Page 12 of Assistant to the Mafia

The last voice had definitely not been Sean, but the other man. The one who’d … done something. Something she instinctively felt was bad, though she couldn’t explain why. But before that, Sean had sounded wrong. As if he were struggling, or hurt even.

Get out.

They took your key.

“See you soon.”

Grace sucked in a sharp breath, adrenaline firing through her and chasing the fog from her brain. She was afraid to think what had happened to Sean, but he’d called to warn her, possibly at great risk to himself. The other man—and at least one other—was coming for her. Specifically her.

Clutching her phone to her chest, Grace leapt to her feet and bolted from the bedroom. She lived in a nice apartment, but it didn’t exactly have a panic room. The best thing she had was a clawfoot tub that she might, if she was really lucky, be able to wedge herself behind. It seemed mildly more original than rolling under the bed, but no safer. She debated diving into her closet, but those doors didn’t lock. At least the bathroom did.

So she detoured to the living room, put her full weight behind shoving a chair in front of the door, and then sprinted to the bathroom. She didn’t turn on another light or grab more clothes, and she’d never in her life been so regretful of not at least owning a baseball bat. But it was what it was. All she had was her phone.

If someone had broken into the building, Sean would have signaled for police. Should she wait for them to show up?

Her heart thundered in her ears, louder than the noise she still didn’t want to think about, and Grace forced her not-small-enough body into the back corner somewhat behind the tub and the wall. She couldn’t duck out of sight inside the thing, anyway, so maybe with the lights off, if they looked too quickly, she’d blend in.

She really needed to call someone.

Her fingers moved on autopilot to her recent calls. She was, at best, going to be late for work. That was justification enough, right? He’d forgive her.

The line rang two times and she thought for sure she heard something at her door that she definitely shouldn’t have. Then it connected, and a voice she wasn’t expecting asked, “Grace? It’s two-thirty in the morning, why are you up?”

For a split-second, her mouth went dry. She hadn’t paid attention. She’d seen De Salvo on the screen and dialed. And she’d called Romeo.

Then her apartment alarm began blaring and tears surged behind her eyes. She only hoped he’d be able to hear her over the sudden noise. “Help,” she whispered.

Romeo was used to late-night emergencies, as much as he hated them, so his team had a standing procedure for who went where when he needed to leave in a hurry. That didn’t mean he had time to expect to be the grand savior. He was still forced to rely on the handful of men Dante had placed in Grace’s building over the past two years, and the only person who was going to be less happy about that than he already was, was Dante himself.

That was an argument Romeo could put off for the light of day, at least.

What he could not put off, for his own sanity and for the sake of every man within range of his temper, was making sure Grace was okay. He didn’t know what the fuck had happened, but he had a damn good guess who was responsible.

Which only made him more furious when Mo finally pulled to a stop in front of the building and there wasn’t a single goddamn police cruiser in sight. She lived in one of the most expensive apartment buildings in the city. A big part of that expense was the security. Why the fuck had no one called for police when shit went sideways?

Romeo ground his teeth and shoved from the car, not waiting for Mo to catch up before striding inside. No valet came to greet them, and the lobby inside was a fucking mess. Overturned furniture, bullet holes decorating one wall, and blood trail that indicated someone had taken an early shot and run for cover. Romeo moved up to the desk and scowled.

The overnight doorman, Sean something or other, was on the floor in a pool of blood. His uniform coat was too soaked for Romeo to be sure how many holes he had in him, but the big one that made him a little difficult to recognize without his nametag had probably been the kill shot. Next to his body, the man’s personal cellphone was smashed to pieces and slowly becoming encased in blood.

Romeo straightened and continued toward the elevator. “We’re gonna need a big fucking crew for this,” he said to Mo. “And wake up Mikey’s on-call team. This place has too many eyes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Romeo tuned out Mo’s quiet conversation as the elevator took them up, cocking the gun in his hand and standing off-center from the door just to be safe. Word from Aurelio was that the floor he wanted was secure, but they didn’t know how big the assault was. If he’d been thinking clearly when he’d left, he would have brought more than a four-man crew with him.

That would have required more phone calls. More time. He’d already taken too much fucking time.

The elevator went straight to the twenty-first floor, and Romeo allowed someone else to take point stepping into the hall. He and Mo followed and the rest of the men filed after. It wasn’t until they rounded the corner to Grace’s unit that the carnage became evident.

Blood and bodies on the floor, and one man who looked like he might be alive but was definitely unconscious was tied up off to the side. The only men standing were theirs.

“Sir,” one of the men Dante had placed in the building said, nodding in greeting. He indicated the survivor. “What should we do with him?”

Romeo really wanted to put a hole or ten in him was what, but that was unproductive. “Lock him down. Cristiano got in a couple hours ago, we’ll let him do his thing.” Assuming Dante didn’t have other ideas later. He moved to the door of the apartment. “Where is she?”

“Inside, sir,” the same man replied. “Aurelio’s with her.”

Romeo pushed his way into the apartment, not sure how he felt about the fact that the door was unlocked even if five of their men were on-site, and a fresh wave of fury crashed into him.

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