Page 54 of Borrowed Bride

“Quick!” Marco takes my hand and we run into the hall but skid to a stop as Fawn, dressed in her assassin outfit, stands in our way. But I know it’s her, I’d recognize those cold eyes anywhere.

“You,” she snarls when she locks eyes with me. “I warned you, Gianna. I fucking warned you!”

She flies down the hall toward me, but Marco throws me against the wall and intercepts. As they grapple, Marco yells at me to run so that’s what I do.

With the card clutched in my hand, I sprint through the house and stumble outside to find an overturned motorcycle and Dante panting heavily with two dead bodyguards at his feet.

“Dante!” I yell, running toward him. “You have to get help! Marco, he?—”

The house behind me suddenly explodes in a gigantic ball of flame, and the force of the explosion sends me crashing forward into Dante’s open arms with a scream. We both hit the muddy ground as flames engulf the house; pieces of wood and brick begin to rain down around us as I roll over, completely winded.

The house is ablaze, crumbling in on itself and with it, my heart shatters into a thousand pieces in my chest.

“Marco! No!”

21

GIANNA

“Mommy! Mommy!”

With a sweet cheer, my darling six-year-old daughter flies into my room and throws herself up onto my bed, exploding into a burst of giggles.

In the five years we’ve been in hiding, Freya has grown into the most adorable child ever. She has Marco’s ice-blue eyes and my auburn curls, making her the perfect creation from the both of us.

And she is blissfully unaware of the turbulent life she has been born into. She kicks her legs in the air, sending the frills of her skirt flying toward her hips, then she rolls over and stares at me as I push myself up onto my elbows.

“Well, good morning Freya.”

“Morning!”

“You have a lot of energy for eight o’clock.”

“No school!” Freya slides from my bed and then runs out of my room, cackling.

I laugh softly, sliding from the bed with a yawn. Ever since Dante brought me here five years ago, I’ve never stepped foot outside because it’s far too dangerous. Which means my onlyoption for Freya was home-schooling. It’s been a challenge and sometimes I feel like we’re both learning something new, but I enjoy watching her grow and flourish.

It’s the only thing I have any control over.

Dressing quickly, I follow the sound of her giggles and find her in the bathroom attempting to brush her teeth. Together, we make a game of it and then it’s breakfast time.

The secluded penthouse Dante brought me to after my life exploded into smithereens has more luxury than I could ever dream of. With a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, I’m spoiled with a gorgeous view of a city torn apart by war.

A war that makes it impossible for me or my daughter to leave. Not until she’s older.

So, for the past five years, I’ve lived here raising Freya by myself with scarce visits from Dante who often only brings bad news. News of death and rioting, of murder and more.

The world went to shit after Marco died.

At least, the worldthinkshe’s dead.

Sometimes, I’m not so sure.

After a breakfast of fruit and yogurt, I carry Freya to her playroom and set her down in front of a hand-crafted doll house. She immediately sets about entertaining herself, and I sit nearby and bury myself in my laptop, keeping one eye on her at all times.

In the beginning, grief swamped me, and I didn’t do much of anything. The weeks after the explosion, I felt like I was adrift in an ocean surrounded by sharks. Leonardo was on the warpath because he thought our engagement and the wedding were an elaborate plan to kill him. Someone else took over leading the Barrone family and they certainly wouldn’t look at me kindly since, as Dante put it, to others it looked like I led the assassin right to Marco.

I hadn’t even considered that Fawn would still be shadowing me, and my heart breaks every time I think of her standing in that hallway with murder in her eyes.

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