Page 82 of The Fighter

“Ali,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms. And it feels like home. He brushes a kiss over my lips, a warm kiss that makes my hopeful heart flutter to life. “Dolcezza, I’m crazy about you. I’ve been crazy about you from the moment you stared at me from across the gym, fury in your eyes, and told me to step into the ring. I love you. I love you when you’re plotting to poison me?—”

His declaration takes my breath away, and a big, happy smile breaks out on my face. I take a deep, orange-scented breath, joy exploding inside my heart. “I wasn’t going to actually do it.”

“Always good to hear,” he quips. “I love you so much that I’m here in Valencia, braving my terrifying family?—”

“I’m going to interrupt once again to tell you that your family is perfect, and I won’t tolerate any slander of them.”

“They showed up with a banner to the airport,” he points out. “My mother has us searching for engagement party venues. Has she stopped to ask us if we want an engagement party? No, she has not.” A smile softens his eyes. “They already like you much more than they like me.”

“That’s not true.”

He laughs. “Yes, it is. You’re the reason I’m finally back in Valencia, and they know it.” He laces his fingers in mine and brings my ring finger up to his lips. “I gave you my grandmother’s ring, Ali. This might be a fake engagement, but what I feel for you is real.”

The sun is out from behind a cloud. It’s warm and quiet and peaceful, and it’s just the two of us here, and I still can’t quite believe it. I’ve fallen in love with him, and he feels the same way. He loves me. Tomas Aguilar, with his bespoke suits and those grey eyes that see far too much, loves me. I want to pinch myself and scream for joy and run around in giddy circles, giggling madly in sheer happiness.

“I thought you wanted something casual.”

“I thought you wanted something casual,” he replies accusingly, and then we both start to laugh. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

“I wasn’t ready to hear the answer,” I admit sheepishly. “You kept doing nice things?—”

I hear a loud, sharp sound, and an unripe orange in the tree directly above me explodes into pulp. I barely have time to react before Tomas pushes me to the ground and throws his body over mine.

“Sniper,” he says into my ear. I can feel the thump of his heartbeat against my chest. “From one of the upper floor windows. Stay down.”

Someone is shooting at us.

In a supposedly safe Valencia.

How is this possible?

52

TOMAS

Asniper is shooting at us.

In Valencia.

I roll us under the nearest stone bench. The sniper is firing from one of the large, arched windows on the upper floors. The tree foliage is interfering with his or her line of sight and the fountain in the middle of the courtyard acts as another barrier, but we’ve still been immensely lucky not to have already been hit.

He fires again, and a piece of marble chips off the fountain. My heart spikes in panic. My thoughts race. Gabriel d’Este does not allow violence in his city. Who would be stupid enough to ignore his edict and risk his wrath?

Is Vidone Laurenti truly this desperate? But he has to know that this attack won’t do anything. Even if he succeeds in getting rid of me, Ali isn’t going to meekly offer herself up as Damir Malinov’s bride. Even if I die here, she will not be unprotected. Antonio Moretti will not stand aside and watch her get married off to Malinov against her will. Of that, I’m sure.

Or is this Gabriel’s doing? That unwelcome thought burrows in my head. Is this payback because I don’t want to work for the d’Este family any longer? But that doesn’t make any sense. If Gabriel d’Este wanted me dead, I’d already be rotting in the ground. And if the padrino believed that d’Este was still holding a grudge, he would have never let us come to Valencia.

Who, then? Who do I have to kill? Laurenti, d’Este, or someone else?

My thoughts are churning so much that I don’t realize at first that the shots have stopped. But they have. I wait for a good five minutes and then roll off Alina. “Sorry,” I murmur, every nerve in my body on edge. “I didn’t mean to squash you.”

“You didn’t.” Her breathless voice makes a lie of her words. “Is it safe to get up, do you think? Or is the sniper biding his time?”

“The sniper is dead,” a man’s voice says calmly. “It’s safe to get up.”

Gabriel d’Este. I spring to my feet and move. Before he can say another word, before he can even react, I have a knife to his throat. “Tell me,” I growl. “Was this you? Are you responsible for this?”

He freezes. “There are three guns trained on you right now, Tomas,” he says. “You won’t survive this. Put down the knife, please, unless you want to die.”

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