I step into his space. I’m only a few inches shorter than him and I make a point of looking him right in the eye. This bastard doesn’t scare me. Not anymore. I wonder when that happened. Maybe the day I became less afraid of dying than I did of living.
“I’m going to kill you one day, Uncle.”
He laughs outright. “I don’t think so.”
“When you least expect it, I’m going to drive a knife into your stomach and I’m going to twist slowly, so slowly, slicing all the way up to your heart so it lasts a long, long time. I’m going to watch your life slip away. I’m going to soak my hands in your blood.”
He laughs. It’s a nervous laugh, though. He was always a coward hiding behind my father. He’s not actually a blood relative. He married my aunt, my father’s sister, and took her last name in deference to my father.
“You’re not being very nice, Scarlett, when I was just sticking around to congratulate you. Boring, these fundraisers.”
“Congratulate me on what?”
“Your upcoming nuptials, of course. And here I thought Cristiano was just your rebound guy.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He cocks his head to the side like he’s shocked. “Did I ruin the surprise? Hasn’t he asked yet? Well, proposed.” His face hardens. “You’ll do as you’re told. For the cartel. But then again, you did always like something hard between your legs. At least if you’re married, they won’t call you a whore anymore. I should warn you though,” he leans in close, “he’s probably expecting a virgin.”
I draw my arm back to slap him but before I can, a loud explosion goes off somewhere nearby. The ground beneath me shakes. The lights blink once, twice and the room goes dark.
Men and women scream, running haphazard around us.
My uncle grasps my arms hard. I stumble back, instinctively wanting to be away from him, but there’s a strange look on his face. I feel something warm on the skin of my chest, my face, as his hands fall away and he drops first to his knees, then completely prone on the ground.
I stare at him, watch blood pool around him. I look down at my arms. At the red that stains them.
Blood.
Blood again.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
A woman bumps into me and gunshots ring out, panic everywhere, and all I can do is look at my uncle on the floor. Then someone body slams me, knocking the air out of me and taking me to the ground.
“Stay down!” It’s Cristiano, his full weight on me making it hard to breathe. Machine gun fire ricochets all around us.
I crane my neck to look at him and see he’s got a pistol in his hand. It’s deadly but it’s not a machine gun. More bullets shatter what glass remains as Cristiano points to a door.
“We’re moving,” he says over the noise, and simultaneously gets to his feet. He bends to keep low creating a cocoon around me as we rush toward that door.
Bullets whip by. Cristiano lets out a grunt, his step faltering only momentarily but an instant later, cold air assaults me. I realize one shoe is gone when I step onto gravelly pavement. Alec takes hold of me and two men flank him, all with heavy weapons drawn.
“What’s happening?” I scream to Cristiano. It’s loud out here, sirens blaring, people screaming, the blades of a chopper not too far away.
“Straight to the island. Go. Get her out of here,” Cristiano yells to Alec and turns to run back into that room where it sounds like war has broken out.
“Cristiano!” I break free of Alec and grab Cristiano’s arm. His hand is pressed to his side.
He stops, turns back, looking at me for an instant, only it feels like an eternity. “Go. Get out of here.”
Alec takes hold of me again and pulls me away from Cristiano. His expression is unreadable as he disappears back into that building. More gunshots ring out, automatic weapons keeping a cadence. The glimpse I have just before the door closes behind Cristiano and I’m carried away, is that of a battlefield. A blood bath.
21
Scarlett
I take a sip of tea that’s gone cold. The same cup Lenore gave me hours ago. I wonder where she is now. She’s worried about him. I saw it on her face.
I didn’t know she was Alec’s aunt. When Alec and our small party got back to the island, I saw that he had caught a bullet, but it was a flesh wound. Still, seeing it, seeing her peel the shirt off his bloody skin and watching his face, I know it hurt like hell. It may have hurt her as much, from the look on her face.
They’d called a doctor in. She said Cristiano and the other men may need him when they’re back. When. Not if.
But before the doctor got to the house—because we had to wait for transport by either boat or chopper—Lenore had cleaned the wound. I just sat there and watched.
Blood doesn’t bother me. It’s strange, in situations like tonight, I’m just really quiet. Calm even. At least on the outside. I’m not sure, maybe it’s that I’m slow to process what’s happening, to absorb the shock of it. Even after all this time, it is still shocking to hear gunfire considering I was born into a cartel family.
I see my uncle’s face again, the moment his body jerked, and he grabbed hold of me. His eyes had gone wide, filled with fear. But they were also remote. The look before death. Before violent death. Maybe it’s a godsend.
A gift. A mercy he didn’t deserve.
I didn’t see my father killed but I watched my mom as she died. Her eyes looked the same as his.
I swipe my eyes with the heels of my hands and drink another sip of cold tea. I’m sitting on the floor of Cristiano’s bedroom leaning against the wall, staring out the open window at the still dark sky. I should close it. It’s cold but I don’t care. Cerberus is beside me, keeping vigil with me. He’s quiet. I wonder if he senses his master may be in trouble.
May be dead.
God.
What if Cristiano dies?
No. I can’t think about that. It can’t happen.
