Cristian is waiting for me outside the bathroom when I emerge sometime later. I don’t know how long I was in there, panicking and hyperventilating, before I pulled myself together and found the strength to put one foot in front of the other.
“I was about to send in a search party,” he says, gently tilting my head back. “You’re very pale.”
Yeah, no shit. “I’m not feeling so hot.”
“Let’s get you home.” Cristian puts his suit jacket around me before sliding his arm around my shoulders. He keeps me close to his side while escorting me down the hallway toward the lobby, and I’m grateful for the warmth emanating from him because I’m chilled to the bone. I am not cut out for spying, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending. I don’t know what to do; I have no one to confide in, and it’s killing me inside.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Beatrice lightly clasps my clammy face in her hands when we reach them. They are waiting just inside the doors, protected from the chilly February weather outside. A sleepy Elio is in his grandpa’s arms, his head resting against his shoulder. “You feel feverish.” Cristian’s mom looks over at him. “You should all come stay with us tonight. It’s closer, and I can look after Sloane.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I protest, hoping no one hears the hysteria in my tone. I don’t want to lead Pablo directly to Cristian’s parents’ house, yet it’s not like I can dispose of the damn cartel cell.
“Thanks, but we’ll head home,” Cristian says, and I hope the relief isn’t evident on my face. “We’ve got Sunday lunch plans tomorrow, and it’s best we sleep at the penthouse. Maybe next weekend?”
“Sounds good,” Beatrice agrees as six bodyguards appear outside to escort us.
The front of the once-stately home that is now a luxurious golf hotel and resort is closed to vehicles, but it’s only a short walk to the large parking lot at the side. Umberto lifts Elio from Josef’s arms. The little guy is fast asleep, tuckered out from all the excitement today. Umberto and Clint walk ahead while we hang back, strolling at a more leisurely pace as we talk. I cling to Cristian’s right side, my eyes darting wildly around the place. I’m on edge and probably imagining the eyeballs I feel on my back. I’m only half paying attention to the conversation as I scan the surroundings while we walk.
The grounds are stunning here. Miles and miles of woodland border lush lawns and manicured gardens. We pass by neat flower beds, enclosed behind decorative beige low stone walls. The area is well lit, though largely unoccupied as most all the guests are still inside enjoying the celebrations.
Up ahead, Umberto closes the back door after securing Elio in his seat. Clint is just rounding the front of the car as we approach when a flash sparks in the dark sky. I only notice because I’m avidly scanning our surroundings. I’m opening my mouth to say something when a pop rings out, and something whizzes over our heads.
It’s instant pandemonium.
“Get down,” Cristian yells, shoving me to the ground as his father does the same with his mother. “Papa!” Cristian roars, jumping over me to lunge at his dad, slamming him to the ground and covering him with his body as more shots pepper the air. The bodyguards have opened fire, but I don’t know what’s going on as I’m curled into a ball, shaking and terrified, with my hands covering my face. Is this Pablo? Is he done waiting, and he’s taken matters into his own hands? But then why send me that text?
“Is my son protected?” Cristian shouts.
“He’s safe, boss,” Umberto hollers.
“This way, Don DiPietro,” an unfamiliar male says. “They’re fleeing toward the southern woods, heading for the back road, but we can cut them off.”
“Go, Cristian,” his father says. “I’ll call for backup, but don’t let them get away.”
“Sloane.” My hands are peeled back from my face. Cristian peers over me. “Go with my parents. Clint and Umberto will take you to their place. You’ll be safe there.”
Terror has shackled my tongue, and I can only nod.
“Protect my family with your life,” Cristian snaps before he takes off with a gun in his hand.
Pounding footsteps resonate behind us as I push myself into a seated position on the ground. I’m still trembling, and my heart is racing like crazy.
“Over there.” Josef points in the direction Cristian and a few other men have already gone. They are in hot pursuit of three blurry forms running toward the woods. At least ten men, all wedding guests, run around us. In the commotion, I dig out my cartel cell, switch it off, and smash it repeatedly against the asphalt before stuffing it in a nearby bush.
“Here, let me help you up,” John Angelo says, materializing at my side.
Mr. DiPietro helps his wife to her feet. “Sloane and Elio are coming home with us,” Josef explains as I extend my hand, letting the bodyguard help me to stand.
My left side throbs with pain I’m only now feeling. John Angelo rushes me to the SUV, climbing in beside me, while Josef and Beatrice get into the second vehicle.
