Page 44 of Rescued By the Mafia

Iris followed his lead and released herself from the grip of the nostril plugs, drawing a deep breath of the portside air. And she saw something, under the light of the late afternoon sun, that cleared up her confusion. Small droplets of blood on Dante’s hand. Stupidly, the sight made her smile and she quickened her pace up to the SUV. She happened to have a solution to that problem.

Ernesto appeared in time to pull open the door, the way he seemed to do, without saying a word. She smiled briefly at him, anyway, because she wanted to be on good terms with her permanent team.

Dante followed her into the SUV silently, not seeming to question when she reached for her purse.

She went straight for the zippered side pocket and took out the last two moist towelettes she had on her, as well as the small bottle of antibacterial. His hands would feel dry after, but they’d be clean. Letting her purse slide to the floor, she then sidled back up to him with her little armload and held up the first packet for his inspection. “How about we get you cleaned up?”

His expression finally softened. “You don’t have to do that.”

She tore the packet open and extracted the towelette. “I don’t like you pulling away from me. Your hand, please.”

He held out his nearest hand without argument and spoke in a quiet voice. “How did you handle that in there, Iris? Tell me the truth.”

She set to work scrubbing at his hand, making sure to get between his fingers and dipping beneath his nails at the tips just to be thorough. The motions reminded her of showering with him, which was a distraction she did not need. Their shower that morning had not been nearly as clean—or efficient—as their first. She swallowed in search of her voice. “I was surprised,” she admitted. “But I … I couldn’t look away.” She gave his hand a squeeze when it was done and looked up at him, opting to let him in on her thoughts. “No one’s ever fought for me before.”

Dante’s nostrils flared with a sharp breath and he caught her chin, pulling her closer. “You don’t just have me now, Snapdragon. You have a fucking army.” He sealed his lips over hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth.

Iris had to fight not to let herself lean completely into him and knock aside the remaining items in her lap. She was so inappropriately aroused it was frightening. When the kiss broke, she lifted the second towelette packet and motioned for his other arm. “One more.”

She was still up against his side, tucked under his arm with his hand possessively gripping her opposite thigh, when the serene silence they’d settled into was broken. She thought they might have been almost home, if she was right that she recognized the portion of building she’d glimpsed through the window beyond Dante’s frame. But whether or not they were nearly back to their place of sanctuary was irrelevant when Ernesto spoke.

“Boss,” the older man said. He spoke in a respectfully lowered tone, making it clear he was aware of the moment he was intruding upon. He held a phone over his shoulder, the screen still lit and showing an ongoing call. “Mikey needs you.”

Iris drew in a breath and moved to sit upright. Dante’s arm tightened around her, holding her in place.

With his free hand, Dante stretched out and snagged Ernesto’s phone. He didn’t acknowledge Ernesto, instead tapping a button on the screen and holding the device in his lap. “Mikey, talk to me.”

There was a moment’s pause before Dante’s youngest brother’s voice came through the phone. “Am I on speaker?”

“You are.”

A subtle sound that might have been a short sigh proceeded his next words, though his tone was no different. “Hi, Iris.” He didn’t give her enough time to actually respond, his words meant more as an acknowledgment than as a greeting. “Our two biggest problems right now are starting to bleed together,” he said. “It turns out the two guys the Ink Blots strung up for their video were the night shift assigned to watch over Megan Powell’s place of residence.”

Iris stiffened and curled her fingers into Dante’s shirt, inadvertently exposing more of his chest, as her mind spun over what Mikey could mean.

Dante slid his hand up to her hip and spoke to the phone. “Tell me the rest.”

“I got a call from the day shift in front of the shop,” Mikey said. “Powell never opened the store today. The guys who watched over it last night said they didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and the team who watched the duplex during the day reported the same. They also reported switching out with the night shift on schedule, but that night shift’s car was missing this morning.”

Iris shook her head slowly, confusion dulling the fear for her friend. “I don’t … understand. Why would that gang care about Megan?”

“I don’t think they do, honey,” Dante said quietly. He raised his voice a bit, then, and addressed his brother again. “Has anyone been inside the residence?”

“I just heard the report,” Mikey said. “That’s where the mixing of the problems comes in, because either Bishop was watching and waiting, or he decided to strike last night and got lucky. Either way, the house was a mess, both the woman and her kid are missing—”

Iris sucked in a breath.

“—and there was a picture left on the dining room table, with a note on the back.”

“Picture?” Dante repeated.

Again, Mikey’s response was hesitant. “Of Iris and Bishop.”

Iris slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound in her throat. She hadn’t taken anything like that with her when she’d run. She hadn’t cared to hold on to mementos of the years she’d lost to Paul. She would have abandoned everything, even her clothes, if she could have done so. All of which meant there was only one person that photograph could have come from.

Dante moved his hand to her hair and pressed her face against his shoulder, as if he could shield her somehow. But he left the phone on speaker when he demanded, “What did the note say?”

Mikey’s response was prompt, but his voice became eerily distant. Unfeeling. “‘No unapproved friends, remember? Their blood is on your hands, sweetheart.’”

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