Page 20 of The Vendetti Soldier

“We killed no one, we’re not the Italians,” I attempt to reason. I’m sure Papa has killed his fair share, but I’m playing innocent regardless.

He shoves the gun into my sister, making her tear up. I know her watery gaze is because she’s scared, and at the same time, angry she can’t defend herself. She’s frustrated, and damn it, so am I.

“You know nothin’!” he argues, snatching onto Mischa’s bicep with his free hand. He begins tugging her towards the door on the farthest side of the room. It’s private access to outside, all part of the setup for special events held in the ballroom, and so help me, I want to shoot the person who designed it this way, thinking it would be a bonus rather than a curse.

I take a step toward them, knowing I can’t let him leave with her. If he gets her out that door, I have no idea what waits on the other side. There’s a chance I’ll never see her again, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself; I’d take my own life if something happened to her and her presence was stolen.

“Stop! I’ll kill ‘er!” he swears, tightening his hold on Mischa to the point she yelps and stumbles along with his jerky movements. He cusses, but his accent is too heavy. I barely understand what he says as he grumbles. She’s going to break her fucking ankle if he’s not careful with her. She swears back at him in Russian, making his brows skyrocket. “You speak that again and I’ll shoot you. I don’t need you in one piece.”

“Don’t you hurt her! She cursed because she’s in pain,fuck,” I huff.

Each time he glances away from me, I inch forward a touch more. It’s too slow for my liking, and I’m ready to jump out of my Goddamn skin at this rate. I pray I can get my hands on this manso I can make him hurt for ever touching my precious Mischa, my twin.

He shoves her through the door and slips out behind her, closing it as he goes. The moment he’s out of sight, I lurch forward, sprinting for them. I manage to catch myself from slamming through the door just in case they’re close and he decides to shoot her to reprimand me for not listening. I draw in a deep breath as I push the door open, my heart thundering away in my chest. My gut clenches with anxiety as I take the first step outside, my head whipping from left to right. Off to the side are the Irishman and Mischa, about ten feet from the door.

Directly behind them is Luciano.

Knife pressed into the man’s throat.

Without hesitation, he punctures the side of his neck, right into the artery, and blood spurts out of the hole, coating Luciano’s knuckles. In the same moment, his other hand shoves Mischa away. The Irish guy is surprised, first from Luciano creeping up behind him, but then also because he’s been stabbed and is bleeding out in front of us.

I lunge for my sister, catching her before she falls and wrap my arms securely around her. I twist us so my back is to the man, essentially protecting Mischa in case he manages to get a shot off. “It’s okay,” I murmur, glancing over my shoulder as I hold her to my chest. Luciano drags the blade across the front of the man’s throat as well, and I can’t seem to look away as I watch the blood flow down the front of him. His life force has beenextinguished, but all I can think about is wanting him to be alive again so I can kill him this time.

“Thank you,” I manage to choke out to my fiancé.

He steps over the dead man on the ground, wiping his long blade on the man before coming to us. Tugging a handkerchief free, he wipes the blood from his fingers, noting a bit on the inside of his sleeve, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as I would expect. He grips my bicep, holding me so he can lean in and press a kiss to my forehead. I’m a tall man, but Luciano has me by around two inches. Once his lips press to my flesh, he sighs, “You’re both safe.” It’s a promise.

I nod as he takes my sister from my arms, pulling her into his.

He kisses the top of her head next, quietly murmuring that the Vendettis will never allow anyone to take her, let alone kill her. Her lip wobbles, her body trembling a bit as he apologizes for ruining her wedding dress with all the blood.

“You had no choice. The dress doesn’t matter in this situation,” I say, sounding like Papa. I’m used to protecting her, and to have been at a disadvantage is soul-crushing. Thank God Luciano got to her in time. “How did you know?”

“It was a gut feeling. I decided it was probably nothing and to come get some air. Next thing, I got a text saying someone had slipped onto the property, and I knew I needed to get over here to check on you both.”

“Papa?”

“Out in the hall waiting for you to call for help should you need it. The man is worse than a guard dog.”

That gets Mischa quietly chuckling, and in doing so, Luciano pulls away so there’s some space between them. “You are stunning, bambola, even in a blood-splattered lace dress. While mio fratelli wouldn’t mind you keeping it on, I have a feeling the rest of our guests may be alarmed. I have a present for you; I’d had it made for tonight after the wedding since everything had been pushed up a few days, but I’m thinking there was a deeper reason to motivate me to have it ready in time. It’s not as sweet as this dress, but the gown will work. Shall we take a look?” he asks, leading her to the door.

His fingers on his other hand find mine, threading them through and leading me to the door with them. He turns his attention on me, “Mio bell’uomo, I have an onyx button-up for you in our closet. It was a backup in case you weren’t keen on the hunter. I didn’t want you to be in solid black because it’s what Santino is wearing, but I think in this case we’ll make an exception since you have blood on your shirt as well.”

“With your tan suit? I thought you wanted us in specific colors.”

“I did, but this will still all go together well. And my suit isn’t tan, mio fidanzato. The jacket, slacks, and vest are oat and cream. Thankfully, I had enough sense to remove the jacket and vest before going outside. I have a spare shirt upstairs as well,” he corrects, making me grin. He and Mischa will get alongsplendidly over this shit, I have no doubt. “Ask your papa to get it,” he orders and presses a kiss to the top of my hand before releasing it so I can head for the door.

He takes his cell out, telling someone to bring Mischa’s gift. He then makes another call, barking demands for men to grab the dead body and dispose of it. The next time I glance over, his fingers are flying across his cell as it begins to chime one after the other. “Cazzo. These group texts are a drag when mio fratelli all text at the same time.” He rolls his eyes and turns Mischa around to unzip her dress. As it falls to the floor, he presses soft kisses to the back of her neck, her shoulders, then the middle of her back.

I should be jealous he’s showing her tender attention while she stands there in nothing but see-through lace and sky-high heels, but I’m not. He’s distracting her, and it’s exactly what she needs right now. A knock draws my eyes back to the door and I answer it. Papa hands me the shirts, brow wrinkled with worry.

“We’re okay. I’d tell you if we weren’t.”

“Good. I’ll be right out here when you’re both ready.”

I nod, grateful Papa is always prepared to be our strength if we should need it. Before I can close the door, two of the staff appear, carrying a large garment bag. It’s solid black, secured with a massive shiny red satin bow, and is big enough that it’s taking two people to maneuver it to keep it off the ground. I lay our shirts over the back of the closest chair, then go to the hallway again for the gift.

“Sir,” the first lady greets and extends the massive bag to me.

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