Page 53 of Captive Vows
It seemed to be on Ivan’s mind, though.
“Are you sticking around because you worry she’ll run?” he whispered as she moved from one sequence of graceful and complicated steps, jumps, and turns on the stage.
I shook my head slightly, not lowering my guard and still looking around, tooonto relax. “She wants me too much to leave.”
He huffed a wry laugh.
“She wants this audition and all these chances to better her skill to leave.”
I couldn’t be sure that would always be true, but it was right now.
“I’m staying to watch because she’s too breathtaking to miss.”
I wasn’t telling him that in the vein of appreciating how sexy and gorgeous she was on the stage, alone with the spotlight tracking her as she performed for the judges. I meant it in the manner of admiring her skill. Her courage. Her cool confidence to prove she was truly this talented. She wasn’t merely goingthrough the motions of a hobby. She had real skill and experience, and it showed. Dancing like this, she was a living work of art in action.
“I won’t claim to be an expert on dancers or anything,” Ivan whispered back, “but she is pretty good.”
Pretty goodwas an understatement if I’d ever heard one. She was a master of the music, a ruler of those moves. Gabriella was a damned talented dancer. Ivan and I weren’t the only ones to realize it, either. Another glance at the small panel of selected judges showed they nodded along and smiled. A couple leaned in to whisper, their brows raised in praise and surprise.
She was killing it. Not a single flinch or mistake. No pauses or hiccups.
I exhaled slowly, relishing the steady elation of witnessing her passion coming to fruition. Her skills were honed with my help and what I provided. It always felt good to care for a woman, but I was too stubborn yet to consider hermywoman, not in a permanent sense.
She’d gotten better at not locking down in a trauma response whenever something scarier happened at home. Yet, she wasn’t a tried-and-tested Mafia woman I could count on in any other way.
“Almost done, right?” Ivan asked once the hour was almost up. “If so, I’ll have the security detail move into place outside for us to?—”
The sudden burst of gunfire cut him off. Triggered by the sound, I reached for my gun and scanned the theater. No other audience was in here. It was only the one row of a handful of judges. They all screamed and ducked down for cover, their hands up to shield the backs of their heads as if that would stop a bullet.
Dubinin soldiers and guards rushed down the aisles to secure the entrance and exit points that led into the darkened performing space.
But it was only Gabriella on the stage.
She’d stopped suddenly, dropping into a low crouch, as if to make herself as small as possible.
It wouldn’t make a difference.
With only her on the stage and those blinding spotlights on her to emphasize her lone presence up there, she couldn’t have been more of a target.
“Get down!” I shouted, running forward as Ivan sprinted toward the double doors where the armed men broke in.
Too many questions hit me at once. I’d deal with them later. Finding out how they’d gotten in past my guards, why they knew to come here tonight, and who the fuck they were fell under the list of imperative details to analyze later.
Right now, as I ran as fast as I could for the stage before the assassins could reach it, I only focused on getting to Gabriella and saving her.
Breathing hard and fast as the adrenaline rushed through me and fueled me to get to her, I stared ahead with tunnel vision.
All that mattered was saving her. Protecting her. It was too cruel to be taken from the beauty of her dance to this fear of her being harmed, this threat of violence and danger that crept too damn close at the wrong time.
At the edge of the stage, counting on Ivan and the other Dubinin men to have my back amid the continued gunfire, I ignored the echoes of shots. I dismissed the judges screaming and hurrying to escape.
I grabbed hold of the stage edge and hauled myself up. Leaping onto the polished surface, I skidded into a slide. The second I was fully on my feet, I ran for her. Men—Cartel, from the instant first impression I allowed myself—raced forward toreach her too. I fired at them all. With this close of a range, they had no odds of surviving my hits. Every time I pulled on the trigger resulted in a man dropping down. Blood was shed. Lives were lost.
No. Lives were taken.
By me.
Powered with the need to kill anyone who would harm this gorgeous innocent, I shot at them as I ran toward her. Yards parted us. Feet.