They wouldn’t let me bring Noah upstairs. Only let me down to see him when I screamed bloody murder. What if someone had gotten to him? He’s an easy target in that cell. But he was all right. Calmer than me when the guards dragged me back upstairs.
What will happen to us if Cristiano dies?
Just then the sound of the chopper’s blades cut through the night. I’m up so fast I tip the cup in my hand, spilling tea on the carpet. Cerberus gives an anxious yelp, his tail wagging once. He remains beside me as I get to the window. The helicopter angles toward the roof, blowing my hair in my face.
I go to the door, Cerberus at my heels. Alec is dozing on a chair outside my door. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just go to bed. I wasn’t going anywhere. He stirs awake when he hears me.
“The chopper,” I say.
He’s on his feet in an instant and I follow him in the opposite direction from the stairs. We take several turns and climb two sets of stairs. All I can think is, please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. Please God don’t let him be dead.
And then before I even see him, I hear him.
“I’m fine,” Cristiano growls to someone in his usual annoyed way and relief floods through me.
I’m grateful for Cerberus’s bark as he rushes Cristiano coming around the corner. I have a chance to school my features, tamp down my obvious relief.
He’s my enemy.
He. Is. My. Enemy. I have to remember this.
He may be the lesser of all the evils but that’s only because he needs me. For the moment at least. I know how the cartel works. I understood why my brothers were anxious to get me and Marcus married.
And my uncle’s words from earlier ring in my ears.
Cristiano straightens from his crouch where he was petting Cerberus. I see the pain this causes on his face, and I see how he’s holding his arm against his side. The blood that stains his tuxedo shirt is obvious. He’d had his hand pressed there earlier too. I remember when he’d missed a step as he’d crouch
ed around me, protecting me. Was that when he was hit? Did he save me from a bullet only to take it himself?
His jacket is gone. He looked nice tonight. Cleaned up.
Then his eyes meet mine and I feel a rush of something I can’t or won’t name surge through me.
He’s using you. Just like every one of them. That’s all.
“Cristiano,” Dante says as Cristiano comes to me.
Dante got to the house about an hour ago and has left me alone in Cristiano’s room. That surprised me but I also saw the worry in his eyes. The near panic. He loves his brother.
“Slow down, man. You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Dante says.
“I’m fine,” Cristiano grumbles, stopping in front of me.
He reaches out to touch my face with his good arm, just staring at me for a long minute, thumb caressing my cheek. And I realize I’m doing the same. Staring at him. He blinks, slides his hand to my neck, my arm. He looks me over. “The blood—”
“It’s not mine. I’m not hurt,” I say quickly.
He nods, looks relieved.
From beside him I see Dante’s expression harden in my periphery.
Cristiano grits his teeth, and I can tell he’s in tremendous pain. His face drains of color and he closes his hand over my shoulder. In the next moment, I feel his weight.
“Help!” I cry out as he stumbles into me. I reach out to catch him as if I could keep him upright.
Dante grabs hold of him.
“I’m fine,” Cristiano grits out, straightening, shoving Dante off. His face contorts as he manages the pain.
“Cristiano!” It’s Lenore. She rushes toward him from the top of the stairs, looks him over and then over to Antonio. “Get him to his room. Doctor Marino is waiting.”
I’m forgotten in the chaos and watch them go, watch more men shuffle down from the roof. They all look like they’ve been through a war.
“Come on,” Alec says to me.
I turn to find him waiting at the door we just came through. I nod and follow him back down to Cristiano’s bedroom where I watch Antonio and Dante ease him onto the bed. The doctor who’d come earlier tears Cristiano’s shirt open.
“Get the dog out,” Dante orders. “And the girl.”
“I’m staying.”
“Get her out,” he tells Alec.
“She stays,” Cristiano says, voice low, but the authority in it no different than if he had roared.
I raise my chin, give Dante a defiant look before nearing the bed to see the damage.
The doctor brings a needle toward Cristiano’s arm.
“No,” Cristiano says, giving a shake of his head.
“For the pain.”
“No. Get the bullet out. Sew me up. I need to get up.”
“I also need to reset your shoulder. Again. You’re not getting up,” the doctor says, putting the needle away, muttering something about how he’s always been stubborn.
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s the adrenaline leaving my system. Cristiano meets my eyes and opens the palm of his good hand.
“Come here.”
I go to him. He looks me over while I watch the doctor cut away what’s left of his other sleeve. He’s bleeding from his side and his arm lays at a strange angle.
“Why didn’t you clean up?” Cristiano asks me.
I look down at myself. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll reset your shoulder first. It’s going to hurt but maybe it’ll teach you a lesson,” the doctor says. “Although I doubt it.”
Cristiano smiles and I wonder how much effort it takes him to do that. “For what I pay you, you could pretend to be nice.”
“You should pay me double for the number of times I’ve sewn you back together for Christ’s sake.”
The doctor looks at me, gives me an expression as if asking if I’m ready.
I bend down, turn Cristiano’s face to mine. “You’re going to look like Frankenstein soon.”
