Page 50 of Forbidden Vengeance

MARIO

Marco guides the boat through the choppy water while I watch the chaos unfold on the bridge. Through the mist of water and gun smoke, I spot Matteo. He stands at the railing like the devil himself—his black coat whipping in the wind, hair wild, hands gripping the metal barrier.

Even from this distance,I can see the cold fury in his eyes, the way his mouth is set in that particular line that always meant someone was about to die.

He looks exactlylike Giuseppe in that moment, and my stomach bottoms out.

“Get us out of here,”I tell Marco, already pulling out my waterproof phone to arrange another car. The Clinton house is still our best bet—it’s the one safe house Matteo and O’Connor don’t know about. “We need transport at point Charlie.”

Elena shivers beside me,her wet clothes clinging to curves that would be distracting if I wasn’t so focused on getting us to safety. I move closer, offering body heat while I coordinate with my team.

“You doing okay?”I ask, noting how her lips have started to turn blue.

The lookshe gives me could chill the sun. Water drips from her ruined hair, mascara runs down her cheeks, and she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Also possibly themost pissed off.

“Let me think,” she says through chattering teeth. “In the past hour, I’ve been shot at, chased through Manhattan, and driven into the Hudson River. My phone is probably crushed on some street, my Louboutins are somewhere at the bottom of said river, and this outfit?” She plucks at the soaked Versace. “Wascouture.”

I shrug off my jacket—also ruined, but at least it’s dry on the inside—and wrap it around her shoulders over the blanket to provide her some additional warmth. “I’ll buy you new shoes.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.” But she burrows into the blanket and jacket anyway, her shoulder pressing against mine. “Your brother is going to hunt us down.”

“If he can find us.” I keep my eyes on the bridge where Matteo still stands, his figure growing smaller as Marco guides us downstream. My brother’s stance is pure Giuseppe—the way he holds himself, like violence barely contained in an expensive suit. “We’ve got bigger problems.”

“Bigger than Matteo DeLuca?” Elena asks dubiously.

“Anthony won’t stop until he has you back.” I try to keep my voice neutral, but something must show because she turns to study my face. “And O’Connor…well, let’s just say Boston’s about to get very interesting.”

Marco calls back from the helm. “Car’s waiting two clicks south. But Mario? We’ve got company on the water.”

Sure enough, the distinctive rumble of police boats echoes across the river. Because this day just keeps getting better.

“Any chance those are regular harbor patrol?” Elena asks without much hope.

“Not with my brother making calls.” I check my weapon—waterlogged but still functional. “Marco?”

He grins, hitting something on the console that makes the boat’s engine roar to life with new purpose. “Hold onto something.”

Marco opens up the throttle and the boat leaps forward like a living thing. The police boats fall behind as he expertly weaves between cargo ships and river traffic, using the larger vessels as cover.

“Just like Monaco,” he shouts over the engine’s roar, taking us through a turn that sends spray everywhere.

“Except with fewer supermodels,” I call back, steadying Elena as she sways. Her face has taken on a greenish tint that has nothing to do with fear.

“Very James Bond, wouldn’t you say?” I can’t help teasing her. “You make quite the Bond girl.”

She shoots me a look that could curdle milk. “If you’re Bond, we’re all definitely going to die. And I’m nothing like those idiots who fall for his bullshit.”

“Says the woman who just drove into the Hudson with me,” I shoot back.

“If you two are done flirting,” Marco cuts in, “we’ve got company.”

Another police boat appears ahead. Marco just smirks and cuts the engine, letting us drift into the shadow of a container ship. The patrol boat roars past, missing us completely.

“Your sister is going to be pissed she missed this,” I tell Marco as he restarts the engine.

“Already got six angry texts.” He takes us through another series of moves that has Elena looking decidedly ill. “Says this beats anything she did at the hospital.”

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