“They said you texted them to check out a lead on the shooting, and to make sure no one went inside,” the guard continued, but I was barely hearing him.
“No,” Vissi said, shaking his head, mind going in the same direction as mine.
But yes.
Absolutely fucking yes.
The night of the break-in that had Isabella sitting in the closet shaking and me shot, Dawson and been right there, but not Dulles. He hadn’t shown up until almost half an hour later. And the shooting the night before? Dawson hadn’t been there until the shooting was over.
One was always around.
Creating an alibi for the other.
“Fuck,” I growled, raking a hand through my hair. “Fuck!” I yelled.
I’d trusted her safety to them.
And they were the ones who were threatening everything we had.
“Primo, man, you need to cool down. You need to think.”
“I need to find her, then rip their fucking throats out is what I need to do. And you can be with me or not, but you stay the fuck out of my way if you’re not.”
“I’m with you, man. Always.” Vissi said.
After all this was done, Vissi would be the closest thing to family I would have left.
Vissi and Isabella.
If I could get to her before anything happened.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Isabella
What did one wear while preparing a low-fuss Christmas dinner for her grieving husband who just lost his brother?
It was a question that required a lot more thought than I could have realized. Because, obviously, I didn’t want to dress up. But almost just as obviously, I didn’t want to look completely frumpy either.
I’d settled on slacks and a simple green sweater.
I’d picked red first because it worked with my coloring better, but then I thought better of it, worrying that the red might remind Primo of blood. So green it was.
And I was going to go light on the makeup after my shower, just a little mascara and maybe some liner. I felt like maybe a hint of normal might be important in the grieving period. Especially if Primo wasn’t going to grieve loud and hard like many of us would. If he wanted to stiff-upper-lip it most of the day, then give me some of the grief at night when we were alone, that was fine too.
I could play along.
Even if I personally thought it would be healthier for him to grieve like a normal person, not like a mafia boss.
I’d put on my underwear and the tank I was going to wear under the sweater on as I dried my hair, then started to pull out my makeup.
It was right then that I heard footsteps on the stairs.
It was too soon for mass to be over, so I knew better than to expect Primo.
Still, it felt a little weird that Dawson or Dulles would come upstairs without calling for me first. And I was reasonably sure no one had, unless the hair dryer had drowned it out.
I paused, reaching for my outfit, ready to quickly whip them on as I waited for Dawson or Dulles to knock on the closed bedroom door.
Because, surely, they would.
No one just barged into a woman’s bedroom.
Their brother’s wife’s bedroom.
Except, of course, they did.
My stomach twisted hard as my heartbeat sped into overdrive, knowing from somewhere deep inside that something had just gone terribly wrong.
Or, rather, that it had been wrong since the beginning.
Because there Dawson and Dulles were, moving into the bathroom, gazes on me.
But these were not the same men who’d taken me shopping, who’d raved about my cooking, who had protected me—supposedly—with their lives.
I’d seen them as my allies even when I was viewing Primo as my enemy.
They’d been the bright spot in some of my darker days.
But these men who stood in front of me in the bathroom I hadn’t invited them into didn’t look like the same two I’d grown to like.
There was something cold and ugly in their eyes. And it was so intense that I was finding it hard to believe I’d never seen a hint of it before. How could they hide so much hatred? Why did they have it toward me to begin with?
My heartbeat hammered in my chest as I tried to remember to take slow, deep breaths. It wasn’t going to help me to get so scared that I stopped thinking rationally.
“Hey, guys,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Give a girl some warning, huh?” I said, rolling my eyes at them. “I’m not decent,” I added.
“Decent enough,” Dulles said.
“Like you better without any clothes on anyway,” Dawson added, making my stomach drop at the implication.
And all I could think was No.
No, goddamnit.
I was finally starting to get used to this life. And, dare I say it, like it.
They were not going to rip it all away, turn it into something horrific.
“Come on, guys, give me a second,” I said, wiggling my clothes like I wanted to get changed. When what I really wanted to do was run into the closet and find one of the guns I knew Primo had hidden on a shelf on his side.
“You won’t need ‘em,” Dawson said, whacking Dulles in the chest in a silent demand.
“No!” I shrieked, flinging an arm out, knocking half of my makeup all over the counter.
I needed to get a weapon. I stood no chance against two men so much bigger than me if I didn’t have something to defend myself with.
There wasn’t anything close by.
The mirror.
But no way could I break it and get a piece of it to use as a knife before one of them grabbed me.
The toilet with a heavy tank was behind them.
And there was just… there was nothing else.
Panic gripped my system as my complete and utter helplessness became clear to me.
If they intended to take me somewhere, or simply rape and murder me right in my own bathroom, they would be able to do that, and I would have very little chance of stopping it.
Still, that didn’t mean I was going to roll over and take it.
I tossed my clothes at Dulles as he approached me, giving me a distracted second to rush past him, intent on trying to get into the bedroom, then down into the house.
If I could just scream out a window or get downstairs, someone would help me.
I had to believe that.
Not all of Primo’s men were bad.
Just these two.
The others would help me.
I just needed to get to them.
Rounding the tub, I grabbed a random bottle of bath bubbles and hurled them with all I had at Dulles who’d swatted the clothes away, and was barreling down on me.
“Fuck’s sake. Enough of this,” Dawson growled. And before I could even register what he was doing, his arm cocked back and sailed right at my face, colliding with the side of my mouth.
The pain was immediate, ricocheting through my whole jaw as my teeth knocked together. One too hard, it seemed, as blood started to fill my mouth even before I slammed down on my side.
Barely registering the impact, I pushed myself up, trying to scramble away, get into a less compromising position.
“No!” I shrieked as hands grabbed my ankles. Blood spilled out of my mouth and onto the floor.
“Hold her fucking still,” Dulles demanded, voice tense.
Knees, and the full body weight of a man much larger than me, pressed down on my back, pinning me to the floor, stealing my breath so I couldn’t even scream as Dawson grabbed my arm twisted, and pinned it to the floor.