Page 72 of Mafia King's Bride

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“I never said you wouldn’t.”

I pull my gun, aiming straight at his chest. “But if you want to die like a man, you face me. Man to man. Using women as bargaining chips? That makes you an even bigger coward.”

“Fine.” He grins, points the gun at me and pulls the trigger.

But I’m faster. My bullet tears into his chest, even as his grazes my shoulder, sending a sharp, searing pain through me. I stagger but stay on my feet. Bianchi crumples to the floor, gasping for air, the life draining from his eyes.

I don’t spare him a second glance.

Rushing to Ana, I press my fingers to her neck, relief flooding through me when I feel her faint pulse. She’s fainted but is alive.

Scooping her into my arms, I turn my back on Bianchi’s dying form.

This was never his game to win.

TWENTY-SEVEN

ANA

Why does it feel like someone dropped a piano on my head?

I slowly open my eyes, only to be stabbed by the brightest, most sterile light. It’s like my retinas have signed up for an all-out assault, and the pounding in my skull doubles. I blink, groaning as I try to gather my bearings.

Where the hell am I?

There’s an obnoxious beeping sound, and somewhere nearby, I hear a voice—familiar, distant. It’s muffled, like when you’re dreaming and someone tries to talk to you in real life. But I’m too busy figuring out why I feel like I got steamrolled.

As my vision clears, I realize I’m in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines like some sci-fi experiment.

“Ana?”

Dmitri. The voice snaps into focus, and I turn my head toward him. Well, try to. My entire body revolts, screaming in protest as pain shoots through every muscle.

“Kotyonok,” he says softly, taking my hand in his. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“What…?” My voice is barely a croak, and even that hurts. “What happened?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Dmitri explains, his voice as gentle as I’ve ever heard it. “You fainted. Covered in bruises, too.” His Adam’s apple bobs thickly as he swallows. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen to you.”

The memories hit me like a sledgehammer. Flashes of a car pulling up, something rough being shoved over my face, struggling to break free, darkness, voices I didn’t recognize.

Bianchi.

I sit up—big mistake—and gasp as the pain punches me right in the skull. “Bianchi,” I wheeze, clutching my head. “He...he kidnapped me. He said he was going to kill you.”

Dmitri’s face tightens, dark rage swirling behind his eyes. I can tell he’s keeping it together, but just barely. “I found you,” he says, his voice low. “That’s all that matters now.”

“You . . . found me.” My brain catches up. “Bianchi?”

“He’s dead.” The words are cold, final. No emotion.

I blink, staring at him. “Did . . . did you kill him?”

“Yes.” His answer is simple, but the weight behind it isn’t. “And I’m going to find whoever helped him. They’ll pay the same price.”

The way he says it—no hesitation, no doubt—should terrify me. But right now, I’m too tired, too sore to care. And honestly, after what I went through, I’m willing to let him rain down some vengeance on whoever put me in this bed.

---