Page 12 of Savage Hero

kick!

get in—

kick!

my motherfucking head!

The door bursts open. Princess starts wailing at the top of her lungs. I stand there panting as I flick sweat off my brow with a crooked finger.

That’s better.

* * *

It takesme a few seconds to calm Princess. Eventually, I resort to shoving a pacifier in her mouth.

I need to get the hell out of here.

I throw the diaper bag over my shoulder and cradle Princess close to my chest as I slip into the hallway. Shockingly, no one’s come to investigate the noise. I scoot a few splinters back inside the room with my shoe and pull the door closed, hoping no one will notice the damage until I’m well on my way.

I creep over white gold-veined marble floors, my back pressed against the chestnut siding on the walls. Caesar made sure to take me somewhere remote. A few seconds later it becomes apparent why no one came to investigate the noise.

This massive villa is deserted.

I walk through an intimate dining room with a large, round table in dark wood and matching chairs with golden cushions. It has French-paned bay windows, but when I go over to one of them and test it, they’re locked. I could break one of the panes, but could I knock out the ladderwork of wood too? And without anyone hearing or spotting me? This place might be deserted, but not for long.

I move into the next room. It’s a big open-plan kitchen that leads straight into an even larger entertainment area. All the furniture is chestnut or beige, with gold threads embroidered on the fabric. It looks staged—like something you’d see on a real estate website, not a house you’d actually live in. Then again, I doubt any little bambinos are running around, ready to spill grape soda over everything.

Cuddling Princess, I scan the place as I consider my next move.

A maid appears out of a side passage I hadn’t even noticed and heads straight for me.

Chapter Six

Savage

“Where is Doc?” I ask, glancing past Sergio Domingo, my uncle. Father is in his bed, eyes closed, chest barely rising. The master suite of the Domingo Villa is on the west wing, and the large windows look out onto the estate’s back garden all the way to the distant jetty.Drawn curtains obscure the view. It’s gloomy inside. The air is thick with the smell of disinfectant, sweat, and dried blood.

A maid hurries inside, her head ducked low as she collects the blood-stained sheets and used medical supplies Doc left behind.

“I said, where is he?” I scan the room for the doctor, and head for the en-suite bathroom.

“He already left,” Sergio Domingo says, patient as always.

“I wanted to speak to him.”

“What do you need to know? My brother lost a lot of blood. We did a transfusion, but Doctor Felipe says he needs rest and quiet.”

“Then let him rest while we fight.” I turn to face Sergio. “This was an act of war. We must retaliate.” My voice is steady, but I can’t help the vehemence in my words. “Bogota killedsevenof our men.” I wave a hand toward Father. “Nearly eight.”

“They’ve tried before. They’ll try again. It’s the risk Bryan takes whenever he sets foot outside of this house.”

I grit my teeth at Sergio’s condescending tone. As if I don’t know how much Bogota is willing to pay for my father’s head.

Nyx.

How much did they pay her to come to La Buena Papa and kill my father? Or was she meant to be a distraction? If so, why did she warn us about the drive-by? Was it that she didn’t realize the restaurant would be full of civilians?

“Savage…”

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