The man wheezes and grows even redder in the face. “You bitch!”
His hold has loosened, but only slightly. I try to use it to my advantage and grapple him onto his back, but he flattens his body low over mine, immobilizing me with his weight.
“You’re Gabriel’s girl, aren’t you?” he hisses, spittle spraying onto my cheek. “The pregnant one?”
He drops the hand holding the gun between us, and I feel the cold muzzle of it against my stomach.
He digs the gun into my flesh, and I yelp with pain. “I’m not supposed to kill you,” he says, “but nobody said anything about your baby.”
I can taste the panic on my tongue, sweet and sickly, like overripe strawberries. I don’t think. I don’t plan. My instincts take over.
In one movement, I twist my hips so the gun is no longer over my belly, cover the hand holding the gun with mine, and sink my teeth into Turtleneck’s ear. He yells out. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and my stomach turns over in disgust, but I don’t let that distract me. This man was going to kill my baby. He deserves to die.
My fingers close over the gun, and I roll back, destabilizing him enough that I can throw him off me. He falls onto his back with one hand cradling his bloody ear, and I shuffle back on my butt like a crab.
“You fucking bitch!” he cries, and starts to get up.
I don’t give him the chance. I aim. I fire.
Turtleneck falls back onto the floor, blood pooling around his torso from the two gunshot wounds in his belly. There is an expression of genuine surprise on his face. That irks me.
“Did you think you could lay hands on the Bellucci Mafia queen and get away with it?” I ask.
He sputters but doesn’t answer, then stares up at the ceiling, eyes growing distant.
The hand holding the gun shakes, and I let it fall to my side. My heart is racing. This man is bleeding out on Gabriel’s parquet floor, and it is my fault. But he deserved it. He was going to hurt me, maybe even kill my baby.
My hand goes to my belly. I shake my head in disgust. “Any man who would try to kill an unborn baby deserves to die. You’re lucky that it will be so quick.”
I hate the thought of touching him, but somebody probably heard that gunshot, and I don’t think I’m going to make it to the ballroom. This guy probably has a cell phone on him, which will do just fine. After being kidnapped by Andrew Walsh, I made sure to memorize a list of important phone numbers in case I was ever separated from my cell phone.
I lean over and rifle through the man’s pockets, coming up victorious with a black iPhone. I quickly unlock it using his face and dash around the corner just as I hear footsteps approaching. I don’t know the layout of the penthouse well and have no idea where I am. I just need to get somewhere hidden to make the call, but there don’t seem to be any rooms leading off this corridor.
Too late, I start to recognize where I am. I’m nearing the main double doors for the ballroom, the ones that the Italians were barricading just as Gabriel pulled me out. Except the doors have been forced open, and broken splinters of wood litter the hall. I can hear voices coming from inside the room, but no gunshots, and no scuffles.
Oh God. What if they’re all dead?
I know that I should go back, find a room to slip into, but the thought that Gabriel might be lying lifeless on the ballroom floor makes it impossible for me to do so without at least looking first. I approach the door, navigating between chunks of wood and glass, and peek my head around the corner.
My heart sinks. Gabriel’s men and their wives have been rounded up in the middle of the ballroom floor. They are sitting with their hands tied behind their backs, guns aimed at their foreheads. There are about two dozen Cartel goons hovering around the room, either chatting with each other or actively antagonizing their captives.
Then I see the woman—the one who started this all. Felicity Huffman is standing with her back to me, facing the captives. She is wearing an elegant, snow-white gown, as though she were planning on attending this soiree herself. She’s tall with a blonde pixie cut, but I can’t see her face from here. She seems to be talking to someone.
But where is Gabriel?
“You’re just like your father,” I hear Felicity say, and I realize she must be talking to Gabriel. “Weak. Easily fooled. Pathetic.”
“I’ll kill you for this,” Gabriel replies.
The sound of his voice is a balm to my soul. I am still shaken by the attack in the hallway, and all I want to do is disappear into his arms. But now is not the time for that. I need to be strong.
Felicity steps to the side a little, and I catch sight of Gabriel’s face for the first time. Black blood is caked around his nose and mouth, and one of his eyes blushes with a fresh bruise. He looks like he’s been hit by a bus.
I can’t help myself—I gasp.
It’s the worst thing I could have done, because it immediately draws the attention of no less than four of the hostiles in the room—including Felicity. I duck behind the doorway, but it’s too late.
“I know you’re there, Alexis,” Felicity drawls. “Why don’t you be a big girl and come on out?”
I don’t move. I’m trying to think of an exit strategy, but it feels like the adrenaline has turned my brain to sludge.
“Okay, darling,” Felicity calls again. “Let me put it this way. If you don’t come into this room right now, I’m going to shoot your boyfriend somewhere I’m sure he’d really rather not be shot.”
Fuck. Okay. It’s not game-over yet, but I need to be really careful about the next moves I make. I wedge the gun into the back of my dress and walk into the room, holding the cell phone aloft.
33
Alexis
Felicity is sophisticated and beautiful, with bright blue eyes that are a carbon copy of my own. Her pink lips curve into a smile I can only describe as welcoming, which throws me off entirely. She looks friendly. Sweet.
“There you are, my darling,” Felicity purrs as I step into the room. She points to the phone in my hand. “And what have you got there?”
The Cartel men all turn to watch as I enter, but they don’t bother aiming their guns at me. I’m a little offended.
“All I need to do is press the call button, and backup will swarm this building in a matter of minutes,” I tell her. I’m bluffing, of course. I have no idea what number to call to summon the troops—something I’d definitely like to know for the future if we get out of this.
Felicity laughs. She starts to approach me, and I stop dead, rooted to the spot. She cocks her head to the side, as though I am some sort of circus curiosity, and smiles languidly.
“That’s cute,” she says. “I bet you have a lot of questions, my angel. It must have been a shock to learn that the mewling buffoon you thought was your mother was just some stranger.”
I stiffen. “Don’t talk about her like that. She was my mother. Just because she didn’t share my DNA doesn’t change that.”
“So you’re of the ‘nurture’ camp in the ‘nature versus nurture’ debate?” Felicity asks, eyes flashing. She stops only a couple of feet in front of me. The gun is cold against my spine.