Page 63 of Deception & Desire

“So, it’s true,” he sneers, his words dripping with venom. “The little mercenary and the Italian don. How quaint.”

“Shut up and fight,” I snap.

Amos lunges first, his knife flashing in the strobe lights. I block his strike, twisting his wrist to disarm him, but he counters with another brutal punch to my ribs that sends me staggering.

Leon is on him instantly, as if we’d been training together for years, driving Amos back with a series of precise strikes. Blood spatters on the floor as Leon lands a blow to Amos’s jaw, but the Cartel kingpin doesn’t go down easily.

I recover quickly, circling around to flank Amos, watching as Leon grabs Amos’ injured arm, twisting it behind his back. I step in to try to snatch the knife from his hand once more.

Amos roars in pain as my fingers wrap around the handle, trying to use the distraction to pry the damn thing away.

It doesn’t occur to me that he might be faking.

It doesn’t occur to me until the second his grip miraculously tightens, and the knife is suddenly on a trajectory to my chest.

“NO!”

I’m shoved to the floor brutally, gasping at the bruising pain in my side. I spin frantically to where…

…to where Leon has taken a knife to his gut.

“LEON!”

He staggers back, grimacing in pain as Amos towers over him.

“Now you want to play the hero, Natali?” Rubio sneers at him.

I see red. I see flashes of sickly green. I see something glint on the floor, trampled under too many feet but close enough to reach.

Leon tries a weak swing, but Rubio deflects it easily.

“This is what happens to Teo Vitale’s lap dogs.”

My fingers reach and reach, then close. A familiar weight settles back into my hand.

I launch myself at Amos Rubio. We both go tumbling to the floor as I slam his arm and hand under my knee, sending his knife skittering across the floor. My other knee punches into his gut as he tries to grapple us into a more dominant position.

But I have him pinned. He has no weapon.

And he can’t move an inch without my knife skewering his neck.

I raise my knife, ready to finish the job, but a voice freezes me in place.

“Stop!”

I whip around to see Carmen standing a few feet away, her wide eyes locked on the scene before her. Her face is pale, her red dress torn and smeared with blood.

“Carmen,” I whisper.

Her gaze shifts from me to Leon, then to her father, pinned and bleeding on the floor. The realization dawns slowly, horror creeping across her features.

“Mia…” Her voice is a broken whisper.

My chest tightens, the knife trembling in my hand. Amos uses the distraction to throw me off with his remaining strength, and I let him, suddenly trapped by the woman’s distressed gaze.

“Carmen, it’s not what you think,” I say, crawling toward her, but she backs away, shaking her head.

“It’s exactly what I think,” her voice rising. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time. You’re withhim.You’re with the Italians!”

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