Cristiano grins, opens his mouth to say something and I know the instant the doctor slips his shoulder back into place. I see it on Cristiano’s face, see it in how he grits his teeth and hear it in the curse he mutters sending the doctor straight to hell.
“There,” the doctor says.
Cristiano turns to him. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to do it,” he teases. I have no idea how he has the energy. He looks half-dead.
“I’ve had to reset this shoulder what, three times now?” The doctor tells me, that last part directed to Cristiano.
“Four. You’re getting old.” Cristiano’s eyes flutter closed.
“What’s happening?” I ask, panicked.
“Shock. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. He’s healthy as that monster dog he’s got out there.”
As if Cerberus has heard and understood, he howls from out in the hallway.
“I need to get the bullet out and clean him up, see what else I need to sew back together. You can go get some rest.” He looks me over. “Shower first, maybe.”
“I’ll stay.”
“Go,” Dante says to me and I wonder where he was. He’s the only one who doesn’t look like he’s come from battle. “I’ll stay with him until the doctor finishes.”
“I can—”
“Just go, Scarlett,” he grits out. The way he says my name, it’s not as hateful as when we’ve talked before. “I’ll stay with my brother.” No, not hateful. He sounds defeated.
I rub my face, nod, and walk out of the bedroom to find Alec in his chair and Cerberus anxiously half-sitting staring at the door.
“He’ll be fine,” I tell them both, petting Cerberus.
Alec nods, relieved.
“Was it Rinaldi?” I ask him. Or the cartel. I don’t ask that part.
“Not sure.” But I get the feeling he knows something.
“I’m going to shower. I’m just in here.” I point to Elizabeth’s room. “I promise not to go anywhere so just get some rest or something. You look like shit, Alec.”
“I’ll be here.”
Stubborn as Cristiano.
“Suit yourself.” I walk into my borrowed bedroom feeling like an intruder in this little girl’s room. A dead girl’s room. Killed when she was young enough to play princess.
I think about Noah down in that cell. At least he’s alive.
I rub my face and close the door behind me. I’m dead tired but I need to shower and get my uncle’s crusted blood off me before I lay down. And what I need to focus on now is getting Noah out of that cell. Whether it was the cartel or Rinaldi, it won’t be the last time and if Cristiano doesn’t survive the next attack, then Noah’s as good as dead locked in that cell.
22
Cristiano
“Hey, Brother,” Dante says when I open my eyes.
He looks older than twenty-six. Already has gray at his temples. He’s too fucking young to have gray around his temples.
“You look like I feel,” I say.
“I should have been there.”
“So you could get shot up too?”
“So I could fight alongside you.”
“Fuck that. I’m glad you weren’t there.”
“I’m glad you’re alive.”
“I’m not going anywhere yet, Brother.”
“You can’t control that,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
I can. To some extent. Guilt gnaws at me, but I shove it away. “Did you get the problem solved?”
“What? Oh. Yeah. It was nothing, really. Some stupid emails crossed and just nothing.”
“I’m glad Uncle David sent you, Dante. It’s better if you’re outside of this. Like he is. It’s safer.”
“I’m not a coward, Brother.”
“I know that. But I don’t want you in harm’s way. This isn’t the end. It’s not even the fucking middle. And I’ve been thinking about this. I want you out.”
He stands, shakes his head and goes to close the window which is open a crack. “You’re either high or d
elirious.”
“I’m neither. I watched them die, Dante. I don’t want to watch you die.”
“And I don’t want to watch you die. So what do you suggest? We both walk away? Fuck that. Fuck Rinaldi. Fuck the cartel. They’re not getting away with our family’s murders.”
I breathe in a long breath, watch my younger brother in the shadowy light of the moon.
“After, then. You’re out.”
“Let’s get to after. You need to get some rest.”
I feel myself drift. He’s right.
“After,” I say again.
“Sure, Brother,” he says, and I hear him chuckle as my eyes close.
I don’t know how much later it is when, after pulling on a pair of jeans, I open the door to my sister’s room. I don’t like coming in here. Every time I do, I think about how young she was. Just a little girl.
I can’t wrap my brain around how anyone could have killed a little girl.
But what happened to Mara? Is it worse?
No. Alive is always better than dead. If she’s alive. They could have dumped her body in the ocean for all I know but that doesn’t feel right. They left a bloody mess behind. It was to make a point. Why go to the trouble of hiding one body?
Mara was sweet. I still remember how she’d always go to Dante when she scraped a knee or fell off a swing. For anything at all, really. Always trying not to cry. Always trying to act like she was older around him.
I’d watch him with her, too, my cool brother. Made fun of him for days after at how he was with her. So careful. So caring.
Moonlight drapes Scarlett in white light. She looks almost otherworldly if I look at her like this. She’s lying on her side on the single bed with the Princess pattern blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Her hair has half come out of its braid and is splayed over the pillow.
She mutters something when I stand over her, rolling onto her back, but her eyes don’t open. She settles quickly back into sleep. I study her face, free of makeup and dried blood, lips parted slightly to show a neat row of white teeth. Like this, relaxed as she is, she looks younger even than twenty-two.
With This Ring Page 14
