Page 8 of Knot Like Other Girls

We burst out into the warm Sicilian night, the stars a stark contrast to the mayhem we've left behind. Roman's already onthe phone, barking orders for our extraction team. I keep my eyes peeled for any followers, one hand on Caruso's arm to keep him moving.

"What the hell was that?" Caruso sputters, his face red with a mixture of fear and rage. "Who were those men?"

"Questions later," Roman snaps. "Right now, we need to get you to safety."

A sleek black SUV screeches to a halt in front of us, and we waste no time bundling Caruso inside. Roman takes the wheel, and I hop in the passenger seat, my heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush.

"The others?" I ask as we peel away from the curb.

Roman's jaw clenches. "They'll make their own way out. They know the protocol."

I nod, trying to ignore the knot of worry in my gut. Our pack has been through worse, but that doesn't make it any easier to leave them behind.

As we speed through the winding streets of Palermo, I can't help but think about how we ended up here. Five broken soldiers, trying to find our place in a world that doesn't quite fit us anymore. We're too damaged for civilian life, too independent for traditional military structure. So we do this instead—sell our skills to the highest bidder, pretending we're not still fighting a war inside our own heads.

I glance in the rearview mirror at Caruso, who's muttering furiously into his phone. Whatever shitstorm we just stepped in, I have a feeling it's only the beginning.

"You okay there, boss?" I ask Roman in a teasing tone, noticing the white-knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel.

He doesn't take his eyes off the road. "I'm fine. Focus on the mission, Troy."

I sigh. Same old Roman, always the soldier. "You know, it's okay to admit when things aren't fine. We're not in the field anymore."

He shoots me a sharp look. "Aren't we? Last I checked, we just had to fight our way out of a black-tie event. Doesn't get much more 'in the field' than that."

I can't argue with that logic, but I press on anyway. "You know what I mean. We're not at war anymore. We don't have to be on high alert every second of every day."

Roman's quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if I've pushed too far. Then, so softly I almost miss it, he says, "I don't know how to be any other way."

The admission hits me like a punch to the gut. Because I get it. We all do. The war might be over, but we're still fighting—against our memories, our instincts, the broken pieces of ourselves we're trying to put back together.

"Yeah," I say, my voice rough. "I know the feeling."

We lapse into silence after that, the only sound the purr of the engine and Caruso's continued muttering in the backseat. I find myself wondering about the others, hoping they made it out okay.

I'm sure they did.

We've been through a hell of a lot worse.

The safe house comes into view, a nondescript villa on the outskirts of the city. As Roman pulls up to the gate, I can't help but feel a sense of relief. We made it. At least, some of us did.

"Home sweet home," I mutter as we escort Caruso inside. The don is still fuming, demanding answers we don't have. Roman deals with him while I do a quick sweep of the premises, more out of habit than any real concern. This place is a fortress, vetted and secured long before we ever set foot in Sicily.

I'm just finishing up when I hear the sound of an approaching vehicle. My hand goes to my weapon instinctively,but I relax when I recognize the familiar rumble of our backup car.

Moments later, Liam bursts through the door, his tux in tatters and a wild grin on his face. "Now that," he announces, "was a proper party!"

Savva follows, looking annoyingly immaculate despite the chaos we just left behind. Only the slight disarray of his flowing auburn locks and the dangerous glint in his eyes betray that he's been in a fight. "Speak for yourself," he drawls. "I was just getting to the good part of my story when those buffoons interrupted."

Cole slips in last, silent as a shadow. There's a fresh cut on the cheek that isn't a mess of mottled burn scars, adding to his collection of scars, but otherwise he seems unharmed. He gives me a curt nod of acknowledgment before finding the darkest corner of the room to lurk in.

The relief that floods through me is almost embarrassing in its intensity. They're okay. We're all okay.

Roman emerges from the back room, his face grim. "Report," he barks, all business as usual.

Liam cracks his knuckles. "Three hostiles neutralized. No casualties, but the ballroom's seen better days."

"Any intel on who they were or what they wanted?" Roman asks.

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