Page 52 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

A car was missing. An old black sedan car.

I halt, spinning to face Emanuele as he pulls out a gun from the car and straightens his shoulders.

“I think we have a mole,” I step forward, crossing the threshold of the gate and condemning myself into the enemy’s fucking territory.

There it is.

The sedan car.

“We have a mole,” Emanuele confirms as he steps into the compound behind me, his eyes landing on the car.

“No security,” I sprint my eyes around, quickly identifying all the cameras and their angles. “But the cameras are strategically placed, and this means…”

“They are waiting for us,” Emanuele completes my sentence.

“We can either walk into the trap, or we can go back and strategize,” I offer, not wanting him to choose the former, but I know Emanuele enough to know which he would choose.

“Let’s finish this up for good, I’m aging faster because of the stress,” he sucks his teeth and cock his gun.

Situations like this are bound to happen. We should have prepared for the possibility of a mole.

I take a step toward the lofty building, cussing at whoever thought it wise to betray us like this. I will kill that person myself and take out the frustration for not being able to kill Salvatore on him.

A fucking mole has blown our cover, and I am sure he has also told Salvatore of our plans to give him some territories. And the absence of security outside tells me Salvatore is not in the mood to negotiate.

I tip the door of the main building, and it opens. I am quick to press my back flat on the wall beside it, waiting to hear gunshots, but instead, I am met with deafening silence.

I draw my eyebrows together as Emanuele lifts one of his, the same question reflecting in our expression; a question neither of us having the fucking answer to.

What is happening here?

I signal the men around us to take positions as I step in, my gun in front of me, ready to go off. But with each step I take around the interior of black and red, I sense the absence of danger. It’s a strange thing to sense in a setting like this.

I scowl and spare a glance at the ghastly framed picture of Boris on the wall like he is some god to be worshipped. I resist the urge to pump a bullet into it and alert anyone of our presence.

Then I hear it.

And I am sure Emanuele hears it, too, with how he grumbles, cursing under his breath. We both take snappy steps in the direction of hushed touches of laughter and chirping.

It’s a narrow way that leads to a kitchen.

We step into the kitchen, and my face falls flat at the sight of women.

Our women.

“Boys,” Vittoria smiles at us, then sips from a glass of juice.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Eva chuckles and throws a piece of cake in her mouth. “What took you so long?”

Okay, what the fuck is happening?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

FABIO

Strange things are happening.

Looking around, I can't help but think that this is all a dream.I see Emanuele's eyebrow shoot straight up to his hairline, expressing his effort to find answers to the one fucking question that keeps ringing in both our minds.

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