Page 49 of Rescued By the Mafia

The guy’s arms flexed as if he were testing his restraints. “Fuck you, killer.”

A muzzle came up to press against the back of his head. “Real dumb words for a wannabe sniper.”

Dante lowered the card. “So you were the fucker taking shots at my woman?”

The idiot shrugged, then winced, letting out a low hiss.

Dante really wanted to string the asshole up by his insides, but the card he’d inadvertently partially crumbled that remained in his hand reminded him this one might still have information to offer. Information that mattered more than the asshole’s immediate death. So he stood and nodded to the man still standing behind the gangster, turning away.

He heard the impact of the strike and the startled, cut-off cry of the frightened chef but looked toward Mikey. “I want this one kept alive for now. He owes me information.”

Mikey arched a brow. “Sure, but I don’t know how chatty he’ll be when he wakes up.”

“Call Cris home. This takes priority.” Cristiano was a cousin, and one of Dante’s top men after his brothers. But Cris generally preferred dirty work and jobs he could get lost in, so Dante indulged him by sending his cousin out to keep tabs on their associates and branch families beyond Jersey. If anyone in the De Salvo family was as feared as the Dragon himself, it was undoubtedly Cristiano.

Mikey’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly and nodded.

The other men Dante could see had similar wide-eyed, uncomfortable reactions.

Cris was family, and loyal to a fault, but that didn’t mean he didn’t scare the pants off most of his own people, too. That was one of Dante’s favorite things about the man.

Stuttering drew Dante’s attention. Stuttering, or sobbing, or some humiliating combination of the two. It was the chef who’d worked in his home for the past two years. Dante faced the man again as the man attempted to push to his knees. Two guns were trained on his head, but he didn’t look away from Dante.

“B-Boss, I-I’m sorry! I can exp—”

Dante lifted a hand and snapped his fingers once.

One man took a single step back, the other pulled his trigger.

As the sniveling chef’s corpse hit the pavement, Dante said, “There is no excuse.” He turned and started toward his own home. “Get this mess cleaned up.” There was nothing more he could get from the men who’d invaded his home, not until Cristiano returned.

He needed to see Iris.

fifteen

Aftermath

The panic room wasn’t exactly lacking. Iris knew she wasn’t being punished. But after twenty minutes, she found she was having to actively repeat Dante’s words in an effort to keep herself calm. Twenty minutes wasn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, she knew, but in the wake of the chaos that had exploded around her immediately before, it felt like an eternity. An eternity of loneliness.

Iris eyed the handgun Carlo had firmly instructed her to keep near herself. One of many weapons in the room, the only one she was confident she could fire in the heat of the moment. Even then, if her attacker wasn’t on top of her, she was much less confident in her aim. She’d gone shooting a couple of times, many years prior, but she’d never been good. Now, not only had it been most of a decade since her last attempt, she had the added detriment of wildly spiraling emotions. She’d be lucky if she didn’t accidentally shoot herself. So the gun rested on the side table, within arm’s reach, and she kept her body curled into an upright ball.

Will I have to sleep here?

Her chest tightened with the thought. If she did spend the night in the panic room, it wouldn’t be for any good reason. At which point, the unplanned necessity of sleeping in a windowless but furnished room would not be her biggest concern. She could only think of one reason Dante would leave her there so long.

She was already starting to worry. He’d said he was ten minutes away, hadn’t he?

The security panel beside the door lit up and something chimed. The quiet noise screamed in the silence that had filled the room.

Iris let her legs fall from the sofa and held her breath as the heavy lock released. She swore she felt the air move with the opening of the door and her heart thundered in her ears.

A tall figure in black and dark blue stepped into the room, brown hair shifting on his head as sharp blue eyes settled on her. “Thank fuck.”

Relief flooded her and Iris launched from her spot on the plush sofa bed. “Dante!” His arms folded around her, hauling her up with a hand under one thigh and one arm locked around her back. He pulled her lips up to his and growled into the kiss as she threaded her fingers into his hair, thinking nothing of hooking her ankles behind him.

He kissed her furiously, sliding his hand into her hair and sucking on her tongue. He backed her against a wall and ground against her, making her moan, before breaking the kiss. “I was so fucking worried about you, Snapdragon,” he said, his voice rough. “Are you hurt? Did you get shot?”

She still couldn’t catch her breath, her body and mind overwhelmed in very different ways. She moved her hands to rest her fingers over his jaw. “I’m okay. They missed.” She let her fingers dance down the sides of his throat, stretching her arms out again to curl around his neck. “I think … I think Carlo took a bullet for me, and somehow kept me from cracking my head on the cement.” It didn’t hit her how stupidly close she’d come to actual death until her mouth started working, and the words started spilling. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I think he saved my life.”

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