Ronin's Return

by Elle James

  Both men lay still. He checked for pulses. They were still alive, but they might not be still for long.

  Ronin pulled the ties off the drapes hanging in the window and made quick work, tying their hands behind their backs and their ankles. If woke up, they wouldn’t be going far.

  He shrugged back into the costume coat then grabbed the rifle and the knife. Easing open the door, he peeked out into the hallway, wondering where Amina had gone and why she hadn’t returned with Lorenzo and Matteo.

  With a rifle and a knife, he couldn’t just waltz through the party without someone stopping him or questioning him. And he couldn’t claim they were part of his costume when he was supposed to be from the seventeenth century.

  “Fuck it.” He tucked the rifle beneath his long coat and slipped the knife into his pocket. He couldn’t leave them in the same room with the attackers, and he couldn’t leave them anywhere near partygoers, drunk on alcohol and whatever else might be floating around. Someone could accidentally pull the trigger and cause all kinds of craziness and death.

  He had to get to Isabella and her father. If two men had found their way into the mansion, there could be more.

  13

  “Now that you’re back in your bed, stay there.” Isabella sat on the side of her father’s bed, frowning down at the rock in her life who, at the moment, was weaker than a kitten. She wanted to be back downstairs helping Ronin, but she had to be sure her father remained locked in his room.

  “My apologies, miss,” Andre said. “I turned my back for a moment to relieve myself and found your father dressed and heading for the party. I believe he might be a little high on his pain medications.”

  “All that matters is that he didn’t fall down the stairs or tear open his stitches.” And that he wasn’t gunned down or knifed by whomever was trying to kill him. “Are you sure you can handle the rest of the night? Do I need to send Lorenzo up to tie him down?”

  Andre shook his head. “I’ll lock the door when you leave and sit on the man if he so much as wiggles.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m a grown man. I don’t need a babysitter,” her father mumbled.

  “Yes, you do.” Isabella smoothed a hand along his cheek. “Sleep now. You won’t even remember getting out of bed in the morning.”

  “I most certainly will,” he protested and then yawned wide enough to split his cheeks.

  “Sure you will.” Isabella chuckled. “Sleep, Papa. I need you to be well.” She rose to her feet, intent on getting back downstairs. When she started to turn away, a hand reached out to capture hers.

  Her father pulled her back to face him and smiled. “I love you, mia bambina.”

  “I love you too, Papa.” She kissed his cheek and stepped away.

  His eyes drifted closed, and soon the sound of his soft snores filled the room.

  “Take care of him, Andre,” Isabella said. “I can’t afford to lose him.”

  “Stay safe, Signorina Pisano. Your father needs you just as much as you need him. He missed you while you were gone.”

  She exited the room and paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Lock the door behind me to keep others out. In fact, barricade the door with furniture. I don’t want any unwanted visitors in my father’s room.”

  Andre nodded. “I will.”

  She stepped through and pulled the door closed, waiting for the soft snick of the lock moving into place.

  Amina stood nearby, her eyes round and her expression scared.

  “Amina, where is Mr. Magnus?” Isabella asked in Italian.

  “I don’t know. He went into one of the rooms downstairs.” She clutched her hands together and glanced over her shoulder as if expecting someone to come after her. “There were two men. One with a gun. I don’t know, miss. I don’t know.”

  Isabella heart leaped into her throat. She grabbed the woman’s arms and shook her. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know. I am so frightened.”

  “Show me.” Isabella turned the woman toward the main staircase.

  She dug her heels into the floor. “Non, miss. Not that way.” Instead, she led Isabella to the servants’ narrow staircase, leading down to the kitchen and the back of the house.

  Isabella had played on these stairs as a child, and sometimes used them when she wanted a late-night snack from the kitchen. But not knowing what she would find at the bottom, lent a particularly ominous air to her former childhood playground.

  Amina hurried down the stairs, leading the way until she neared the bottom. She stopped short, refusing to go further.

