Page 69 of The Don's Eternal Vows

My eyes snap open, meeting his intense gaze. The remnants of my nightmare cling to me like a second skin, but Gianni's urgency quickly pushes them aside.

"What's happening?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I struggle to shake off the disorientation.

Gianni's jaw clenches, his eyes darting towards the window. "We're under attack. There is no time to explain. We need to move. Now."

My heart hammers against my ribs as I scramble out of bed, adrenaline surging through my veins. "Who is it? How many?"

"Doesn't matter," Gianni growls, his hand finding the small of my back as he guides me towards the door. "All that matters is getting you to safety."

I bristle at his protective tone, even as a part of me revels in his touch. "I can help, Gianni. I'm not some damsel—"

"Not now, Genoveva," he cuts me off, his voice sharp but tinged with fear. "Please...trust me."

The plea in his eyes, so at odds with his usual iron resolve, makes my protest die in my throat. I nod, allowing him to lead me out of the room.

The hallway is a blur of shadows and muffled shouts. My bare feet slip on the cold marble as Gianni pulls me along, his gripon my wrist unyielding—the remnants of my dream swirl in my mind, reality and nightmare blending into real-life terror.

"Gianni," I gasp, struggling to keep up with his long strides. "What's really going on?"

He doesn't slow, but his gravelly voice carries over his shoulder. "Greco's men. They've breached the outer defenses."

My blood runs cold. Greco. "How many?" I manage to ask, my throat tight with fear.

"Too many," Gianni growls. A distant explosion shakes the walls, and I stumble. He catches me effortlessly, his dark eyes boring into mine. "Listen carefully, Genoveva. You need to stay hidden, no matter what you hear."

I open my mouth to argue, but he silences me with a look that's equal parts determination and anguish. "Please," he whispers, his voice softening for just a moment. "I can't lose you again."

The raw emotion in his voice steals my breath. I nod, unable to argue against his greatest fear.

Then, with a swiftness that takes my breath away, he pulls me close, his lips crashing against mine. The kiss is fierce and desperate, tasting of fear and gunpowder.

When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine. "Five minutes," he whispers. "Don’t think too far ahead. Just focus on the next five minutes."

I know why he says it. For if I can’t be by his side, I might go mad without him.

“Five minutes,” I whisper with a smile and pull away from him. Gianni's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me toward the hidden door of the safe room. The heavy door closes behind me with a resounding thud, sealing me in a cocoon of reinforced steel and bulletproof glass. I'm safe and protected. And yet, my skin crawls with the urge to claw my way out.

I pace the perimeter, running my fingers along the cold, smooth walls. The room is a masterpiece of security – state-of-the-art surveillance screens, a fully stocked weapons cache, enough supplies to last weeks.

The radio plays out everything happening on the central comms. It helps me know we’re safe. This room and its provisions should comfort me, but instead, it feels like I’m betraying my own while they’re out there, fighting.

"Dammit, Gianni," I mutter, my voice echoing in the confined space. "I should be out there with you."

My eyes dart to the clock. Three minutes have passed. An eternity when every second could mean life or death for the man I love and the family we've built.

A muffled explosion rocks the compound, and I instinctively drop to a crouch. My heart races, imagining Gianni in the thick of it. Is he bleeding? Cornered? I shake my head, forcing those thoughts away. No, he's Gianni Montagna. He's faced Hades himself and came out on top.

My heart races as I crawl towards the window, each movement slow and deliberate. The thick carpet muffles my approach, but I can't shake the feeling of exposure. I press my back against the wall, taking a deep breath before daring to peek outside.

The scene that greets me is pure chaos. Muzzle flashes illuminate the night like deadly fireworks. Men dart between cover, their silhouettes stark against the orange glow of a burning vehicle. The acrid smell of smoke seeps through the window's seal, making my eyes water.

I scan the area, my mind working overtime to piece together the situation. "There," I whisper to myself, spotting a cluster of our men pinned down behind an overturned SUV. They need support and fast.

A deafening explosion rocks the building, and I instinctively duck. When I look up, a new inferno rages where our garage once stood. My stomach twists as I realize the implications. "They're cutting off our escape routes," I mutter, fingers curling into fists.

The crackle of gunfire intensifies, punctuated by shouts and screams. I strain to catch a glimpse of Gianni, but he's nowhere to be seen. My chest tightens with worry.

As I study the attackers' movements, a chill runs down my spine. The precision of their assault, the coordinated strikes – it's all too familiar. "Greco," I breathe. "This is his revenge."

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