Page 107 of Stolen By The Bratva King

Don Reggiani is too composed and confident. A vicious panic seizes me, and I lie on my side, trying to breathe steadily as my thoughts lead me to a place I don’t want to go.

My husband would hand over his life for mine in a heartbeat. If he knows where I am?—

A sound outside turns everyone’s head. There’s no mistaking it; a vehicle. A car with a big engine, drawing to a halt right outside.

Reggiani takes a last drink and throws the bottle, smashing it in two. He stands, gun in hand, and Dante follows his lead.

“Right on time.” Reggiani shoves his son toward the door. “What you waiting for? Go greet our guest.”

Dante opens the door and closes it again. “No. I’m not going out there.”

“I need to know if he armed,” Reggiani snaps. “I told him to come without weapons, but he’s a pakhan for a reason. He knows I’ll blow his wife away if he messes me around, so get out there before I kill you myself.”

With a hangdog sigh, Dante heads out, and his father shuts the door behind him. I hear sounds outside, but although I can’t pick out the words, I know Leon is here.

Reggiani picks up the chain and hauls me to my feet, making me cry out in shock. Desi jolts awake and scuttles backward until he hits the wall, fear setting off his rattling cough again.

“Loverboy Leon accepted my invitation,” Reggiani says, his breath foul as he puts his face close to mine. “I finally get to end him, like I should have all those years ago when he was hiding like a little coward.”

Hearing him insult my husband loosens my tongue. Howdarehe call Leon a coward after all he put him through?

“You don’t know the meaning of bravery,” I hiss. “You’re nothing but a deluded old man, clinging to the ashes of the life you burned down. You wanted your dues?” I spit in his eye. “I hope you get precisely what you deserve.”

Reggiani wipes his face on his sleeve. He yanks me aloft, my feet dangling, and Desi screams.

“You fucking cheeky bitch?—”

The lodge door flies open, splintering as it smashes into the wall. Leon has Dante in a headlock, a pistol jammed against his temple, and he walks him inside, kicking at his heels.

My husband gives me a split-second glance and clenches his jaw in anger before kneeing Dante firmly in the balls.

“Aargh!” Dante drops to his knees, but Leon drags him up again. “Papa, he’s got a gun!”

“I can see that, you fool.”

Reggiani drops me, and I land heavily, pain exploding in my hip. He takes aim but can’t get a clean shot, not with Dante writhing in Leon’s grasp.

Leon seems leaner and somehow older, too, like it’s been a decade rather than a week since I saw him last. His clothes are wrinkled, his hair unruly, and his carefully maintained stubble is overgrown.

He never looked better to me.

My heart swells even as terror chokes my words in my throat.

I want to say something. To tell him I love him. But if I draw his eyes, my pitiful sight may cut through his focus and make him lose his advantage.

Reggiani gives a barking laugh. “Well, this is a fucking shitshow. You’re early to your own death, Leon. And you can’t follow simple instructions.”

Leon’s tone is calm, but I know him. A white-hot wave of pure rage rumbles below the surface, gathering pace.

“Drop the weapon and back away from my wife, Bernio,” he says, “or I’ll make my dreams come true and splatter this worthless bastard’s brain all over the wall. Judging by his street smarts, I don’t expect it’ll make much mess.”

Reggiani’s eyes flicker, indecision marring his face, but only for a moment. Then he turns to one side and braces his stance.

Dante realizes before anyone else. “No Papa, Jesus, don’t?—

The pleas don’t even register. With eyes as dead as a shark’s, Reggiani shoots his son square in the chest.

56

---