Page 111 of Falling for the Enemy

ONE WEEK LATER

From the ashes rises a phoenix.

Or in my case, a suka hell-bent on collecting the blood debt she’s owed.

Many thoughts circle my hurricane-like mind on the silent ride from the hospital to the mansion Alejandro and I now share, but one is much more prominent than the rest, taking center stage.

Revenge.

It will soon be mine.

As for the cowardly mudak who I’ve been informed has spent every second since he shot me in the back, bound to the same metal chair I killed his son in, his hands cuffed on his lap and feet chained to the floor?

There is no escape for him.

Not any longer.

The twitching of my hands increases tenfold when Alejandro veers our vehicle up the mansion’s driveway, and past the newly installed iron gate where two of my men stand, their chins dipping in greeting.

“Krasavchik, pull around back for me, da.”

“You sure? I thought—”

“There is nothing more I wish to see than Mina and Anna, but I can’t go to them until business in the basement is handled.”

Pulling a rubber band from my wrist, I secure my hair in a loose knot at my nape. The simple move leaves me winded, my pulse accelerating.

My recovery won’t be an easy one.

But with time, improvement will come.

“Only when I’ve watched the life dissipate from Stefano’s beady black eyes, nullifying his chances of ever hurting us again, will I pull my girls into my arms.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Alejandro nod. Like my men, he understands the vindictiveness that rises in me, demanding the blood of the one who tried—and failed—to kill me.

Reaching the door that leads from the backyard to the basement, Alejandro quickly parks, making sure to keep the vehicle out of view of Mina’s bedroom window.

He jumps out and rounds the front.

Once he opens my door and I unbuckle my seatbelt, he lifts me into his arms, careful of my healing wounds.

The warm sun beats down on us as he carries me into the mansion, the comforting smell of the Ashley River, along with the nuance of construction debris tickling the tip of my nose.

After Stefano and Sergei’s failed attack, the mansion is heavily damaged. The destruction, however, is limited to the east wing—which houses the dining room, kitchen, my study, and living area—making the rest of our home still livable.

The onslaught has cost me mightily.

Not only because of the massive construction bill I must foot, but also because of the millions in cold hard cash I’ve had to dole out as if it’s candy in order to make certain authority figures look the other way.

Over seven figures.

That’s how much money it cost to grease the palms of the mayor, the chief of police, and the director of the local FBI field office after they agreed to sweep the attack under the same rug that houses the rest of the Kings’ misdeeds.

To them, it never even happened.

If they value their life, it will remain that way.

When we step inside the basement a second later, familiar voices reach my ears, bringing a smile to my face despite the coldness that quickly descends.

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