“Buckle up,” Clint says from the driver’s seat when I lean over to check on Elio. “He’s still sleeping. The vehicle is soundproof,” he adds, answering my silent question.
“It’s also bulletproof,” Umberto confirms, slamming his door shut as I fumble with my seat belt.
“I’ve got it.” John Angelo places my hands gently on my lap before clicking my belt into place. He nods at the front seat.
“Hold tight, Sloane,” Clint warns, putting the pedal to the metal as we floor it out of there. Looking over my shoulder, I spot two similar SUVs following hot on our heels.
Adrenaline is coursing through my body, my ears are ringing, and my heart is pounding like it wants to escape. “Will Cristian be all right?” I ask, pressing my nose to the tinted windows as we pass by the field where all the men are. Cristian grabs one of the assailants and slams the butt of his gun into his temple. The guy crumples to the ground as the other mafia men round on the other two, pummeling them with their fists.
“The boss will be fine,” John Angelo says. A smile creeps over his mouth as he watches things going down outside. “They have it under control.” He turns to look at me. “Try not to worry. Cristian knows what he’s doing.”
“Feeling any better?” Beatrice asks when I enter the homey kitchen of the old castle-type mansion she calls home, ninety minutes later.
“A little,” I lie. Though soaking in the bath helped to ease my aches and pains, I’m sick to my stomach with worry for Cristian and fear for my mother. Ditching my cartel cell might not have been the smartest decision. Pablo probably already knows where this house is, but I reacted on instinct, fear for Elio and Cristian’s family driving my actions. Now, I feel sick with guilt because there’s no way Pablo will not punish us for this. I plan to lie and say it got smashed in the shootout. It doesn’t even matter if he believes me. He’ll still take it out on us.
“Is Elio still sleeping?” I helped her put him to bed before my bath.
“Josef checked on him again. He’s fast asleep. Don’t worry. He’s fine.”
“I’m so glad he slept through everything.”
“That is a blessing,” she calmly replies, and I can see where Cristian gets his unflappable manner from. “Come sit.” She gestures toward the long, solid wooden table. “I heated up some chicken broth for you. It cures all ails.”
Oh god. I don’t think I can stomach anything right now, but I don’t want to be rude.
“I’m glad the clothes fit.” Her warm smile settles on me like a security blanket as I claim a seat. She places two bowls on the table. “Sabina isn’t quite as tall or thin as you, but a close enough match.” The silk pajama top is a little loose, the matching pajama shorts a little tight, but I’m grateful for them. My beautiful dress is ruined, dirty and torn in a few places. Not that I’m complaining. I’d rather a ruined dress than a bullet in my body.
A shudder works its way through me. Beatrice notices, leaning down to hug me. I sink into her embrace as the magnitude of everything that’s happened tonight fully hits me. A sob rips from my throat before I can stop it. I could have died. Elio could have been hurt. Or Cristian’s parents or Cristian. “We could have died,” I whisper as I shiver and shake.
“Cristian would never let that happen.” She rubs her hands up and down my arms. “I’m sure you are frightened, but I promise you’re safe here. We have the best security, and no one is getting near us.” With one last squeeze, she lets me go, sliding into the seat beside me. “Drink up. Trust me, it will make you feel better.”
I surprise myself by drinking it all, and she’s right; it helps to settle my stomach. Though my nerves are still on edge.
We wash and dry the dishes side by side in quiet companionship. After, she hands me a hair tie and a tub of aloe vera from the refrigerator. “That will help with any soreness.”
Tears stab my eyes. She is so kind, and I’m not sure I’m worthy of it. “Thank you.” I tie my long hair into a loose ponytail and clutch the aloe vera in one hand.
“You’re welcome, sweet Sloane.” She hugs me once before lifting one shoulder. “Come.”
Beatrice leads me out of the kitchen and down along the winding hallway toward the back of the house. Ornate staircases spiral above us on both sides, leading to the upstairs level. Large, heavy-looking gold frames house oil paintings on the walls alongside the polished mahogany banisters. “Are they relatives?” I ask as we pass under the grand stairs.
“Yes. Generations of the DiPietro family have walked these halls. We remember them by hanging their portraits.”
“You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you. We have spent a lot of time and money restoring and maintaining it over the years, but it’s an important legacy we want to pass down to our children and grandchildren.”
