Page 136 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

We hover at the end of the hallway, just shy of stepping into the expansive living room. The first thing I notice is that the opposite wall is almost completely taken up by tall windows, and that the heavy curtains are open. I’m sure the six men currently surrounding the property must be marveling at our good fortune.

“Evening, gentlemen,” I drawl as we enter the room fully to face dozens of eyes snapping up to their unexpected visitors. Everything slows as I take in the scene before me.

It’s beyond anything I could have imagined. The large airy room looks like a grotesque battlefield. Broken glass is scattered on the floor, and the metallic stench of blood assaults our senses.

“Dante . . . ”

The room fades into insignificance when I hear her choked sigh of relief even before I see her.

The feeling that the sound of my name on her lips evokes is indescribable: A compulsion to save her, to protect her with everything inside of me.

In a split second, I take in the threats to her safety.

Addy stands surrounded by at least a dozen men, a vision of desperation. She’s dressed only in blood-soaked underwear, her pale skin a stark contrast to the crimson that covers nearly every inch of her. My heart lurches painfully, but then my brain catches up to the fact that there’s way too much blood for it to be entirely hers.

Her hair, matted with gore, is wound tightly in the fist of a snarling goon, her lip is split and bleeding, and the ball of her right shoulder hangs somewhat lower. I clench my jaw tight against the overwhelming rage that explodes through me at the sight of that dislocated shoulder. The compulsion to brutally tear apart whoever pulled that shoulder from its socket swells like a beast inside me.

The only thread of reason pulling me from the brink is the look on her face. Her eyes are dark with pain but also something else. Defiance. She’s hurt but unbroken.

And then I glance at the floor. It’s littered with three bodies. One of them, I realize with shock, is Benjamin O’Shea, his pale eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

But it’s the body closest to Addy that both sends shockwaves through me and makes my heart swell with a sick, demented pride. The killing blow is unmistakable. It is the handiwork of a cornered and desperate prey.

Sean Hall lies sprawled on the marble floor, a spoon protruding grotesquely from his eye and a piece of glass from his neck.

“What the actual fuck?” Sal whispers beside me, his voice a mixture of shock and awe.

And then, the moment of stunned silence shatters as one of the gang members screams, “Bloody Italians!” and raises a gun. I don’t even think—my body moves on pure instinct. My Glock barks twice, and the man crumples to the floor.

And just like that, all hell breaks loose. The few seconds of hesitation, the element of our surprise entry, is over, and the rest of the men, as if just waking up from slumber, pull out their weapons and fire at us. But the dim hallway presents an excellent barrier. They are four times as many as we are, but we have the advantage of cover.

The one holding Addy ducks behind a chair, roughly pushing her to the floor while the rest boldly advance toward us.

Suddenly, two windows on the far wall explode with a deafening shatter.

The men are yet again taken by surprise. Acting on pure reflex, they drop into crouches. That split second is all the time we need to drop another four or five of them.

Two canisters burst through the broken windows and arc through the air, landing with metallic clangs. Instantly, a pungent gas begins to fill the room. My men and I are prepared, protective glasses shielding our eyes, but within seconds the gang members start to cough and stumble through their tearing eyes.

Gunshots echo through the hall as we drop more of the men. I fight my way to the couch Addy and the goon are hiding behind, taking down anyone who dares to get in my path. From the corner of my eye, I see Sal moving with deadly precision, covering my advance.

Where the hell is Kira anyway?

I don’t remember seeing her. I look around the room again, seeing no sign of her. By the time my gaze swings back to the couch, the goon is rising and dragging Addy with him. A wicked-looking knife glints at her throat, the blade digging into her skin.

“Blood for blood,” he snarls.

The maniacal look in his red, watering eyes tells me he’s not looking to strike a bargain. He knows he’s going to die; he just wants to die butchering his enemy. Fuck.

Time slows as I swing my gun to him, knowing I won’t be fast enough.

Suddenly, the goon folds, the knife clattering loudly. I whirl to see Orlando who was positioned at the perfect angle and out of sight of the goon. Relief floods me as Orlando gives me a quick nod before turning to engage another threat.

Finally, I reach Addy. She’s coughing violently, her puffy eyes red and streaming from the tear gas. She can barely see, but she still tries to defend herself as I approach.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, it’s me,” I murmur into her hair. “I’ve got you, amore mio.”

She collapses against me, her body shaking. I hold her tight with one arm, my other hand keeping my weapon ready. Her skin is covered with dried blood and sweat, and she’s trembling from adrenaline and fear, but she’s alive. She’s alive and in my arms.

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