Page 14 of Mafia Darling

My father?

That also seemed unlikely. Papà hated me more than Fausto did.

Enzo grabbed my arm. “Kick off those shoes. We need to run.”

I obeyed, leaving my flip flops on the deck. If nothing else, I needed Enzo to keep me alive right now . . . though I would still be looking for a way to escape.

He began tugging me to my feet, but shots were still whizzing all around us. “Wait!” I shouted, not moving. “Is it safe to be running around right now?”

“There’s a panic room in the master suite. I will take you there.”

Oh, no way. No way in hell. That would send my claustrophobia into overdrive. And what if he locked me in? He could die and I would have no way to escape. “I can’t go into a panic room.”

“Dai, woman. I have no time for this.” Carrying a gun in one hand, he jerked me up roughly with the other, not even caring when I stumbled. Instead, his hand pushed my head down and forced me into a half-crouch position, then he towed me inside.

The rooms were eerily empty. I supposed all of Enzo’s soldiers were fighting the gunmen outside. Enzo cursed and shoved me toward the stairs. “Get moving.”

“Let me just hide in a closet,” I begged. “I won’t move, I swear.” I mean, I would run as soon as his back was turned, but Enzo didn’t need to know that.

“No, I need to keep you safe. You’re half of my plan to destroy Fausto.”

“Fausto doesn’t care about me!” Jesus, didn’t he get it by now?

“Look around you. He cares very much. Now, get your ass upstairs.”

As he tugged me up the steps, I looked around wildly for a way to avoid the nightmare of a panic room. Anything I could use to distract him or hit him with. There had to be a way out. No one was coming to save me—I had to save myself.

We arrived at the top of the stairs and I pretended to trip. When I slipped out of his grasp, I rolled to my back then used my legs to kick at the side of his right knee with all my might. The joint gave a sickening pop and he howled in agony, leaning over to grasp the iron railing for support.

I didn’t wait. I shot to my feet and flew down the stairs as fast as I could, hurrying toward the front door. Enzo shouted at me to stop, but I kept going, praying his injured knee hindered him long enough for me to get outside.

There was no one guarding the front. Jerking open the door, I saw a Range Rover waiting in the drive and I sprinted toward it. Suddenly, I was lifted off my feet. “Let me go!” I tried to wrestle free, kicking and wriggling, as someone dragged me back toward the house. “Stop. Let me go, you asshole.”

Whoever he was, he was too strong, and I found myself once more in the foyer of the beach house. Enzo waited inside, his furious eyes focused directly at me, the promise of retribution burning in the dark depths. “You fucking whore. I should snap your neck for that. Take her to the panic room,” he told the guard. “I’ll deal with her later.”

The guard started marching me toward the stairs—then I heard a pop just before he fell forward, and I had to rip my arm out of his grasp to avoid collapsing to the floor. The back of the guard’s head was now missing, blood pooling onto the tile, and I bit back a scream. I spun toward the door to see who was attacking—and found Fausto there.

Oh. My. God.

His white t-shirt and black pants were covered in blood, a huge knife strapped to his thigh. Flat, cold eyes swept over me for the briefest of seconds, almost dismissing me, before he took one step inside, his gun trained on Enzo. This was il Diavolo, the angel of death. A man who thrived on killing. A shiver went through me and I forgot how to breathe.

Fausto had come for me. How? Why?

While I was frozen there like an idiot, an arm wrapped around my throat and jerked me into a hard chest. Cool metal met my temple. I tried not to move, certain that I would die. Even if Fausto managed to shoot Enzo there was every chance that Enzo’s gun would fire and pierce my skull.

Enzo’s rasp sounded in my ear. “Did you like the photos I sent, Fausto?”

Fausto answered, his voice cool and detached. “Let her go. You’ve lost, Enzo.”

CHAPTER SIX

Francesca

Enzo jerked me closer and started moving backward. “I’ve lost nothing. I still have your puttanella. I’ll kill her.”

Fausto prowled forward, his gun remaining trained on Enzo. “You die either way.”

“Put down your gun or I’ll shoot her. Right fucking now!” Enzo shook me, his arm coming around my throat, and I gasped.

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