  “Which room?” Isabella asked. “Where last did you see my fiancé?”

  “In the hallway.”

  In a mansion the size of the Pisano estate, he could be in any number of hallways. She’d spend too much time searching. “Show me.”

  Amina shook. “I can’t. They will kill me.”

  “Who will kill you?”

  “The men with the guns.” Amina crumpled against the bottom step, tears streaming from her eyes. “They will kill me. They will kill my family.”

  “I won’t let them hurt you, but you have to take me to Ronin.” Isabella gripped Amina’s arms, stood her on her feet and shook her. “Show. Me. Now.”

  Amina sniffed loudly and stumbled into the nearest hallway then ran to the next corner and turned.

  Isabella hurried after her. Because of the heavy layers of her dress, she wasn’t as fast and had trouble making the corners. Soon, Amina was well ahead of her, and all she could see was the woman rounding the next corner.

  The Pisano estate stood in the corner intersection of two canals. The side entrance was where the servants and deliverymen brought the groceries and other deliveries. Had the two armed men entered through that direction? If so, what had happened to the additional security personnel her father had hired for the event?

  Frustrated with the costume, Isabella pulled off the headpiece and flung it to the side. She shrugged out of one layer of the outer garment, shedding at least five pounds of fabric.

  She rounded the last corner where she’d seen Amina and ran into trouble.

  Two black-haired, dark-skinned men grabbed her arms and hauled her toward the exit, speaking in Arabic. Her heart plummeted to the bottom of her belly. They’d found her. Al-Jahashi’s reach had extended across the Mediterranean Sea to Venice.

  Through her despair, she knew one thing as truth. These men would not be lenient. They were ruthless, especially toward women. Isabella knew she didn’t have a chance, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to go down without a fight. “Let go of me,” she yelled. “Let go, or I’ll scream.”

  They completely ignored her threats and continued to drag her through the tunnel-like hallway toward an arched exit.

  Isabella fought and kicked, but couldn’t get her feet past the skirt of her dress to make contact with her abductors. Yes, she could defend herself, but not in the movement-limiting costume.

  Trapped in a prison of her own making, she dug her slippers into the smooth tiled floors. The slick soles couldn’t gain traction to slow the men dragging her away.

  When they reached the exit door and tried to carry her through, she waited until one of them had to drop his hold in order to get through the door.

  With only one man holding her arm, she swung her feet up, braced them against the door and used her body to slam her captor against the doorframe.

  He grunted but didn’t go down. Still holding onto her arm, he backhanded her with his meaty knuckles.

  Pain shot through her head and gray fog crept in around her vision. Her knees weakened, and she slumped against her attacker.

  No. No. No.

  Isabella tried to shake the fog from her brain. She shouldn’t pass out.

  Her survival depended on her keeping her wits about her.

  Before she could get her feet back under her, she was dragged out the door and tossed like a sack of potatoes into the back of one of the many motorboats moore
d at the dock.

  She scrambled to find her feet beneath the layers of fabric wrapped around her legs. Now that the men had released their hold on her arms, she had a brief window of opportunity to attempt escape.

  By the time she was able to stand, the two men dropped down into the boat. One of them advanced on her, reaching for her arm.

  Isabella grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her with a sharp jerk.

  The man lost his balance, his body rocketing toward her.

  At the last second, Isabella stepped to the side and let him crash into another seat, the upholstery cushioning his landing. He was up again in a flash.

  Anger flashed over her captors’ faces, and they closed ranks around her.

  The boat had drifted away from the dock. Isabella could jump over the side and swim to another landing, or she could fight her way out of the situation.

  Her hesitation cost her. The two men grabbed her arms. One of them snapped a pair of handcuffs on one of her wrists and dragged her down to a metal rail along the side of the boat where he snapped the other cuff.

  He stood back and smiled menacingly.

