I can’t die. I can’t leave her here alone.
Lorenzo swears and Renata yells at him. He pops open the chamber to check for rounds and in a flash, Anya is in front of me—she jumps in front of me as a human shield for the next round and my heart disintegrates into ash.
“Anya, move,” I plead, gripping her skirt with my bound hands, and tugging to get her attention. “Move, baby, please.”
She only shakes her head. “He can’t harm me,” she whispers. “I’m a Mikhailov.” She lifts her chin. Even from behind her, I can see the tracks of tears streaming down the side of her cheek, streaking black streams from her make-up.
Lorenzo pushes the chamber back in and points the gun at her. I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
“Move,” he tells her.
Anya’s voice is quiet power as she speaks through gritted teeth. “If Renata wants him dead, you’ll have to kill us both.” Her hands clench into shaking fists at her sides.
“I’ll happily arrange that,” Renata says, moving to stand beside Lorenzo.
Lorenzo steps forward, pushing the tip of the gun to Anya’s belly, threatening her, threatening me, but more urgently, threatening the baby.
Anya stiffens. A strange sort of fear grips me, and I know she feels it, too—except, hers morphs into a protective fury. She doesn’t scream and cower. She snarls, steels herself, straightens her spine, and pulls her shoulders back.
“I dare you,” she practically growls at Lorenzo. “Pull the trigger. Kill a Mikhailov and her son and see if that will put you any closer to taking over the family bloodline. We all know that’s what you want—for your Fiore name to be the one associated with the four families. We all know that’s why you serve Renata the way you do.”
His eyebrows raise and lower in surprise.
Olivia defies her order to stay in the bedroom and suddenly rushes out. “Stop!” she cries. “Why are you doing this?” Bravely, she wedges herself between Anya and the gun. She pushes Lorenzo’s hand away from her stomach by grabbing his wrist and shoving back on his chest. “Why are you doing this? She’s pregnant! They’re in love, Lorenzo…in love like you and me! Renata’s a liar. Why would he rape her? Stop this!”
Lorenzo looks at Olivia with a tilt of his head and drops his gun to the floor. The thud of it landing on the carpet makes us all flinch in fear that it might somehow go off. I watch in shock as he shoves Olivia back against the wall by her shoulders, shifting his anger to her instead of toward us. Olivia’s eyes pop wide as tears pour down her cheeks and she opens her mouth to defend herself.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I just…Lorenzo…d-don’t hurt them.” She puts her hands on his chest and grips the lapels of his jacket. “Please. This is insane. I was one of them. They’re no different than we are.”
There are a few tense moments where all I can hear is the pounding beat of my heart and Anya’s rapid breaths in front of me. I think Lorenzo might hurt Olivia—the woman he claims to love.
But then, he sighs, softening for her, melting to her plea. He lifts a rigid finger between them, pointing it at her with intention. “Don’t ever come between me and my gun like that again. Do you hear me, amore? I could’ve killed you.”
“I won’t. I won’t,” she says. “I promise.”
He leans forward and kisses her and that’s when I snap back to reality. I look at the gun on the ground. I glance at it and when I look back up, I see Renata lock her stare on Anya.
“Get the gun,” I hurriedly whisper to my girl.
She doesn’t take a moment to think, she just moves.
Anya and Renata both lunge for it at the same time. I hold my breath as Anya drops to her knees. Unable to bend at the waist to grab for it, she clambers on her hands and knees to get it. Anya reaches out, and just before Renata gets there, Anya grabs the gun. She raises it and cocks it, sitting back on her heels and aiming at Renata.
Her hands don’t shake. She’s as steady as steel. “I want Murphy O’Shea here. Now,” she demands.
“Put the gun down, Anya,” Renata says to her, backing away.
Anya’s finger hovers over the trigger and I know she itches to pull it, to end Renata’s life like she ended her brother’s. I’d be proud of her if she did; I’d fucking cheer for her if she did. But I’m also terrified of the consequences if she does it. Her favor with the four families is—as it always has been—on razor-thin ice.
“Get. Him. Here. Now.” Anya’s teeth grind together as she insists.
Lorenzo could knock the gun from her hand with ease, wrestle it from her without much struggle at all. And I think Olivia being so close is the only reason he doesn’t.
Thank God for her presence.
Renata sighs heavily. “Luca, go get Murphy.” He turns and runs down the hall.
I want to climb to my feet and barrel into someone, join this attack on Anya’s side, but I don’t dare move. She’s got the gun and she’s got this. I trust her, now more than ever, and I sense that she has a plan to get us out of this.
Shit.
I’m fucking lucky that gun misfired the first time.
I could be dead right now.
Soon we hear Murphy’s voice echo from down the long hallway from somewhere behind me. “There’d better be a damn good reason this slave boy disturbed me and my wife.”
I look at my blue-eyed girl on her knees a few feet in front of me in her lace and tulle gown, her gorgeous dark hair tumbling in soft waves down to the middle of her back, pointing a fucking gun at Renata Vittori. She’s never looked more powerful as she does right now.
I can only imagine what this scene looks like to Murphy as he comes closer to us. A pregnant Mikhailov wife holding a Vittori hostage in front of a slave with his hands bound in rope, kneeling in his underwear. It must be intriguing, at the very least.
“Anya demands to speak with you, Murphy,” Renata says as he approaches.
I turn my head to see him just a few feet away. He stops abruptly beside me. “Are you fucking—” He groans. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Anya speaks to him but doesn’t dare turn to look at him, still aiming the gun at Renata. “Renata has attempted to kill the Mikhailov talent slave. She claimed he attacked and raped her, and I know she’s lying. I will not have it, Murphy. There is no replacement for his talent, and we will not break the tradition of the four families just before my turn to host the quarterly meeting because of her false accusation. It’s…” She nearly falters, but I think I’m the only one who notices it—she speaks in half-truths, trying to explain her motivations within a context that these vile creatures would understand. “This is my chance to prove myself worthy of my name, and I will not have her taking the life of our talent slave over a lie. It’s unacceptable.”