It made it even easier to kill her.
“Safiya Mangenello,” I repeat hoarsely, watching the woman’s face for any shred of acknowledgment. Her lips are pursed, her expression carefully controlled. But she can’t hide a subtle flinching. While not Safiya herself, she’s heard that name before.
Whoever hired her must have fed it to her. As an example of why I deserve to die? Or maybe as part of some elaborate trick. Pretend to be Safiya. Even imitate her mute nature to get inside my head and make me lower my guard.
There is just one flaw with that plan. Safiya couldn’t scream, even if she wanted to. This woman will.
I adjust my grip on the knife, suppressing the tendril of unease warning me to stop. Let her go. Ignore this slight.
But Vin’s not here. Without his calming influence, it’s easier to entertain the icy thoughts for longer than I normally would. Fuck, I swear I literally see red, flashing across my vision for a split second. From the window? I look over, but apart from the lights in a nearby building, I see no such color.
My fucking head… I didn’t drink enough, it seems. Old Don lurks beneath the confines of my fragile sanity, growling like a goddamn animal.
To be fair, she could have gone after me, and I wouldn’t care. My life. My reputation. My livelihood. Anything or anyone but my family—what little of it remains, alive or otherwise.
Olivia and our child.
Vincenzo.
Safiya.
They are the few aspects of my life I’ve deemed off-limits. No one will ever sully them before me.
“Did he tell you to say it?” I demand, gripping the blade so tightly it shakes. “The bastard who hired you? Huh? Did he tell you to pretend to be a mute little girl in some sick, fucking way to get inside my head? Answer me!”
She doesn’t. Her eyes remain fixed on my chest, but her expression slips. For a heartbeat, she isn’t a tiger anymore. Just a woman, pale, trembling in the shadow of someone more than twice her size.
That look feeds the darkness inside me like a match striking tinder. Crueler fantasies come to life on the edge of my consciousness. I could easily crush her throat in my fist if I wanted to. Pin her down. Prove my point by making her scream… My fingers flex at the thought, and I can’t stop myself from taking a step toward her. Then another.
I reach out, but in the end, I grab my jacket, tugging it on despite the loose sleeve.
“Safiya Mangenello couldn’t plead for her life,” I confess, facing the woman once more. I can’t help the way I flinch as the words leave my mouth—that fact has haunted me every waking moment since I betrayed her. “But you will. Tell me who hired you—”
She lurches to her feet in such a display of grace; I almost forget my hate. This pain... As elegant as a dancer, she races toward me, her gaze on my face, her beautiful features displaying pure terror.
I’m too startled to react like I should. I halfheartedly lift the knife, but her hands, soft and outstretched, slam into me first. She’s not strong enough to push me down outright—and yet I let her, using the momentum to dive to the floor.
It’s something in her eyes, those dark, fucking intense eyes. I can hear her voice again, as if she shouted into my ear, though she never makes an actual sound. Get down!
I only have enough sense of mind to curl my arm around her waist, pulling her with me. We barely hit the floor before I have her beneath me, shielding her body as the world explodes. My neck prickles, stung by spraying material. The sound of broken glass shatters the quiet, along with a low, telltale buzz that precedes an explosion of noise in the corner of the room.
“Fuck!”
In addition to finding a beautiful assassin in my room, it’s been a while since someone’s taken a shot at me, let alone a sniper. I rock onto my knees, staying low to the ground. Only as my gaze falls over the woman do I entertain the possibility that she could be a part of this attempt. Distract me while the shooter takes his aim.
Even as the suspicion enters my mind, her tiny hands grip my forearms, her eyes scanning the room with that tiger-like intensity.
“Stay down,” I tell her, watching her stiffen as my mouth brushes her ear. “On my lead, we head for the door. Got it?”
Her mouth tightens, but she nods without meeting my gaze directly.
Tearing my attention from her, I try to take stock of the situation as quickly as possible. The shooter must have aimed twice. One initial shot shattered the window, and another took a chunk out of the wardrobe in the corner of the room. Through the fractured glass, I can only make out the darkened landscape and the nearest row of buildings. One’s close enough to be the shooter’s nest, and a flicker of movement in a window draws my notice.
“Got you, you sick fuck,” I hiss. Keeping close to the ground, I lurch for the door, dragging the girl by her arm. She’s quick, keeping pace on her hands and knees—but she runs into me as I stop short with a grim realization.
To open the door, I have to reach for the handle and risk entering the shooter’s line of sight. I could always grab the gun from the closet safe, but there’s no way I’d have a shot from here—not to mention that any move puts the woman at risk. I eye her and consider the most reckless of solutions—taking the risk anyway, long enough for her to escape.
I tighten my grip on her arm, prepared to shove her back—but already footsteps are racing down the hall.
“Boss?” a familiar voice rings out. I recognize the gruff baritone as belonging to Javier, my personal guard. “Is everything okay in there—”
“Be careful,” I warn. “Open the door but keep cover. Sniper.”
The handle turns, and the door opens just wide enough for me to shove the girl through. A whizzing noise hums past my ear as wood goes flying.
“Fuck!”
The second the girl moves, I follow her, slamming the door behind me. Lurching to my feet, I discover the other two guards on my detail already running to meet me.
“Send a team to comb the building northeast from here,” I demand. “I think I saw the son of a bitch on the same floor with a view facing mine.”
One of the men takes off while I turn to Javier. “Where is Vin?”
As if on cue, the door down the hall opens, and Vin sticks his head out from behind it, looking half asleep. “Where’s the party?” he demands. His gaze goes to the woman still in my grasp, and he raises an eyebrow. “Though it looks like you’ve been having more than enough fun on your own—”
“Get your shit,” I tell him, peering into his suite. The curtains are drawn shut, obscuring the view of any would-be shooter positioned outside. “We need to go now.”
“What are you…?” Finally, he seems to notice the hole in my door. And the blood on my shirt.
“Holy shit!” He ducks into his room, presumably getting dressed.
“Sir,” Javier says. “I have a team scouting the perimeter, and Lionel will bring around the car to the garage.”
“Who do you think it could be?” Vin demands, staggering from the room while wrestling his foot into a shoe. “The Salvatores?”
“Could be,” I say with a nod. “The sniper, at least.” I turn to the woman and tighten my grip on her arm just as she tries to slip from my grasp. From the corner of my eye, I catch Vin staring at her, but there’s no conspiratorial glance shared between them. Vin has a shit poker face, but in his expression, I see nothing but genuine interest as he scans the woman’s thin frame.