Page 41 of Dark Truths

Enzo pounds his chest proudly. “Viking blood, darling. I’m built from generations of blood and steel.”

I roll my eyes. “Generations of wine and fighting you mean.”

Enzo shrugs. “They go hand in hand.”

Grabbing a blanket, I puff up a decorative pillow and make myself comfortable in between Rose and Enzo. I watch him flip mindlessly through dozens of channels, his ADHD keeping him from staying focused on one for longer than a few minutes. Eventually, the sounds lull me to sleep and I drift off just as he lands on some football game replay.

The elevator’s beeping rings through my dreamless sleep and pulls me awake. Michael must be back. Good. While his couch is insanely comfortable, my bed is more, and I’d like to be in it.

“What the fuck?” Enzo snaps.

My eyes focus on his rigid form and angry expression as he stares in the direction of the elevator.

“Get up.” A voice that doesn’t belong to any member of my family.

“The fuck we will,” Enzo replies.

“Get. Up,” the voice repeats. “Or I will start shooting.”

Enzo meets my eyes before he glances pointedly at my phone, which lies casually by my head. The tall back of the couch blocks me and the device from view, allowing me a precious second to grab it. I have no time to think and instinct guides my fingers. Pressing on Dimitri’s name, I hit dial and slip it in my pocket before standing and turning to our uninvited guests.

“Ah, there you are, Ms. DiAngelo.” Patrick O’Leary and three of his men stand in the foyer with guns drawn and pointed at us. The Irish mob boss gestures with his gun. “Come. Come. We have much to discuss.”

I glance at the other side of the couch, relieved to find Rose and Liam missing, but it also has me concerned about where they are.

Enzo takes my hand and guides me around the couch. The inability to check my phone and see if Dimitri still has me blocked fills me with anxiety; if he does, we’re completely at the mercy of Patrick’s demands.

“Where is my daughter?”

Enzo squeezes my hand, and I stay silent. A mistake.

The piercing sound of a gunshot fills the air, echoing loud in the open space and I instinctively flinch.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Enzo asks in a sarcastic tone.

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy. My worthless daughter.”

“Oh her? She’s not here,” Enzo replies too casually, and his childish behavior is only making the Irish boss more irritated.

“She’s with Michael,” I blurt out, really hoping her father believes me.

Patrick scratches his head with the barrel of his gun. “See, now I know you’re lying. I know for a fact she’s here.” He levels the gun back down at me. “One more chance.”

I really don’t like having a gun pointed at my face. “You’ve made a big mistake. My father—”

“Your father will be dead by the end of the night or under such a tight leash, he’ll wish he were dead. Now answer the fucking question. Where is Rosaleen?”

His gun shifts to Enzo. The Viking straightens his spine, like he’s daring the man to pull the fucking trigger. And he does.

I scream as Enzo collapses, blood seeping from a wound to his abdomen. I drop to my knees beside him, my hands immediately going to his wound to put pressure on it and stem the bleeding somehow.

“Tell me! Or the next one goes through his fucking head.”

I’m sobbing and my vision is quickly growing blurry because I fear I’m watching my oldest friend die in my arms.

“Stop!” Rose shouts, and I peer over my shoulder at her. She stands in the mouth of the hallway. When our eyes meet, she sees the desperation and pain in mine and rushes over. Kneeling in Enzo’s blood beside me, she places two fingers to his neck and sighs in relief, nodding to me. He’s alive. Thank God.

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