Page 82 of Impenitent Claim

Something was off.

Senses honed from the war camps, strengthened in the service of the bratva, and made lethal in the illegal fighting rings, buzzed through me. I listened to the warning, body going suddenly still and gaze peeled sharp. The street wasn’t as empty as it seemed. Shapes moved along the sidewalk. The mutter of Italian floated on the wind.

I frowned.

There were ten of them, splitting into two teams. I didn’t need to see their weapons to know they were armed to the teeth.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mumbled.

Whatever mess the Rinaldi don was involved in, it was rippling into Isabella’s world. Those goons had followed the friends, no doubt an assassination squad. They moved like a tactical team, ready to strike. I knew the maneuvers. Well, they didn’t know I was here, guarding her.

Four assailants fanned out in front of the diner. I crept forward, sneaking up behind the one positioned at the street corner. I didn’t reach for a blade or the gun on my chest holster. Clapping one hand on the top of his head, I drove the palm of my hand under his chin. When breaking a neck, it was better to go up and twist.

A satisfying pop filled the night air.

Lowering the body to the ground, I sprinted to the next target. There was a patch of light between us from the floodlight on a building. I reached into my waist for the hilt of my blade as I bounded through the air. My arm came down in a smooth arc, and the blade sank into the side of his head. I wanted to avoid the mess of throat-slitting. Wrenching my blade free, I bounded after the next.

Risking discovery, I jogged up the steps to the front stoop of the diner. At ten at night, the place was packed. No one from the table of next-generation mobsters noticed me as I slipped into the kitchen.

A stout cook waved her butcher knife at the four men in black.

Groaning, I pulled out my gun. Six shots fired in quick succession. The would-be assassins didn’t see their end coming. While it would have been smart to keep one alive for questioning, I didn’t have the setup for that here. Besides, they’d threatened my woman. That was enough to seal their fate.

The old woman with the cleaver didn’t even flinch. She rounded on me, brow arched. “Really, boy? In my kitchen?”

I holstered the weapon. “I’m sorry for the mess, ma’am, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I don’t like that gang crap in my house,” she declared, hands fisted on her hips. The one still held the butcher blade.

“Not gangs.” I caught the door as a waitress sailed in.

“Suzy, I thought I heard—” Her scream filled the air before my hand clapped down to silence it.

“None of that,” I hissed. “Go out there to the table with the seven younger people. Tell the tall kid that he was targeted by a rival mob, and his daddy needs to come clean this shit up.”

The waitress began hyperventilating.

About ready to lock her in an office, I was saved when the cook ambled over. She snapped her fingers in front of the woman. “Do as he says, Elsie. This isfamilybusiness, and we need it cleaned up before Kurt finds out and involves the law.”

Chin bobbing, the waitress stumbled away and went through the door.

“Can I trust her not to make a scene?” I asked over my shoulder as I peered through the door.

The old woman cackled. “So long as she’s in shock, yes. Otherwise, that one has a loose tongue.”

The waitress’s voice trembled as she approached the table. “There was an attack, sir. A rival mob. Can you call your father to clean this up?”

The other mafia princesses began to squeak and wail. I winced but cut my gaze to my siren. She lifted her chin, eyes glistening.

I couldn’t tell what she told the waitress, but the woman’s trembling finger pointed to the back kitchen. Isabella rose, snapping orders at the don’s son. The lad faltered, looked at his phone, and then watched his fiancée leave.

My heart pattered a double beat.

Isabella was walking straight to me.

Right now would be the time to make my escape. To continue watching from the shadows. To stick to my plan and destroy the mob holding her hostage. But the grim determination etched into her features gave me pause. The princess was in command, and I was her humble servant, my weapons at her disposal.

“What happened?” Isabella demanded, stopping right before the swinging door.

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