  Isabella tugged and pulled, but the railing was securely affixed to the boat, and she was secured to the railing. She wiggled her hand, trying to pull it through the metal cuff, but the man had cinched it tight enough she couldn’t pull her hand free.

  The men laughed and turned away from her, one of them stepping behind the steering wheel. He started the boat and pulled away from the dock.

  Isabella watched as they left all she’d ever loved behind.

  Ronin shot out of the room with the two men who’d accosted him and raced down the hallway toward the party. With so many twists and turns, he had to rely on the raucous music to lead him to the grand entrance.

  The blinking disco ball confused him and forced him to close his eyes for a second to force back images of previous battlegrounds, lost friends and horror. He needed to orient himself in the here and now.

  Focus.

  When he opened his eyes, he scanned the room in the strobing blinks of color, searching for Isabella. People danced in their outlandish costumes, gyrating to rock music, completely unaware of the drama unfolding.

  Ronin’s gaze shifted to the staircase, praying she was still with her father, safely locked in his room.

  He shook his head and pushed his way through the crowd. Knowing the kind of person Isabella was, she couldn’t stay in her father’s room for long. She’d have gone in search of the men with the guns to protect her guests and Ronin from harm.

  God, he loved the woman, but she could be bullheaded, just like her father.

  Once he reached the stairs, he took them two at time, arriving at the top breathless. At Marcus Pisano’s room, he skidded to a stop and pounded on the door. “Bella!”

  A voice could barely be heard from the other side. “She’s not in here.”

  “Andre?”

  “Yes, sir,” the butler responded, sounding closer.

  “Is Mr. Pisano okay?” Ronin pressed his ear to the door.

  Andre’s muffled voice came through a little more clearly, “He’s sleeping. I have the door barricaded to keep him safe.”

  “You’re not just telling me that? You’re not being held hostage, are you?” His words sounded stupid even to his own ears. Would the people holding him hostage allow him to own up to being held?

  “I promise you, sir, the only one holding me hostage is Mr. Pisano.”

  Ronin’s gut told him that Andre was telling the truth. He had relied on more than one occasion on instinct. He hoped it was correct this time. “Where’s Isabella?”

  “I was hoping she’d found you by now.”

  “I’m going to look for her. I need you to call the police. Let them know I left a couple of men tied up in one of the rooms downstairs. And don’t open this door until Isabella or I come back and ask you to.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ronin ran for Isabella’s room, just in case she’d ducked in to change out of her heavy dress.

  The room was as they’d left it earlier. He saw no indication she’d been there since.

  Back out onto the landing, he bent over the railing and stared down into the mass of people celebrating Carnival at the masquerade ball. Several women had white gowns, but none of them were Isabella.

  Then he spotted Amina, leaning against a wall, semi-concealed in the shadows of a hallway. She clutched her hands together, and her body appeared to be shaking.

  Ronin couldn’t be sure. The blinking lights made everything in the room appear to be shaking. But then everybody in the room was shaking to the music.

  The lights, the music, the blinking made Ronin’s head throb. He staggered down the staircase, struggling to keep the rifle concealed. He didn’t want to ditch it, in case he needed it. With little patience remaining, he pushed his way through the crowd to where he’d last spotted Amina. She wasn’t where he’d seen her.

  With nothing else to go on, he ran down the hallway she’d be standing in. “Bella!” he yelled.

  He couldn’t have heard a response past the noise of the music behind him, but he kept running, his chest tight. Fear for Isabella squeezed the life out of his heart. Where was she? “Isabella!”

  A movement down a branching corridor made him turn and follow. Soon he came upon Amina.

  She lay hunched over on the floor, her body shaking.

  “Amina, where’s Isabella?”

  The woman shook, and her sobs could be heard over the thrum of the bass drum.

  Ronin lifted her up by the arm, careful not to drop the rifle beneath his coat.

  She turned her face to the side as if afraid he’d hit her.

