Page 47 of Rescued By the Mafia

Body stiff with terror, Iris was barely able to adjust enough to make absolutely certain it was Carlo who’d tackled her and not some absolute stranger. She opened her mouth to try and ask the question in her mind when the unmistakable popping of gunfire exploded from far too close.

“Get her inside,” Ernesto said over the cacophony. “You’re sitting ducks there.”

Carlo moved before Iris could even unclench her toes, scooping her up and tucking her close like a child. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said as he launched into a sprint.

Iris could only watch, wide-eyed, as they darted past Ernesto with his gun drawn and aimed at the perimeter wall. She thought she saw other movement on the inside of the wall, and in the chaos she didn’t know what to make of any of it. They were supposed to have guards. The property was large and surrounded by a tall privacy wall with overlapping private security.

Did that mean one of Dante’s men had shot at her?

Someone had shot at her, right?

Carlo stopped moving in what she realized was the living room, setting her down carefully and dropping to a crouch in front of her. The sleeve of his arm, just below his shoulder, was red with fresh blood. “I need you to take a slow, deep breath and tell me if anything hurts. Please.”

Her mouth opened, but Iris didn’t know how to respond. Breathe, Iris. Nothing would work out if she couldn’t focus.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to draw careful, measured breaths. She forced herself to ignore the resumed gunfire that had erupted outside the house. She felt the fear clawing at her, trying to choke her, and fought against it. When pushing back didn’t work well enough, she envisioned herself lighting the inky blackness of the fear on fire and burning it away. Then she exhaled and opened her eyes.

“I think I’m just stunned,” she said. Her gaze lingered over the patch of red that she was fairly certain was larger than it had been. “You’re the one who’s hurt.”

His lip kicked up for a split-second. “It’s my job to take the bullets, ma’am. That’s just a surface wound, it’ll heal. Please don’t worry about it.” He pushed to his feet and swiveled his gaze from one side to the other. “Right now, the problem is we don’t know how many there are or how deep the breach is.”

Iris swallowed. “What?”

Carlo unholstered the gun still strapped to his side. “You know where the panic room is?”

“Yes…” That had been one of the more overwhelming parts of her initial tour, but for the same reason, she remembered it clearly. She also remembered Dante explicitly instructing her that the panic room was for them. Exclusively.

Carlo nodded. “If any portion of the building is compromised, head straight there,” he said. “I’ll cover you. If you’d feel safer going now, I won’t be offended.”

Iris fumbled for her pockets. “Dante, where’s Dante?” He was busy. She couldn’t bother him. But he should know—he needed to know—what was going on.

“He’ll have received the alert,” Carlo said. “Right now, we prioritize you.”

Iris held tightly to the phone she’d barely pulled from her jeans pocket. “Do you know,” she asked, looking up at Carlo again, “what’s going on?”

Carlo hesitated, scowling toward the sound of continued gunfire. “From the sound of the shots,” he finally said, “I think someone got into or past the staff house next door. And the fact that they came that way tells me they knew what they were doing.”

Iris slowly shook her head, but her phone started buzzing before she could do more than open her mouth to ask more. As soon as she saw Dante’s name on the screen, she hurried to answer. “Are you all right?”

“Am I all right?” His question was nearly drowned out by a particularly loud eruption of gunfire.

Iris jumped in her seat, startled by the increased volume, her gaze snapping toward the far side of the house. She couldn’t see the exterior door she’d used earlier, but that was the area the sounds had come from.

Carlo motioned for her to move into the interior hall, keeping himself between her and the potential for stray bullets.

“I can hear the fucking gunshots from here,” Dante continued as Iris scrambled from the sofa. “What the hell is going on? Are you hurt? Why are you still at the house?”

“I’m fine, I’m just—” She didn’t need to tell him she was scared. He could surely guess as much, even if he couldn’t hear it in her voice. Iris put her back to the hallway wall, her line of sight worsened but her chances of taking a wayward shot likely also decreased. “I don’t really know what’s going on,” she said. “Someone just started shooting at me all of a sudden. I didn’t even understand it at first.” His final question connected to her brain and she looked toward Carlo, projecting her voice to be sure he heard her. “Carlo, Dante wants to know why we’re still here?”

Carlo glanced over his shoulder for a second in acknowledgment. “Ink Blots,” he said.

Iris blinked, waiting for him to elaborate.

The video of the strung-up men flashed before her eyes and her knees threatened to give out on her. Was that who was out there? It wasn’t Paul?

“Iris? Are you still with me, honey?” Dante called to her through the phone, an unfamiliar urgency in his voice.

She drew up that image of fire again, the one she’d conjured minutes earlier, and found her voice. “Ink Blots,” she repeated. “He said it’s the Ink Blots.”

---