Page 102 of Devil's Iris
He already has my number.I suppose that makes this conversation easier. No need to introduce myself all over again.
“Hi, I’m calling to ask about my husband’s schedule. I want to be there for the court appearance he has today.”There’s a heavy pause on Sandro’s end, like I’ve surprised him.
He clears his throat. “The hearing started thirty minutes ago and it’s scheduled to last only an hour or so. If you want to catch any of it, you’ll need to hurry.”
Shit. My stomach drops to my toes, but I thank him before hanging up. Then it’s like I’m in some kind of speed-run video game—teeth brushed in sixty seconds, world’s fastest shower, throwing on clothes while texting Dean.
Ten minutes later, I’m flying down the front steps to where the Maybach is waiting. I’ve never gotten ready so quickly in my life. I should probably get some kind of award for that performance.
As soon as my door closes, Dean floors the accelerator, clearly understanding the urgency. I pull the hair tie off my wrist and twist my hair up into a bun, smoothing my bangs into place to make them look somewhat presentable. Thank goodness I straightened my hair yesterday so I don’t look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
“Please tell me we can make it,” I mutter, bouncing my knee anxiously as we weave through traffic.
“I’m doing my best, Mrs. Lombardi,” Dean says, his gaze locked forward, unblinking.
Please let me at least make it for his closing statement.
But that hope gets crushed when we slow to a crawl on Atlantic Avenue. I bite my lip, nerves buzzing through my legs.
At this rate, Romero will be long gone before I even set foot in the courthouse. We’re trapped in this automotive purgatory for twenty agonizing minutes before the cars ahead begin inching forward a little faster than a crawl. Normally, this wouldn’t seem bad at all since I’ve been stuck in traffic worse than this before, but right now it feels like time is actively working against me.
“Hold on, ma’am. I’ll come get the door for you,” Dean sayssoftly as he finally pulls into a parking spot in front of the courthouse.
I frown at him. “But I’m already so late.” It’s been forty minutes since the hearing started. There’s no way it’s still going on.
“It’s the protocol,” he says firmly, glancing around the parking lot like he’s expecting someone to jump out and try to attack us. I’m reminded then that he’s not just my driver—he doubles as my bodyguard, and he takes that responsibility seriously.
I sigh impatiently, my toes tapping the car floor as he turns off the ignition and gets out. He keeps looking around with sharp, alert movements as he walks around the hood and approaches my side of the car.
“It’s a courthouse,” I remind him as he opens my door. “Nothing’s going to happen.” Even if we weren’t at a courthouse, it seems a little silly to think something would happen to me in broad daylight.
Dean nods but doesn’t stop scanning our surroundings as he shuts the door behind me. “Better safe than sorry, ma’am.”
I tilt my face up, squinting at the courthouse as it looms in front of me, majestic and intimidating in equal measure. I’ve seen it in the news countless times, but I’ve never had any reason to come here before—thank God for that.
The building rises up in imposing gray stone with thick columns that make it look like something from ancient Rome. The breeze whips the flag at its peak around dramatically, giving the whole structure a severe, no-nonsense air.
I trail my eyes quickly over the intricate carvings, the brass-framed windows, and the broad granite steps as I start walking, hyper-aware of how late I am. But then the huge brass double doors swing open and Romero emerges with a young man beside him.
My breath catches as I take him in, my skin immediatelyprickling with heat. God, he looks incredible in that suit. Sharp and collected. Cold.Untouchable. But I touched him last night, had those hands on my skin, felt him lose that legendary control because of me… My core tightens at the memory.
I wave at him enthusiastically to grab his attention, but he’s turning to talk to his companion and doesn’t see me. My lips tug up in a smile as I start jogging up to him, no longer caring that I missed the entire hearing. At least I get to see him like this, in his element, looking every inch the powerful attorney he is.
I wave again, my smile growing wider, just as a rumble that sounds like thunder suddenly fills the air and a lightning bolt of pure agony tears through my arm. I scream, stumbling over my feet as I clutch at the searing pain, my vision blurring with tears.
Warm wetness seeps through my fingers, and I blink down, dazed, at the bright red blood gushing from my arm, soaking my shirt.What?—
Another scream rings out. It’s Romero, yelling my name with a raw desperation I’ve never heard before. I barely lift my head before a body slams into me with brutal force, tackling me to the unforgiving concrete as another deafening crack of thunder splits the air overhead.
No, not thunder.Gunshots.
My heart kicks into overdrive as chaos erupts around the courthouse: shouts, screams, pounding footsteps, people scattering in every direction. I’m still stunned, my ears ringing, my body now trapped under the weight of whoever threw themselves on top of me. Heavy. Too heavy. With every passing second, they sink harder into me, and I become aware of a warm, sticky sensation slipping into my back.I can’t breathe.
“Get up! Get the fuck up!” Romero’s roar cuts through the haze. I blink up at him, my lips parting when he drops to his knees next to me with a sharp crack I know has to hurt, but hedoesn’t seem to feel it. His green eyes are locked on me, wide with something alien in them—panic.Terror.
That terror makes my throat close up as he grabs my shoulders and yanks me out from under the heavy weight.
The throbbing in my arm spikes from his hard pull, and he growls, running frantic hands over me. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he murmurs, rocking me in his arms as if trying to convince himself as much as me.
