’t be more different.
“You’re Cillian.”
“I see my reputation precedes me. The pleasure’s all mine, really.”
“Where’s Kian?” I ask.
“Not your concern at the moment,” he says. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I can help.”
&nbs
p; “No, you can’t,” he says with finality.
Jesus. Why do I have to come into contact with every single alpha male on the planet? It hardly seems fair. A girl can only handle so much testosterone without going insane.
Cillian spins me around and starts marching me back the way I came. “There’s a fight in play and you’re only going to distract him.”
“Why aren’t you in there fighting with him?” I prod.
He chuckles. “I can see why he fell for you. Us O’Sullivan men have always liked our women feisty.”
“Please,” I say, trying the polite route. “I can’t just leave him here.”
“There is no way he’ll let me live if I willingly let you waltz right into—”
I realize something just then—Kian’s brother doesn’t consider me a threat at all. Which is the only reason I’m able to spin around and aim my gun at his face. It’s not even cocked, but he doesn’t have to know that.
“I’m not asking anymore,” I tell him icily.
He raises his eyebrows. They’re thicker and more unruly than Kian’s. His eyes are a lighter, clearer blue. He must have been drop-dead gorgeous in the prime of his youth. Even as an older man, he still has a youthful quality about him.
“You really wanna do this?” Cillian asks.
“He needs me.”
“Not now. Not like this. He needs me and the Clan and the Bratva. He has all that. If you go in there, it’ll only distract him, Renata.”
I’m mildly surprised that he knows my name. “I can make a difference—”
He shakes his head. “Let one of my men escort you off the compound. You’ll be safe.”
“I have been at the mercy of men all my life,” I snap. I’m close to sobbing, but I don’t care. “I have been pushed around and controlled. I’ve only ever been a pawn. And I’m done being that. Kian’s the one who told me that I could be a player if I wanted to be. Well, I’m choosing to enter the game.”
Cillian weighs his words heavily. “In this game, Renata, if you lose, you die.”
“I’m aware of the risks.”
“If you want to get through me, you’ll have to shoot.”
Our eyes lock. He’s deadly serious. But calm, too. As if he’s been preparing his whole life to take a bullet for his brother.
My finger is on the trigger. I don’t want to pull, but I’ve made my choice. I’m not leaving Kian to die. I’m going to do whatever I can.
You started this. Only you can end it.
Before I can decide what to do, an explosion goes off. So close that it hurls us both against the wall.
I see smoke.
I smell ash.
I taste blood.
And all I can think is…
Oh, God—my baby.
57
Kian
In hindsight, it might have been a better plan to wait for Cillian and Artem to rally the men. Our forces are spread over the entire compound, fighting back the Greeks and both Italian families in various locations. But most of Rokiades’s men are right here in this room, making sure to shield him from me.
“Rokiades!” I roar as I duck behind the massive dining room table that my men have managed to push onto its side. It provides the perfect cover for us, but it’s starting to give way beneath the onslaught of Greek gunfire.
In the room beyond us, all I can see is the line of Greek and Italian soldiers standing on the opposite end of the room, concealing their cowardly don.
We’re outnumbered four to one. Those odds are made worse by the fact that this ugly ass room has two little alcoves concealed off on each side of the space. We’ve been shooting at them for ten minutes now and I haven’t seen Rokiades once. He’s clearly hiding behind one of the two alcoves, watching everything unfold while his men die for him.
“Rokiades!” I yell again. “You fucking coward! Come out here and fight me like a man!”
I pop up from behind the table and fire off another round of bullets. I manage to hit two of his men. One is a clean kill shot; the second only incapacitates the poor bastard.
I duck down behind the table and attempt to reload before realizing that I’m clean out of ammo in this gun. “Fuck,” I growl, looking to the two men on either side of me. “Ammo?”
“Sorry, boss,” Rhys replies. “I’m on my last clip, too.”
“Get out there and get our men in here,” I order. “Another ten minutes and we’re going to sitting ducks.”
Rhys crouches low and snakes out of the room. I’ve got three bullets left in my second firearm. Two of those are ready for anyone wants to die today. The third is saved for the fucker who abducted my woman.
“Is this the don you are?” I demand, shouting out to make sure every single one of his men hear me. “The kind who hides in the darkness while his men take the hits?”
No answer. Just the pop-pop-pop of gunfire and splintering wood.
“No wonder you had to ally with the Lombardis and the Marianis,” I continue, noticing that my words are starting to puncture through the men, one by one. “You’re lacking in the charisma department.”
