Page 49 of His Son's Ex

I open the door and step onto the sidewalk, inhaling the crisp, evening air as the distant hum of the city settles over me. As I pull my keys from my pocket, a flicker of movement off to the right catches my eye.

Instinct kicks in and I shift my weight, subtly bracing myself.

Two men step from the shadows—one from behind a parked car nearby, the other emerging from the alley. My grip on my keys tightens. Another two flank me from the left. A well-orchestrated ambush, surrounding me in a way that looks to passersby as if we’re simply having a little chat.

“Evening, gentlemen. Should I assume Gianni sent you?”

The nearest one flexes his fingers, itching for a fight. “Mr. Lombardi’s not interested in your calls, Bellacino.”

I glance around, assessing the situation. Four men, maybe more in the shadows. If they wanted me dead, they’d have killed me already.

This is intimidation. They’re here to send a message.

“Look,” I begin, my tone measured. “I’m trying to compromise, to talk this through. War doesn’t benefit either of us.”

One of them steps closer. “Old man Lombardi doesn’t think you’ll stick to talking. He wants to make sure you stay out of his business.”

“Is that so? You do realize it was Gianni who hitmyevent, starting this whole thing, right? It was my son’s wedding. I’d sayhe’s the one who needs a lesson on staying out of other people’s affairs.”

“Doesn’t matter. You come near the Lombardis again, we’ll put you down.”

My jaw tightens. I could end this in seconds, but there are innocent people around—families, children. I can’t risk a stray bullet.

“Fine,” I say, taking a step back. “Tell Gianni whatever happens next is on his head.”

Without warning, the man takes a swing.

I pivot, his fist skimming my shoulder instead of my jaw. My patience evaporates. Grabbing his wrist, I twist sharply, yanking him off balance before slamming an elbow into his ribs. He chokes out a gasp, staggering.

Damn it.I was trying to avoid this. So much for not drawing attention.

A second man lunges. I meet him head-on, driving my fist into his gut. He doubles over, coughing.

The other man recovers and charges again.

We exchange blows—quick, brutal. I’m able to block most of his hits, but one lands against my ribs, the pain blooming hot and sharp. Gritting my teeth, I return the favor with a vicious hook to his jaw. He stumbles back, cursing.

The few observers suddenly flee as a third man raises a gun.

Shit.

At that moment, a mother and two children step out of the lobby at the worst possible moment. The woman freezes, eyes going wide. The moment stretches out in a long, dangerous heartbeat.

I cannot let this turn into a bloodbath.

“Get the hell back inside!” I bark, my tone leaving no room for argument. The mother immediately grabs her children and bolts for the door, disappearing into the lobby.

The moment I look back, there’s a gun aimed at my chest.

“Move and I shoot,” the man holding it says, a wide smirk on his face as if he’s enjoying this. His partner, still wincing from the hit I landed earlier, chuckles.

“You’re not so tough now, huh?” he taunts.

I look around, hands flexing at my sides. Every muscle in my body screams for action, but I hold still. The memory of Eva’s face flashes through my mind.

Another voice cuts through the tension. Low. Cold. Dangerous.

“Drop it.”

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