Page 7 of Goldrage
“Kill her,” Lady Harrow commands without hesitation. “Now.”
The guards move forward in formation, but Eleanorais already anticipating them. She drops into a crouch as the first guard reaches for her, ducking under his arm and driving her elbow up into his throat. He collapses, gasping and clutching his neck.
Oh. My. God.
What the fuck is happening?
The second guard pulls his gun, but Eleanora spins like a dancer, her leg whipping out to knock the weapon from his hand. It skitters across the floor as she follows through with a strike to his groin that drops him to his knees.
I’m hallucinating. I have to be. Blood loss has finally made me lose my mind because there’s no way—absolutelyno way—that my best friend just took down two armed men like she’s some kind of assassin.
The third guard tries to grab her from behind, but she anticipates the move, spinning around his reach and delivering a sharp jab to his temple. He crumples like a broken doll.
“Impressive,” Lady Harrow says, though her voice has lost some of its earlier confidence. “But there are more guards coming.”
As if summoned by her words, another guard appears in the doorway. This one is smarter—or maybe just luckier. He doesn’t announce himself or try to be heroic. He simply grabs Eleanora from behind, his thick arm wrapping around her throat as he drags her backward into the hallway.
“Eleanora!” I scream, struggling against my bonds.
The sound of a gunshot echoes through the penthouse, and I gasp. My heart twists painfully.
Eleanora…
“Well,” Lady Harrow says with satisfaction, smoothing her dress. “That problem is solved.”
I can’t breathe. Not Eleanora. Not her too.
But then her voice drifts from the hallway, sounding more annoyed than mortally wounded. She’s talking to someone. “Why the hell areyouhere? I had this handled.”
Relief floods through me so powerfully that I almost pass out. She’s alive. Somehow, impossibly, she’s alive.
A male voice responds, but it’s very muffled and I can’t make out the words. Then Eleanora reappears in the doorway, looking irritated rather than grateful. She points her gun at Lady Harrow again.
“Stay right there,” she commands.
And then, like a miracle I didn’t dare hope for, Lorenzo steps into view beside her.
Tears spring up and spill down my cheeks. Alive! My cousin is alive. He’s pressing one hand against his side where blood seeps through his shirt, and he’s moving carefully, but he’s alive and whole and grinning at me like this is just another day.
“Cugina!” he calls out. His voice is warm with affection despite the obvious pain. “I’ve found you at last.”
His eyes sweep the room, taking in the unconscious guards scattered across the floor, Lady Harrow backed against her desk like a cornered mouse, and Eleanora standing between them with deadly calm. His smile widens as his gaze settles on Eleanora. “My lovely wife-to-be is very capable! What a pleasant surprise.”
Eleanora rolls her eyes dramatically. “Whatever, youweirdo,” she mutters, but she doesn’t say anything about being his wife-to-be.
My brain is seriously struggling to understand reality. She’s talking to him like she knows him. And it’s clear she knows how to fight. But why? When had she done all this combat training?
I’m so confused, but there’s no time to reflect on anything. Lorenzo moves quickly across the room and then kneels behind me. He uses a small knife to cut the rope binding my wrists.
“Easy, cugina,” he says as the rope falls away. “You’re safe now.”
The moment my hands are free, I throw my arms around his neck, ignoring the way the movement sends fresh agony through every inch of my battered body. He’s solid and warm and alive, and for a moment, I let myself collapse against him.
“I thought you were dead,” I whisper into his shoulder, trying not to cry too hard. “I thought Julian killed you.”
His arms tighten around me, careful of my injuries. “Takes more than a Harrow bullet to put down a Mancini. I thought you knew that?”
When I pull back, I notice the way he’s favoring his left side, the careful way he breathes. Blood continues to seep slowly into his shirt.
