Page 155 of Phantom Mine

Danger is upon us, I can feel it.

I’m not the only one.

Matteo straightens slowly.

Goosebumps dance along the back of my neck like the pinpricks of a thousand small knives.

And then he appears.

Tall and imposing, the man materializes at the end of the alley. He’s too far away for me to make out anymore of him than that and yet fear crawls up my spine.

Matteo and Enzo’s guns immediately raise.

The man doesn’t acknowledge either of the weapons trained on him. He doesn’t walk away and he certainly doesn’t run.

No, he strides towards us.

There’s four of us and one of him. I shouldn’t be worried, my pulse should be even. Instead, I feel it thrash at the base of my throat.

He cuts a terrifying figure. His spine is straight as steel, his steps assured and confident. I swallow a gasp when a sliver of light illuminates his face and reveals his eyes.

The right one is entirely black. Cold, almost inhuman and without a flicker of feeling.

But it’s the left one that makes me bite back a scream. A large, jagged scar cuts from the top of his eyebrow, through his eye, and down to the middle of his cheek. The iris is bisected and entirely clouded, like trapped grey smoke swirling around a glass orb.

He’s brutally handsome and downright frightening in equal measure.

“Take another step and I’ll blow your brains out,” Enzo informs him.

The man’s mouth curls into a thin, twisted smile.

Behind him, shadows emerge like the walking dead. They peel away from the dark of night and step into the moonlight as individual men, each with a gun gripped in their hand and pointed at us.

There’s a dozen of them, at least.

I feel an instinctual urge to run, but my feet don’t move. It’s as if they’re glued to the floor.

Matteo shifts his body protectively in front of me, meeting all twelve guns squarely. My heart lurches violently into my throat at the sight. Nausea twists my stomach as a visceral need to protect him pounds through my veins.

I lift a foot, but Matteo proves once more that he knows me in a way no one else does.

“Don’t take another fucking step, Valentina,” he hisses at me under his breath without turning around.

I love you, I want to scream.

His arm is straight, his hand doesn’t waver. He looks unaffected by the firing squad he faces. Only I can see how tense his back is.

I can’t just stand here and do nothing.

“Are you trying to start a war?” Matteo asks.

The man does the strangest thing—he smiles.

Or at least, he attempts to.

Where Matteo’s is charming and charismatic, his is stiff and robot-like. Purely a lift of the muscles with no emotion whatsoever behind it.

I shift uncomfortably on my feet, careful not to move.

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