Page 79 of The Mafia's Surprise Gift

She scurried away, and I gently turned over the chicken cutlets. The batter was beautifully golden, and the smell had my stomach twisting into hungry knots.

As the oil hissed and spat at me for turning the cutlets over, I lowered the heat under the sauce.

Suddenly, a shriek rose up from the hallway and a lance of freezing cold shot down my spine. I sprinted from the kitchen and shoved past the door, skidding into the hall.

Mom was on the floor, blood pouring from her mouth and cowering under a tall man clad in black and grey. He stood over her, fist raised, and she tried to hide her face. Just beyond him, Dino’s car was ablaze in orange flames, and for one chilling second, I feared he was inside it.

Until he was thrown across the driveway and followed by several other men who spilled across the garden.

“Mae!” Dino yelled, scrambling up from the grass. He reached one hand out to me, but whatever else he was going to say was silenced by a solid punch to the face. The man standing over my mother spun to face me the moment Dino yelled, and our eyes locked.

I was his new target.

What the fuck was happening?

Zack was upstairs, which meant I had to do everything in my power to keep these attackers downstairs until I could get to him. The bulky man charged forward, crashing into the side table and knocking the vase of flowers to the floor.

I threw myself back into the kitchen. My head was pounding so violently that the back of my neck throbbed. Stumbling into the counter, I snatched up one of the plates and launched it at the stranger as soon as he came through the door.

It shattered over his raised arm, barely making a dent.

“Where is Zack?” he demanded in an accent so thick that it sounded like he was holding a mouthful of water against his cheek.

Zack.

No fucking way were they getting my son.

“He’s not here,” I spat back, trying to keep my voice steady. “So whatever the fuck you want, whatever the fuck you’re after, you can fuck off because it’s not here!”

He moved incredibly fast for a man of his size, and while I managed to throw the second plate at him, he still reached me with impressive speed. His large hands gripped my neck and shoulder, and he threw me back against the kitchen counter so hard that sickening pain flared across my waist.

“No games!” he yelled, his voice cracking from the pitch. Where is the boy?”

I couldn’t breathe. His weight was crushing me against the counter, and my head spun from the pain flaring hot across my back. I struck out one hand, scrambling for anything I could use to aid me. The cold countertop gave way to the warm handle of the frying pan.

I didn’t think. I just grabbed it and slammed it into the side of his head. The burn of hot oil spraying onto my own skin was barely felt as the majority of the oil—and chicken—poured over my assailant.

His scream was high-pitched and he released me immediately, stumbling backward while he tried to wipe off the scalding oil.

I pushed off the counter with a gasp and rushed past him just as the sharp pops of gunfire filled the air.

Fuck. I hoped Dino was okay.

I barely made it to the door before the burning stranger was back on me. His fist landed in my hair and he dragged me backward, tearing a scream from my throat. I twisted in his grip and started to fight with all my strength.

I punched him, kicked him, and scratched every bare inch of skin I could reach. Adrenaline fueled my wildcat fighting, and the stranger stumbled back for a second. Then he grabbed me by the throat and hauled me off the ground.

My world tipped and a sudden intense pressure exploded through my skull. His fist sealed my throat. I couldn’t breathe. Scratching at his wrist, I twisted left and right to try and escape him until he slammed me down onto the counter, and the third plate shattered against my spine.

I couldn’t breathe as he shoved all his weight behind strangling me. His arm, as thick as a tree trunk, was unwavering despite my digging my nails as hard into his wrist as I could manage.

Half of his face was melting and still dripping with oil. His white-blonde hair plastered to his head and white-hot fury burned in his eyes.

“Where,” he snarled, bringing his face so close that the heat from his burned flesh warmed my own skin. “Is. The. Boy?”

Suddenly, a distant scream from upstairs became the answer. The stranger smirked and my blood ran cold.

My vision blurred, and dark spots danced over the stranger’s face. I needed air. I needed help?—

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