Page 87 of Gilded Princess

I freeze, the warmth gone in an instant. “I thought you said it was safe here.”

His thumbs sweep back and forth over my shoulder. “It is. Only a few people know about it. But Dante tells me I need to work on my communication, and ask instead of demand.”

My lips tip up at the idea of that conversation. I bite my lip and lift a shoulder. “I kind of like you bossy sometimes.”

His gaze scans my face for a moment, one hand snaking up to grip the back of my neck. With a gentle tug, he pulls my mouth against his in a kiss that’s anything but chaste. Teeth clash, our tongues war with one another. He tilts my head, deepening our kiss and taking control in a way that has my toes curling in my shoes.

If this is how he kisses me goodbye every time he leaves the house, I’m going to have to start making excuses for him to leave.

He slows our tempo and pulls back after a final brush of his lips. I have to blink several times to clear the fog of arousal from my vision. Matteo’s smug smile spreads wide across his too-handsome face. I don’t even have it in me to tease him for his arrogance.

Honestly, he deserves it for the way he just kissed me. It’s easy to forget our past when he plays my body with expert precision like that.

I lean against the island and stare at Matteo’s ass as he walks toward the front door. The unmistakable outline of a gun stands out underneath his shirt, tucked into his pants. I’m not sure if that’s in addition to or in place of his shoulder holster. I was too preoccupied to notice earlier.

My heart’s pounding like I just ran a marathon, and a trickle of worry invades my happiness. If he gets me that worked up over a kiss, what’s going to happen when I finally get him on a bed. Or a couch. Or the counter.

As if he can read the dirty direction of my thoughts, he pauses with one hand on the doorknob and halfway out the door. “Be in the bedroom when I—”

Matteo’s shoulder jerks backward, cutting off his words. I freeze, my feet rooted to the spot next to the island and my mind unable to make sense of what I’m seeing.

Matteo’s body jerks backward again, and this time he stumbles.

“Matteo!” I shout, my heart hammering inside my chest. Everything after that happens in slow motion, like someone pressed the button to play out these events in half-speed.

The front door swings into the wall with a thud and springs back to slam into Matteo. He doesn’t even flinch, his attention on the blood spilling down his chest near his shoulder. He presses a hand to the wound, and blood seeps between his fingers, coating everything. The color is too bright, it doesn’t look real.

It’s the color that snaps me out of my panic, reigniting my synapses. My focus zeroes in on him, and I rush to his side.

“Madison, get the hell out of here!” he roars as he shuffles toward the door. He throws a shoulder into it, pushing it closed, and I reach his side and help him.

Before it latches, a black boot wedges between the door and the frame, blocking it. There’s a ringing in my ears, and nausea surges up my throat at the sight of blood blooming on Matteo’s gray shirt.

Matteo reaches for his gun with one hand. The person on the other side of the door chooses that exact moment to push, overpowering us.

We stumble backward a few steps, and my fingers start to tingle like the feeling that you get after they fall asleep, but now they’re getting more blood flow—that prickly pins-and-needles feeling.

Matteo throws an arm across the front of me, palms my hip, and pushes me behind him. I make a noise of protest, but he only grunts in return.

It doesn’t really matter anyway, because in the next instant, two men in black ski masks fill the doorway. They’re wide and tall and intimidating in all-black with huge guns pointed at us.

I grip the material of Matteo’s shirt in my fist, my adrenaline flying so high my hands are shaking. My fingers brush against something cold and hard—his gun. He never had time to grab it, and from the way his right hand hangs, I’m not sure if he’d be able to grip it.

I know this is a defining moment in my life. I can be a spectator in my life, sitting back and letting it happen to me.

Or I can be in the driver’s seat, making choices for myself and those I care about.

There’s no time to waste, I curl my fingers around the gun and pull it from the back of his pants just as one of the guys steps toward us. I remember the docuseries Mary made me watch about weaponry, and I quickly unblock the safety. It’s one of the only things I remember about it, and I’ve never been more thankful for my sister’s obsession with documentaries. I step to the side of Matteo with my arm raised. I’ve never shot a gun before, but if I don’t try to do something, we’re both dead.

“Senator Hardin sends his regards,” he says and fires a shot. The noise is so much quieter than I expected. But it’s not silent like the name suggests. There’s a whirring noise, but the sound of Matteo’s grunts as he falls backward into me is a noise I’ll never forget.

I pull the trigger, my shot going wide when Matteo bumps into me. I grab onto his arm to slow down his downward trajectory, but he’s so much bigger than me.

He slides to the ground, leaving me standing in front of two strange men who’re threatening to end my life early.

There are no images of my life flashing before my eyes, no sense of euphoria.

Only rage and cold determination.

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