Page 50 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

Our plan is for her to call the cops with the burner phone and give them all the information they will need to put Salvatore in prison for the rest of his life.

I keep staring at her and see how, occasionally, she looks over her shoulder at Lev, like she is doing this for him.

She takes her time, and then she is done.

“Thank you,” she turns in our direction and struts to us in her flats with a happy smile. “Salvatore won’t know what hit him,” she smiles some more. “It’s over,” she puffs, her shoulders relaxing. “It’s over,” she turns to Lev and reaches out to take his hand, squeezing gently. He nods, smiling at her.

“We wait,” Vittoria stalks to our car and leans against it. “For now, we wait.”

“He can’t escape this time, and I hope they get my cousin, too,” she lets go of Lev’s hand. “The one he wanted you to marry,” she gives me a sorry face. “You know him as Paul, but his name is really Kir.”

“What?” I cough out, the information sucking the air out of my lungs. I knew something was off about him, he looked familiar… and then his accent.

“I gave enough information to implicate him, too,” Nina breathes. “I want this all to be over,” another darting of her eyes to Lev.

“Good riddance, then,” I shrug.

“That’s the spirit,” Vittoria hails.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

FABIO

Itwitch my gun with my index finger, desperately wanting to shoot Salvatore, but I restrain myself to keep the urge at bay.

I click my tongue, my intestines twisting and feeding me the agony of not being allowed to fuck shit up. I can taste the sourness of the pain on my tongue.

I hate being or feeling powerless.

I hate making anyone think they can bend me to do their fucking bidding, or force my hand. After Salvatore, someone else will come up and want to try their fucking luck at messing with me.

It pains me to know that I cannot use him as a scapegoat to keep every other fucking idiot away.

I stroke the trigger of my gun with my thumb and glare at the nuzzle. I breathe. It’s all I can do in a situation like this. Breathe.

I cannot count how many fucking times the thought of excusing myself and going after Salvatore has crossed my mind. I cannot count how many times I had to find some string of compassion to keep my gurgling desire to end the bastard in check.

I am already too exhausted from the powerlessness of the fucking situation.

I grind my teeth and intentionally catch my tongue between them, needing something to direct my frustration at. The situation is fucked up. My mind is fucked up.

He deserves it.

It is Emanuele who doesn’t deserve the pain of losing a child, especially one he is doing everything he can to save, although he would never admit to the truth.

Salvatore’s soul is made from a different darkness; no matter how hard it tries to break through, there is no hope of any light sneaking in.

I slip my handgun into the pocket of my holster and stare at the night through the glass frame of the door in the main building.

The perfect time to kill.

I shake the thought out with a chuckle, refusing to ponder on how I got to be this man.

I take the first step down the stairs as I fish for a car key in the pocket of my pants.

We spent the afternoon planning and mapping out. By some miracle, we were able to devise a plan to give him some of our territories—some very key locations.

Salvatore has a mind of his own, and he is all for the big kill. But we are willing to try and cajole him into seeing why a war will benefit nobody. I despise that part.

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