Page 4 of Dangerous Devotion

The events of the day caught up with me all at once, and I felt myself shutting down, drifting, lulled by the steady thrum of the helicopter.

Hawk moved back to his own seat more comfortably, and I immediately felt cold and alone.

I sat in silence. Whatever came next, I knew one thing for certain: Nothing would ever be the same again, and I couldn’t just go with the flow anymore.

If this attack was targeted at me, my sheer presence put everyone in harm’s way.

Because of me, Vince stayed on the roof of that building. Because of me, Vince attacked an armed man in a hovering helicopter.

If he was dead, it was because of me.

I half listened to Dante, instructing Goofy on what the landing situation would be like.

The helicopter ride seemed to stretch on for an eternity, the rhythmic thump of the blades a constant reminder of the situation we’d just escaped from. I alternated between staring out the window at the landscape below and sneaking glances at Dante.

His focus never wavered from the controls, his hands steady and sure as he guided us through the air.

Did Vince know how to fly a helicopter, as well?

Was there anything these Salvini men weren’t capable of?

My mind wandered back to the rooftop and replayed the events in slow motion. The sudden appearance of the other helicopter, the masked men, the tenseness in Vince as he shielded me with his body.

It all felt like a scene from a movie, too surreal to have truly happened.

But it was real. All too real.

And there was a decent chance it was my fault.

I still couldn’t believe it. I had never intended for any of this to happen. It was never supposed to put anyone in danger.

I thought about my family—my dad, my sisters, Fee, and Alex.

Did they already hear what had happened?

And what about Vince’s family and Isabella? Was she still safe?

Were all of them safe?

The thought of any of them being in danger because of me made me feel physically ill.

And then there was Vince. Complicated, infuriating, oddly caring, overprotective Vince.

He’d had every right to be suspicious of me, even to hate me. But look where we were now. Instead of hating me, he’d protected me, over and over.

Instead of sneering at me, he’d told me I was beautiful—not only through his words but also in the way he drew a picture of me.

Instead of hating me, he told me—or ordered me—to marry him instead of Matt and told me he wanted a family with me.

And now he’d risked his life to protect me.

Why? Was it just about his overdeveloped sense of responsibility? Or was there something more?

Something like love?

I inhaled sharply. I’d never let myself think about it, but my feelings for Vince Salvini were much closer to love than hate. Despite his bossy behavior, despite his dominant nature, and infuriating, bossy attitude.

The moment in the elevator, the way he’d held me on the rooftop, the fierce protectiveness in the way he shielded me with his body. It had stirred something in me, feelings I’d never expected to develop.

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