“You fucking boy!” Rokiades screams as he pushes past his men. He doesn’t quite make his way all the way through the front line, though, which I’m sure is no accident. He keeps himself angled conveniently behind the bodies of his men.
But I can see his face clearly. It’s red with rage and embarrassment.
I smile. The fastest way to goad a man like him is to hit his ego in front of his people.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” he adds with what he no doubt thinks is a menacing aura.
“You?” I mock, standing from behind the upturned table. “You haven’t fired one fucking bullet this whole time.”
His gun hand twitches as though he’s about to raise it. But he decides otherwise. “You know what?” Rokiades hisses. “I was going to be merciful. I was going to kill you. But now, I think I’ll take you alive. I’ll keep you in chains in my darkest cell. I want you to be alive for my wedding day. I’m going to take Renata Lombardi so hard, so completely that I fuck a baby into her on the first fucking night.”
He’s laying the groundwork. But he’s out of his fucking depth.
I know I shouldn’t respond in kind, and yet, I can’t help it. The words rip from me in a blaze of rage, “Sorry to disappoint you, but I beat you to it. There’s already a baby in that belly. And I was the man that put it there.”
Yannis’s eyes go wide with fury. “Oh, don’t you worry,” he rasps. “All it will take is a visit to my doctor to wipe the scum from her womb and fill her with my own son.”
I’m about to open fire on the motherfucker when I see a silhouette pass by me. My jaw drops as I realize what it is.
Or rather, who.
Renata Lombardi walks into the room as though she fucking owns the place. Her back is straight and her chin is tilted upwards. I can sense her fear, but she’s doing a good job of hiding it.
“Stop!” she calls out in a kind of voice I’ve never heard from her before. Proud. Royal. Defiant.
She turns, catches sight of me, and immediately rushes to my side. “Are you okay?” she gasps, cupping the side of my face with her palm.
“Jesus, Renata,” I growl, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Your brother tried to stop me,” she blurts out. “Don’t be mad at him.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice Cillian and Artem enter the room. Both look a little banged up, but there’s definite bloodlust in their eyes.
They’re ready for the big fight.
We all are.
“That is my woman!” Rokiades says furiously, his eyes flitting over his men.
The thing about “his” men, though, is that it’s not quite accurate. Some of them are Greek, yes. But some of them are Lombardi. And more still are probably Mariani.
And Renata—the true heir to the Lombardi and Mariani families—has just walked in and run straight to me. After I’d told
the entire room that she’s carrying my baby.
I take another quick scan, realizing that Drago isn’t here. He’s not high on my list of priorities, though. My only priority is standing right in front of me, acting oblivious to the warzone she’s just entered.
“Renata!” Rokiades screams. “I will kill that Irish cocksucker right in front of you.”
He raises his gun-wielding arm, but Renata acts immediately. She steps in front of me. I try to push her behind my men, but she grabs the table and refuses to budge.
I’m pissed she’s here, but I can’t help marvel at her. The woman’s fucking amazing.
“The only way to kill him right now is to put the bullet through me,” she calls back. “Are you willing to kill me, Yannis?”
He flinches when she uses his first name. His hesitation is the only answer she needs. The only answer any of us needs.
Renata Lombardi is too fucking important to kill.
And she finally knows it.
“My name is Renata Lombardi,” she says, raising her voice. “But I have Mariani blood in my veins.”
I notice several men exchange glances. A fissure starts to form in the ranks. A few of them seem to want to set themselves apart from the throng crowded around Rokiades.
“And I do not choose Yannis Rokiades,” she says, her voice strong.
Rokiades’s face turns black. Vengeance, fury, betrayal… it’s all written across his sagging features.
Something is happening.
Then a man steps forward. He’s probably around my age, perhaps a little older. He turns grey eyes on Renata before looking straight at Rokiades. “When you approached our don, you said that Renata Lombardi was under your protection. You told us that she willingly agreed to the marriage.”
Rokiades snarls at the fissure opening up in front of him. “Who the fuck cares?” he rasps. “She doesn’t get to pick.”
The man glances back towards us. I meet his gaze.
“Renata,” the Italian commander booms, “are you aligning yourself with the Clan?”
“I am,” she says without hesitation.
A thrill of some unnamed excitement courses through my body. Has she derailed Rokiades’s entire power grab with her mere presence? Her refusal to be the victim anymore?