Page 60 of Rescued By the Mafia

Paul Bishop stood several feet away, one of his personal handguns pointed steadily at Carlo’s chest but his dark brown eyes were locked on her. They may as well have been black for all the humanity she could see in them. “I fucking told you to come here.” He made a show of flexing his finger over the trigger.

Carlo shifted his weight. “I can’t let you—”

“You better shut the hell up,” Paul said sharply. His glare snapped over to Carlo, brow furrowing. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you work for, I’ll drop you right here.”

She only had one option left, so she drew a quiet breath while he was distracted and whispered, “Mudslide.”

Paul’s attention slingshot back to her. “What was that?”

Iris let her purse slide down her arm, the sign crinkling in her grip, but she managed to hold his terrifying stare. “Mudslide.”

She saw the moment his faux patience snapped and Paul began stalking forward, fury in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something surely scathing, but Iris wasn’t inclined to listen to it. She was only interested in buying time. So she heaved her purse, with all of its contents, and the sign still in her arms, at her bastard ex’s face.

It was not the brightest idea she’d ever had.

She wasn’t sure if the gun went off first or if the body that was probably Carlo’s tackled her to the side first, because her ears were almost immediately ringing from the explosive echo. The hard commercial tile floor hurt when they landed, side-by-side, but not nearly as much as being shot would have. Not nearly as much as whatever Paul would definitely do to her if he succeeded in laying hands on her again.

“Don’t try and get fucking cute with me all of a sudden, sweetheart,” Paul said as he rounded the end of the aisle Carlo’s tackle had thrown them down. “You know I have no patience for cute.”

Iris caught sight of him before she properly had her feet under her, her heart pounding and her ears still ringing.

Carlo shoved himself between them, launching himself at Paul, and another gunshot went off. This time she could see the blood—the blood that followed behind him and the blood that sprayed the air. This time she heard what could only be Carlo trying to hide his pain as he managed, barely, to at least shove Paul back.

Iris knew she should take the opportunity he’d bought her to turn and run, just as she knew that if she did he’d surely die. If he wasn’t halfway there already.

But in the second it took her to make a decision on her next course of action, the small store seemed to fill with men in dark clothes. She didn’t even hear glass shattering, though she had no idea how else they could be coming in from the front, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t there to help her ex. They were there to help her.

Dante stalked into view, his furious stare locked on Paul, clearly having come from the same entrance she’d used not more than a minute earlier. “I’ve been looking for you, you piece of shit.”

Paul’s head swung around and a beat passed before his gun clattered to the ground. He was a bastard, but he wasn’t suicidal—technically. “I know who you are, too, De Salvo,” he said. “You touch me, you’ll regret it for whatever’s left of your miserable life.”

One side of Dante’s lips lifted, but it was unlike any smirk or smile he’d shown Iris directly. This expression was cold and mocking. It was the face of a tyrant the moment before he stepped on the spine of some whimpering beggar.

And picturing Paul as a whimpering beggar really worked for her.

Dante strode into Paul’s space and said, “Not even for an instant.” Then he hauled back and punched him, moving so swiftly Iris barely saw his arm lift before Paul dropped to the floor.

A breath of relief escaped her.

A painfully ironic wheeze of pain filled the air from the man closest to her and Carlo said, “Sorry … Boss…” He slumped over, more blood trickling free to stain the tile.

Iris’s eyes widened. No. She knew he was supposed to protect her. She knew that was his literal job, and that Dante would kill Carlo himself if Carlo ever stepped aside to let her get hurt, but that did not mean she wanted to see the man injured. Let alone….

“Get him to the doctor,” Dante snapped. “Whatever he needs.”

“Yes, Boss,” one of the other men said as he and two more rushed up to Carlo’s aid.

Dante barked another order about taking Paul somewhere, but she was mostly preoccupied watching the man who’d now taken three bullets for her being carted away. She wasn’t sure where he’d been shot, other than that the last one had been high enough to potentially be dangerous. All she could do was hope he’d survive.

Then Dante was in front of her, lifting her into his arms, and his voice had gentled into the tone she knew was only for her. “You did great, honey. I’m so damn proud of you.”

Iris gasped, clinging to him, and let herself cry.

eighteen

Power Couple

Carlo was out of surgery and though she knew Dante was eager to get started on torturing her ex, Iris insisted on detouring to pay at least a short visit to the man who’d protected her. Which meant stopping along the way and getting some kind of gift, because one did not go to see a man who’d taken three bullets for them and arrive empty-handed. She was sure that was a rule somewhere.

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