  He loosened his tight grip on her arm and struggled to find words in Italian. “Dove è Signorina Pisano?”

  Amina’s face crumpled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Lei è andata.”

  Ronin couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but he thought the words meant She is gone.

  A lump knotted in his throat.

  No.

  “No,” Ronin said. “Where is she?” He gave up trying to speak and understand Italian. Turning the woman around, he gave her a gentle shove. “Miss Pisano. Go.”

  Amina seemed to understand what he wanted. She stumbled forward, got her feet under her and led him through the maze of corridors, past one that led to the kitchen.

  Niccolo stood just inside the door, talking with the chef.

  Ronin ground to a stop. “Costa, have you seen Isabella?”

  The man spun, clapping a hand to his ruffled collar. “You startled me.”

  “I’ll do more than startle you if you don’t answer me.” Ronin stood taller. “Have you seen Miss Pisano?”

  Costa shook his head, his eyebrows coming together in a frown. “Why? Is something wrong?” He stared at Ronin’s rumpled, bloodstained costume and the bulge where he ineffectually hid the rifle he’d pilfered off his earlier attacker. “What happened to you? And where did you get that gun?”

  “Jumped by two armed guys. I got the gun off one of them. Where were you?”

  His face grew pale. “I’ve been coordinating additional menu items with the chef. I can’t believe all this was happening without me knowing.”

  “I have to find Isabella. I think she’s in danger.” He turned back to follow Amina.

  “I’ll help.” Costa fell in step behind Ronin.

  He hoped the man didn’t get in the way. He hadn’t shown any sign of being useful in a fight.

  Amina was several feet ahead of Ronin, waving at him, urging him to follow.

  He did, wishing he hadn’t wasted time questioning Costa.

  The Syrian refugee ran through an arched doorway that led outside to a dock. She stopped and pointed at a boat disappearing around a corner. “Bella!”

  Ronin caught a glimpse of the skirt of a white gown before the boat was gone. Someone had gotten to her and was taking her away.

  Several boa
ts were moored to the dock below him. He jumped down into one, then over to another searching for keys.

  “Are you going to steal a boat?” Costa asked.

  “I’m going to borrow one. Do you have any other ideas?” Ronin shot back at the man. “They’re getting away with Isabella. I’ll do whatever it takes. Make yourself useful. Find one with the keys in it.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Costa leaped into another boat on the other side of the dock and a moment later shouted, “I found one!”

  Ronin hauled himself back up on the dock, tossed the rifle into the boat and dropped down beside Costa.

  When he went to push the man aside, Costa blocked him. “I know the canals, do you?”

  Damn. The man had a point. “Do you have the balls to push the limits of this boat and the waterways?”

  Costa nodded. “I used to drive jet boats. Let me do this.”

  “I don’t care who drives, just follow that boat before it gets away.” Ronin held his breath and sent a prayer to the heavens as Costa turned the key. The engine fired up and roared to life.

  Amina untied the line and threw it into the boat but stayed on the dock. “Allahu akbar.”

  Ronin did a double-take, but couldn’t spare the time to process the woman’s comment. He had to get to Isabella.

  Costa spun the boat around and pushed the throttle forward. The little craft leaped ahead and slid sideways as they rounded the corner where the other boat had turned.

  The canal ahead was empty but for a gondola with a man poling along at a leisurely pace, singing to a couple kissing on the seat in front of him.

  “Faster,” Ronin urged Costa.

  Costa edged the throttle forward, creating a wake that rocked the gondola and sent the man poling into the water. He came up cursing in Italian.

  Ronin was sorry for the man, but he’d live. He wasn’t so sure Isabella would. He prayed they weren’t too late. As they passed one canal intersection after another, his hope of finding Isabella dwindled until, finally, he spotted a boat passing beneath an arched bridge. In the back of the boat was a woman wearing a big white dress with black trim

  “There!” Ronin pointed down the canal.