Page 70 of Dangerous Intent

“Lissia!”

I glanced in the direction of Dom’s frantic shouting.

“Lissia! Where are you?”

“I’m here.” I rubbed my hands together, wiping away the dirt and gravel that had collected on them.

“Thank God.” He knelt down. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “What happened?”

“Let me get you inside.” He hooked his arm around my waist. “Can you stand?”

“You’re bleeding.” I touched his face as he pulled me into a standing position.

“Does anything hurt?” He guided me toward the house. “Do you think you broke anything?”

“I’m fine, but I’m worried about you.”

“The blast threw me back.” He shut the door once we were inside. “I wasn’t close enough to the car for any serious damage.”

“That’s good.” I glanced at the side of his face. “Let me get something to clean that up.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m going to call Marchello.”

“He’s probably freaking out,” I said. “He needs to hear my voice.”

“Let me check on the guys outside.” He took his phone from his pocket. “I need to make sure the grounds are secure too, but I’ll get Marchello on the phone for you.”

“Do what you have to do.”

“I’m only going to be on the porch.” He pointed outside. “If you need me.”

“Can you find my phone?” I asked as I headed into the hall bathroom. “I’m going to get a towel for you.”

“Don’t leave this area of the house. I’ll be right back.”

“Where would I go?”

I went into the bathroom, switched on the light, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Dom wasn’t the only one who had sustained a few cuts. The scratches on my face were minor cuts at best, but things could have been more dire than some scrapes. I could have died.

I braced myself against the counter as I stared into the mirror. This was what Marchello had feared. Some psycho tried to come at me to get to him in the worst possible way.

My body trembled with anger as the enormity of this situation set in. Whoever did this was out to torment and destroy my husband. They were trying to use me to do it.

I took a washcloth from the basket of fresh linens that my father’s housekeeping staff had left on the sink and ran it under warm water. I hated being a victim. A target. I wanted this to end so Marchello and I could have a normal life.

Don’t kid yourself. You’re an Accetti. You’ll never be normal.

I wrung out the cloth and hurried down the hallway to find Dom. He was still on the porch, finishing up a call. When I joined him, he shoved the phone in his pocket.

“Marchello is en route,” he said.

“How is he?”

“Furious.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t blame him.”

“Did he take it out on you?”

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