Page 230 of Hate Mates

There’s a man on the upper level with a rifle. More of Donatio’s men rush out toward me. I’m about to run when a hand clamps around my arm and yanks me to a hard chest that feels like steel.

I look up and find myself staring at a face I never thought I'd see again.

Cristiano Moretti!

Cristiano Moretti,my ex. The man from my nightmares and my dreams.

My heart stutters to a stop, then races so violently that I feel dizzy. Six years of phantom pain condense into a single breath-stealing moment. The world around us—the gunfire, the shouting, the danger—it all fades to white noise as my body remembers what my mind has tried to forget. Thatpull. That impossible gravity between us that never quite died.

His scent—that hint of sandalwood and something uniquely him—floods my senses, catapulting me back to stolen moments in his car, lazy Sunday mornings in his bed and the last kiss before he vanished from my life.

He’s here, tall as a titan with broad shoulders, that unruly dark hair, and rich brown eyes that once looked at me with so much passion it hurt.

Cristiano Moretti was my high school sweetheart. He walked away from me six years ago when I needed him most.

But he’s here now?

How?

Why?

Chapter Two

PIPER

Cristiano grips my upper arm, his eyes wide. "Let's go, Piper.”

His voice, saying my name the way he used to, pours over my skin like warm honey, but the sound of incessant gunfire snaps me back to reality. Suddenly, I remember we're in the middle of a shootout. One where we could both die.

More men have come—Donatio's men and what looks like men who came to back up Cristiano.

I don’t get to answer Cristiano, he yanks me behind him and shields me with his massive body as he moves us toward the door. While shock and raw terror consume me, he shoots back.

What should have been a short walk to the large swinging doors across from us feels like a trek over the wilderness, but we make it. The moment we go through the doors, Cristiano takes my hand and we run.

When we reach another set of doors, he shoots the keypad on the wall, allowing the doors to slide open.

We rush out, right into the parking lot. As the cool night air hits me, skating over my burning skin, gratitude that I'm still alive overwhelms me.

My fingertips tingle where they touch his. It's maddening that even now—with bullets flying behind us and my sister missing—my traitorous body still responds to him like no time has passed. My chest feels simultaneously hollow and too full, like my heart can't decide whether to embrace the comfort of his familiar presence or protect itself from the inevitable pain that follows.

A tremor lances through me and I stumble, but Cristiano stops me from falling.

At that moment we look at each other. Me staring at him in that shock I can’t contain for seeing him again. Andhim…

Well, I’ve known Cristiano Moretti long enough to label the emotion I witness swimming in his bourbon eyes as guilt. Guilt with an undertone of remorse and regret.

It’s as potent as the confusion swirling within me. Yet none of us speak.

I allow him to pull me along, leading me toward a black SUV with tinted windows.

He opens the passenger door and ushers me inside. The moment I'm seated, he closes the door and rushes to the driver's side to get in. Mere seconds later, he fires up the engine and we're off.

Cristiano speeds out of the parking lot like we have hellfire on our ass, and he takes me away from the danger and death and doom.

Once we’re on the road, my breathing calms, and with that clarity comes dread for Lana.

Is she dead?

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