Page 60 of Stolen Sin

The noise in my back yard softens for a second. Then there are more shouts, indistinct but excited.

I mentally stab myself in the eyeball a million times for being such a dumb motherfucker before leaping up and grabbing the lip. I scrape my arms on the wood as I throw my leg over and basically fall to the other side, hitting hard and staggering. Emily’s sitting on the ground holding onto her ankle and softly cursing, tears in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I kneel down at her side. “What happened?”

“I landed weird and turned it. Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, it just hurt so fucking bad.”

“Come on.” I help her up, but the second she puts weight on the ankle, she groans and nearly falls down.

Fuck this. Fuck my dad and fuck my family. I scoop her up in my arms and sprint to the far side of the empty guest house, aiming for the gate that’ll lead to the street.

“What are you doing?” Emily gasps as I shove my way through.

“You can’t go over like this,” I say, making a break for the sidewalk. “It’s just next door. We can make it. We can?—”

But the words die in my throat. There are already four guys sprinting for us with more coming behind them. I’m barely six feet from the porch, but they’re coming on fast and there’s no way I’m going to make it.

I try anyway. I growl with effort, running hard toward the stairs. If I can just reach the door, if I can just get inside?—

But I can hear the guys coming after me. One’s broad and tall with a crooked nose and a buzz cut. Another’s young, almost too skinny. Neither speak but it’s obvious what they’re trying to do, as the bigger one starts to dip his shoulder, coming in for a tackle that’ll take us all to the ground. If that happens, I won’t be able to stop them from taking me or Emily or killing us both. There are too many of them and only one of me.

“Hold on,” I grunt to Emily in my arms, preparing to take the brunt of the fall so I can protect her.

But the big guy suddenly pulls up and staggers to a stop, nearly toppling over only a few feet away from me.

I don’t know why, and I don’t question it. I throw myself at the steps, take them two at a time, and that’s when I notice the men standing around the porch.

Davide’s leaning against the doorframe with a shotgun on his shoulder. Emilio’s next to him, casually holding an assault rifle. There are a few more of their crew, all of them armed with long guns, each dressed in black Kevlar and looking like they’re ready for a fight. The men Dad sent to invade my house don’t come any closer, and the young one even holds up his hands.

I collapse, breathing hard, and gently set Emily down on a chair.

“I think you boys should leave,” Davide says, stepping forward. He pumps the shotgun. It’s really dramatic, but not necessary. “You don’t want trouble.”

“Don Alessandro sent us,” the bigger of the soldiers says. I notice that his backup is already starting to inch away. “We’re just following orders. Nobody’s supposed to get hurt.”

“Then you should keep it that way.” Davide casually aims the gun at him. “Turn around and start walking before I kill you.”

It’s not an empty threat. Everyone in the organization knows my brother and they’re well aware of his bloody reputation. The guy takes a few backward steps, his hands rising higher, before he turns and starts jogging away. The whole group of them scatters to the far end of the oasis and disappears down the sidewalk.

Davide turns to me, grinning. “That was fun. You should get into a fight with Dad more often.”

“The oasis guards didn’t stop them,” I say very quietly, staring down the block. There are men on the roofs, men at the corners, men all over the place, and none of them made a move to interfere. “They knew. Dad warned them.”

Davide’s expression clouds. “We’ll work it out.”

I shake my head and go to Emily, making sure she’s okay, as the whole group moves into the relative safety of the house.

Chapter 37

Emily

Stefania checks out my ankle upstairs in her office. The entire first two floors of the house are completely open, not a single wall to be seen, which was a little disconcerting at first. But the third floor is sectioned off into a few smaller rooms with comfortable chairs and couches and an enormous wooden executive desk.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but I got my medical degree on Google,” she says, prodding at the swelling. “But I think if you can move around, it’s probably just sprained.”

“I think you’re right. I just rolled it when I landed weird, that’s all.” I lean my head back and sigh. I have my foot up on an ottoman and I’m trying not to look at all the stuff she has filling the room. Lots of fancy books fill the shelves and photographs of city scenes cover the walls. I recognize the famous LOVE Park sculpture from Philadelphia in one of those, so I figure they’re all from her home town.

“Davide built this for me early on in our relationship,” she comments as she rifles through a drawer in her desk. “I found the whole super-open floor plan thing a little bit weird and couldn’t get used to it.”

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