Beatrice guides me into a stunning room with a vaulted glass ceiling and floor-to-ceiling dark wood shelving. There must be thousands of books in here. The sturdy old desk by the window is clearly an heirloom, the chunky mahogany legs gleaming under the dim lighting in the room. Healthy plants occupy large sage-green pots dotted around the room. Several tabletop lights are lit around the space, and it smells of paper, leather, and peppermint. Thick green and gold brocade curtains cover the windows, blocking the view of the gardens outside and helping to keep the heat in.
The roaring fire in the corner of the room beckons to me like an old friend. Cristian’s dad rises from one of the leather-backed chairs in front of it. “Come join me, my dear,” he says.
The old floorboards creak as I walk across the study-slash-library in my borrowed slippers. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get to meet Cristian’s sister, but I hope she doesn’t mind I borrowed some of her things. A thick, patterned rug blankets the floor underneath the seating area, helping it to feel extra warm and cozy. “Sit.” Josef pats the base of a brown leather couch. “Warm your frozen bones.”
“I’m heading to bed, Sloane,” Beatrice says, kissing me on both cheeks. “Press the service button in your room if you need anything during the night.” Plucking the aloe vera tub from my cold fingers, she sets it down on the end table.
“Thank you so much for your kindness and the yummy broth. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Goodnight, my love.” Josef embraces his wife, kissing her passionately on the lips, and I look away, not wanting to intrude on their private moment. “I’ll be up in a while.”
The only sounds in the room after Beatrice leaves are the crackling of the fire, the rhythmic chiming of the old grandfather clock, and the silent racing of my heart. Anxiety flutters in my chest as I tuck my feet up under me and cover myself with the soft blanket. Josef climbs awkwardly to his feet before walking toward the liquor cabinet. I watch as he pours two generous measures of neat whiskey. When he returns, he hands one to me. “It’ll help with the shock.”
“Thank you.”
He reclaims his seat, nursing a tumbler in his hand as he stares into the dancing flames.
I take a sip of my drink, and the whiskey burns as it glides down my throat, but it settles warmly in my stomach, helping to heat me from the inside.
“I am sure you have many questions, Sloane.”
I lift my head, my gaze connecting with Cristian’s father. “I do.”
He nods slowly. “That’s to be expected. I know my son, and he will want to explain it to you himself. I just didn’t want you to go to sleep being afraid. You are safe here. Safe with Cristian. We will not let anything happen to you. Family means everything to us, and you are family now.”
I can tell he’s sincere, and a lump forms in my throat. How I wish it could be so.
Josef takes a healthy mouthful of his drink. “Italian American families have lots of secrets and traditions. We don’t allow many outsiders into our world, but those we do are treated with kindness, respect, and loyalty. We only ask for the same in return.” He knocks back the rest of his drink and staggers to his feet. I move to help him, but he waves me away. “I don’t spring back as quickly these days after a knock to the ground, but I can still walk unaided.”
“Do you want to take this?” I offer him my aloe vera.
He curls my fingers around the tub. “I think my wife has shares in this stuff. We have tubs of it everywhere.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You should get some sleep, but if you want to wait for Cristian, this is the best place.”
“I’ll wait a little while.”
“Sleep well, Sloane,” he says, walking stiffly out of the room. The door snicks shut after him.
I sip my drink and try to quiet my mind as I snuggle on my side on the couch, staring into the boisterous flames of the fire. I fully intend on waiting up for Cristian, but I guess I doze off because the next thing I’m aware of is the creaking of the floorboards as someone enters the room. The couch conceals me, and I hold my breath for a few beats, my pulse throbbing painfully as fear sprouts goose bumps on my arms until Cristian speaks, and I relax knowing it’s him. “You should be in bed.”
Pulling myself upright, I fight a yawn as I look over at him. He’s propped against the front of the desk, looking weary as he scrubs his hands down his face. “I was worried,” I admit, kicking the blanket aside and standing. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I add, pushing messy strands of hair out of my tired eyes.
“Fuck, Sloane.” His eyes graze over me slowly, from head to toe, and I’m hyperaware of the hunger burning hotter and hotter on his face as he drinks me in. “Are you scared of me?”
“What? No.” I shake my head before taking a step toward him. “You don’t scare me, Cristian. That is the opposite of how I feel.”
“Thank fuck,” he says, quickly pushing off the desk and striding toward me.
He holds my face in his hands like I’m precious as his lips descend, and he claims my mouth in a searing-hot kiss that curls my toes and kindles an inferno inside me.
