Page 2 of His Stolen Bride

“I’ll handle it.” I run a hand through my hair to smooth it down and straighten my shirt again. I’ll have her charmed right out of the room in no time.

“Wait, who is she?”

My soldier blinks.

“What family, asshole?” I flex my fists, my bloodlust still running high.

“Carrera.”

“Fuck.” I rub my temples.

My phone vibrates again, and I pull it from my pocket.

Cato: Giuseppe’s bride is a Carrera.

Cato: Where the fuck are you?

Cato: The bride is a CARRERA. Don’t hurt her, don’t fuck her, and you cannot let her out of your sight. You will wed her as soon as possible to seal that alliance. Don’t fuck it up.

Santino: Her father will send men for me once he finds out I have her.

Cato: We’ll deal with it. I’ll go ahead and make the call to him, but don’t touch a fucking hair on her head.

“Fuck!” I jam the phone back into my pocket. Shit just got complicated. I should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy. “A Carrera.” I scrub a hand down my face, then hitch a thumb at the soldier. “Get the fuck out of here. See what Lucenzo needs.”

He takes off at a jog as I try to think of a way out of this. But thinking isn’t my strong suit. I can strategize, and I can put violence into action, but I’m not the detail guy. Even so, I’m smart enough to know I can’t fuck this up. The Davincis are the most powerful family in Italy, but the Carreras are a close second. How the fuck did that limpdick Giuseppe land a Carrera bride?

You can do this. I shake out my scarred fists like I’m about to enter a brawl. She’s a woman. I can talk her into anything, including opening the door. She’s terrified. Hiding. I need to take a gentler approach with the sweet little fawn inside this room.

I reach up and knock softly. “Ms. Carrera. My name is Santino Baldoni. I know you’re frightened by all that’s happened, but I want to assure you that I mean you no harm, and that I would like to offer my condolences on the death of your hus—”

When a bullet flies through the door and whizzes past my head, I drop to the floor. And when I hear her war cry of, “Come any closer to my fucking door, and I will mow you in half with this semi-automatic!”

It’s then that I know my little fawn is another animal altogether.

One with fangs.

And claws.

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