Shit.
She storms to the door, flinging it open wide, marching out of the room, screaming, “Lorenzo!” before pounding on his door, which I know to be three doors down the hall.
Luca grabs beneath my arms, dragging me along the carpet as he spits out a string of words in Italian—I don’t have to know the words to know that he’s cursing at me.
My limbs start to tingle as feeling slowly comes back as I’m dragged out into the hallway to face Renata’s wrath. The hallway quickly fills with people hearing the commotion and suddenly, I feel small.
Renata Vittori has stripped me of my pride, my self-worth, my confidence. And as my eyes lock on Anya’s coming from the far end of the hallway with a look of shock and fear on her face, I feel utterly undeserving of her love.
Chapter 19
Ezra
“Renata!” Anya yells from down the hall as she charges forward with her hand on her stomach. She looks ethereal in that blush-colored gown which sweeps the floor as she comes toward us.
I can wiggle my fingers and toes now, and I’m slowly getting feeling back in my arms and legs.
Anya lifts her chin a little higher and pulls her shoulders back as she meets Renata in front of Lorenzo’s closed door. “What are you doing with him?”
Renata’s head whips to the side to look at her. “I don’t answer to you, you self-righteous slut.”
Adrenaline kicks up, urging my limbs to wake the fuck up so I can fight for my girl.
Anya’s eyebrows draw together and she steps closer to Renata. “You have no right to talk to me like that. I am your equal now by name alone.”
Renata turns toward Anya, stepping close enough to touch her baby bump. “My dear, you have never been anything but a slave and a whore. A warm body for Nikolai to fuck, one who happened to have a pretty face and a talent for dance.”
It’s a good thing I can’t get up because I might beat the shit out of Renata if I could. But Anya doesn’t need me to defend her. She’s strong enough on her own, stronger than me.
“If that were true, then why did Nikolai go through the trouble of arranging a secret marriage with me? You’re just angry you’ve met your match in me, that you’ve taken on a new slave boy who prefers me to you.” Anya cocks her head to the side.
“Ezra is mine when he’s not your talent,” Renata insists. “He is a slave that Murphy put in my care. I make his rules and you know that.”
“Yes, you’re right. You don’t have the power of a Head of House, so you take your orders from an Irish man a decade your junior.” Anya smiles. “Thank you for the reminder.”
“Ezra’s time here is over,” Renata says with an eerie level of calm decisiveness.
My time here is over.
She pounds on Lorenzo’s door again and he finally comes to answer, opening it wide. He and Renata argue in Italian as I start to move, slowly working to get myself up off the floor. Luca sees me moving and grabs beneath my arms again, hoisting me into position on my knees. He hisses in my ear, telling me to stay put. I do because I don’t feel I have enough strength yet to get to my feet—it’s not like I could do anything if I did as I’m quickly becoming outnumbered here.
Renata and Lorenzo’s voices raise, and his girl Olivia appears beside him, asking in English about what’s going on.
“Stay in the room,” Lorenzo tells her as they both disappear from the doorway.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Olivia’s voice sounds frantic out of sight and soon after, Lorenzo appears in the hallway with Renata.
Holding a gun.
“What are you doing?” Anya demands, rushing to stand in front of Lorenzo, bravely putting herself in his path toward me. “Stop! What are you doing?” She puts her hands on his chest to shove him back and my heart stops.
“He raped her,” Lorenzo tells Anya, looking down at me with spitting fury. “He attacked them and raped her.” Anya’s mouth drops open in surprise.
“You lying, bitch,” I utter under my breath, pissed but not surprised that Renata would pull a stunt like this to get me killed.
Lorenzo glances down with a furrowed brow at Anya’s hands on his chest. “Get your hands off me.”
“Give me the gun. I won’t let you hurt him,” Anya demands, shoving at his chest.
He whips his free hand around and snatches hold of her wrist, squeezing it tightly and holding it up between them. “I said, get your hands off me.”
“Don’t touch her!” I shout, my heart jumping into overdrive and fearful nausea rolling through my stomach.
Anya freezes in his grip and I know why—because I see what she sees. Lorenzo’s face has shifted and suddenly, he looks like Vigo. He holds the same unraveled expression that shadows the features of his face—the same vicious fire that would burn in Vigo’s eyes. It’s the same violence, the same brutality, the same disengagement from his humanity.
Vigo still haunts her through the rage of his family.
Lorenzo tosses her hand aside and slips past her, coming after me. I flinch when he starts to raise his gun, but terror grips me as I watch Anya step after him again. I shake my head at her furiously. “Anya, don’t—” I start to say as she lunges for Lorenzo.
She reaches and latches her fingers around his wrist—the hand that holds the gun he was just starting to lift. She pulls back on his arm viciously, but is forced to let go and jump back when he whips around, shaking her grip from his wrist, and aiming the gun at her head.
She screams, throwing her hands up in front of her face as she sinks at the knees. The memory of Nikolai holding her at gunpoint just before he sold her to Vigo flashes across my mind and my body trembles with a pulse of adrenaline. “No!” I shout.
But then Lorenzo swings the gun around aiming at my head. My eyes widen as I watch it all happen in a blur.
He presses the barrel to the center of my forehead.
He cocks it…and pulls the trigger.
.
.
.
.
.
A click, then silence.
Silence from everyone except for Anya’s piercing scream.
I gasp for a breath. If it weren’t for the authenticity of my blue-eyed girl’s scream, I’d believe I’d died and gone to hell—the same hell I’ve been living with the four families.
But I’m not in literal hell. I’m alive because the gun misfired. A violent sob bursts from Anya with her eyes squeezed shut. But then I see her features soften as she realizes she didn’t hear the gunfire, either. I stare her down, willing her to open her eyes and look at me because I can’t stand to see her this broken.