Page 117 of Brutal Legacy

I’d known they were coming. They hadn’t scattered back to Naples as fast as I’d have liked. The justice system in Italy was taking as long as it could to put Prosecutor Bellisario out of commission. The man had to have gotten our message and known that his daughter was now part of the family. He should be ratting on the boss of these motherfuckers right now, but it all took time.

Time for them to keep thinking that they could threaten him with his daughter.

I was sick of it. It was time to end these fucks on American soil.

My team was pursuing the others. They wouldn’t let any of them live.

This fucker, though, he was mine.

I put my hands up slowly, my eyes meeting Georgia’s.

“I’m going to give you the best advice anyone has ever given you…” I called to him.

Georgia was terrified; I could see it in every line of her face. And yet, there was steel beneath that fear. There always had been.

My eyes flickered to the high heel in her hand, reminding her that she was still clutching it.

Her eyebrows jumped. She remembered. Of course she did. My clever girl. My wife.

“Right, like I need advice from you, Santori. You should just do us all a favor and fucking die!” the man shouted, his face red and voice strangled.

I chuckled. “Don’t tell me the stress of coming here and trying to take out some of Renato De Sanctis’ men is giving you trouble?”

“Not just any man.” The underling grunted.

He pointed the gun at me, and I took an easier breath now that the dark muzzle wasn’t pointed at Georgia anymore.

“You,” he said. “Why can’t you just die, man?”

I shrugged. “Would you believe me if I told you I was working on it?”

My gaze hit Georgia’s eyes again, and the look I saw in them twisted something that used to be my heart.

“Now, that advice that I was offering you, for free, no less, is this.” I shot Georgia a meaningful glance and got ready to move. “You’re really not going to want to touch my wife. Ever.”

The man sneered. “Right, and what are you going to do about it?” he began, but didn’t get to finish, because Georgia exploded into motion.

She brought her hand holding the shoe flying up toward the attacker’s face, the heel sinking into his cheek.

He roared and let her go, and the gun, aimed in my direction, went off.

I barely felt the bullet hit my arm. I was sprinting toward the two of them as they fought. He pulled back to hit Georgia, and she bent under his arm, so his blow went wide. They hit the railing ofthe yacht, and the guy tried to point his gun at her again, but she went after that arm, grappling for the gun.

I was almost there.

I was so damn close.

And then their weight shifted somehow. One second, they were grappling with the gun, pressed against the railing, and the next moment, they were going over.

“No!” I shouted, closing the distance between us.

Georgia’s light dress was the only thing I could make out in the dark water. I dived off the railing and into the cold water without hesitation. My arm throbbed distantly, and I swam toward the two of them, but I couldn’t see a fucking thing underwater. My heart was pounding, and something that tasted like fear sat on my tongue. I hadn’t been afraid in a very long time. Not true fear.

Now, I was fucking terrified.

I surfaced, my lungs burning and screaming for air. Gulping down a breath, I spied a body dragging something onto a nearby platform.

I sliced through the water toward them and grabbed the railing, hauling myself up.

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