Page 31 of Relentless Refuge

Then I sling my purse over my shoulder cross-body and climb on the back of the toilet. The tank jiggles, threatening to break loose from the bowl and pipes, but it holds as I grip the window and slide one leg out. The screen busts loose too, dropping to the blanket below—but thankfully, making no noise—and in less than one minute, I’m dangling from the edge of the window, with my tiptoes pressing onto the awning.

I shiver as my coat rises, exposing my midriff to the evening chill, then drop to the blanket waiting for me. It’s a seamless move that I feel only happens in movies or books, but it worksand I’m proud of myself for having the forethought to lay out the blanket for cushioning.

Until the blanket begins to slide across the metal surface, taking me with it. I claw at the edge of the awning desperately, scrabbling for purchase all too late. The blanket slides faster, giving me no opportunity to get a hold on anything, and my body is hurtled off the edge of the awning into midair. I can’t even hold in the screech of surprise as my body tumbles into the tall spruce tree behind the barbecue area and slides through the branches which break my fall.

To my credit, the blanket wrapped around my body protects me from being scratched or covered in pine sap, and I walk away no worse for wear. Though I’m shaken a little. If I had landed on the stone oven, I’d have had a horrible bruise at the very least, or perhaps a broken leg or a few fractured ribs. As it stands, I walk now with a slight limp. My ankle took the brunt of the fall and feels like it’s sprained.

Still, I press on. My trek across the back lawn is interrupted by motion sensor lights, so I have to push through the pines that line the property and fight the branches that claw at my face and hair. So much for not being covered in sap.

By the time I make it to the back of the property and the fence that separates me from freedom, I’m winded and pine needles cling to my hair. I fight through the tangles of a few more tree branches and climb my way upward to where I can breach the fence easily, then balance precariously on the thin railing, careful to avoid the pointed finials that add decoration and security.

I have no choice now but to jump down to the soft, moist grass below, even though my ankle is already throbbing. Turning back,however, isn’t an answer. As I look back up at the house through the tree line, I see the bedroom light is on, which means they know I’m gone. I leap without hesitation and roll across the dew to safety.

The street is only thirty yards away now, through the back yard of a neighboring property whose owners haven’t had the forethought to put up a privacy fence, and I’m grateful for that. I’m also grateful their very large dog is on a chain which doesn’t reach the property line, and I dash all the way across the lawn and in between the houses to the street and Nicky’s waiting car.

Except, when I clear the narrow strip between homes, I see the headlights aren’t from a later model Chrysler, but some large SUV. And before I can react, strong hands clamp down on my arms and mouth.

“Fuck, we’re lucky, Dominic. Shove her in the car.”

“Dumb bitch,” I hear them say, and I scream for help, only to have my shout stolen by a thick leather glove that covers my lips.

What have I done?

23

MARCO

Having left Isabella in the safest place I think possible on this planet, I head out into the night. My men know to keep her there at my home where security is stricter than the White House. No one gets in or out of the house without my knowing, and they can’t even access my property without a red flag being raised. I have motion sensors everywhere, a tall fence for safety and privacy, and neighbors on all sides who know who I am and watch things for me—paid well, of course.

So I leave my immediate worry over her safety to the back of my mind as my driver shuttles me to Victor’s house. It sits in a posh neighborhood beyond a gate that keeps passersby out and residents safe. The driver enters the code and rolls through the gate as it opens. I’ve thought of finding a nice, gated community like this one, but my home is too valuable to me, the memories of my father and mother there too precious to sell and pack up.

The car stops in front of the large, expansive troubadour, a stark contrast to my historic row house with its Brownstone feel. Victor has expensive taste. He always has. I prefer sentiment, though I spare no expense to have the finest things my moneycan buy. His flower garden greets every guest, while my front stoop looks much the same as the homes’ on either side of mine—topiary and succulents.

I mount the stairs as the front door swings open. His butler greets me with a nod and stands aside as I enter. My home has an entryway. Victor’s opens to a large open concept living/dining area with such modern touches I feel like I’m walking into a restaurant instead of a home. The laminate flooring stretches from wall to wall, and the stainless-steel appliances scream money and power. It’s fitting for his personality.

“Right this way, sir. Mr. Romano is expecting you.” The butler, whose name I can’t remember, gestures across the wide expanse, and I follow him.

My shoes track mud, as it’s beginning to sprinkle lightly outside, making everything soft and damp, but I follow. He leads me to a short hallway where a door stands open, and I hear Victor speaking with Detective Schuler about our situation. He was right to invite the man here rather than my home. I don't want Isabella to catch wind of this threat against her and grow fearful. Nor do I want her Family to hear a peep of it. They’ll blame me and turn on my Family in a heartbeat, and it will destroy the fabric of our organization’s alliance. My men will never be willing to trust them or go to battle with them if that happens.

“Good, I’m glad you’ve made it,” Victor says, nodding at me. He raises his glass and turns to his butler. “Samuel, see to it that my brother has a drink and then leave so we can get down to business.”

I enter his home office, which dwarfs mine in size but not in stature. His walls are covered in taxidermy and images of his hunting exploits. Mine hold the past in every sense of theword—books, family pictures, and within the walls, our hidden inheritance.

“What’s the threat, Schuler? You’ve been vague enough this evening. Spill the details.” I unbutton my jacket and cross the room to where they sit around a small wooden table. A game of cards is spread out between them, and I see the stack of chips on Victor’s side. He’s winning by a lot, though I’m not sorry I interrupted.

Schuler clears his throat and sits straighter. He’s Victor’s buddy, not mine. To him I’m the Boss, the one with the power, the one to fear. And it shows in his posture as his Adam’s apple bobs and he loosens his tie.

“Well, sir, I have information on a credible threat against your wife.”

I sit down at the table and sweep my hand across the surface, pushing the cards to the floor. The men scramble to pick up their glasses to avoid wearing the drinks, and the butler sets another glass in front of us. The amber-colored liquid smells like the barrel it was aged in, and I get a strong whiff of the hints of cherry. Victor’s butler remembers my preferred drink of cherry bourbon.

“Cut the crap. Just give me the intel.” I pick up the drink and down it in one gulp, and the butler’s eyebrows rise. He backs away, then quickly slips out of the room while I stare at Schuler, ready to choke the man if he doesn’t just say what he knows.

“The intent is not to harm her, let me start there.” He fiddles with his tie again and nervously glances at Victor. “They aren’t stupid. They don’t want the entire D’Angelo clan to turn on them.”

My mind whirls with possibility. My enemy is smart, but not smarter than me. I’m already putting the pieces together before he continues.

“They want to cause fighting between your Family and hers. They want an alliance with her that reveals your secrets to them and makes their position stronger. Marco, they want to turn her against you.” Schuler shifts in his seat and drinks the rest of his liquor. Victor eyes me as I absorb what he’s said.

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