Page 70 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

“What does that mean?”

He leans against one of the wooden stalls. “I mean good luck with that. Since you needed me to pretend to date you, so that we could get back and spy on your brother.”

“I—” I open my mouth to protest, but it snaps shut.

Marco’s face tightens. “That’s what I thought.”

“Marco—”

The air around us, so calm and peaceful, suddenly shatters.

Gunshots.

The noise is unmistakable, and when you’ve grown up the way I have, you’ll never mistake anything for a gunshot. The noise is burned into my very cells.

I hit the ground, Marco next to me.

My first thought is for Stassi and Liam. I want to get back to them, to make sure they’re okay.

But when the gunshots continue to rattle around us, I know that’s not an option. Liam and Stassi will have to get out of this on their own.

Because with this many agents firing around us, we need to get out of here with our own lives before we lose them.

The horse, who apparently has been trained enough to make him into a statue, munches his hay, ears pricked forward.

I look at Marco. His face is scrunched in calculation. “Do we…” I start.

The gunshots continue. They don’t sound like they’re getting closer, but they’re joined by machine guns, which I assume come from my brother’s security. Heart in my chest, I look over at Marco, my eyes wild.

He looks at me.

Up at the horse.

Then back at me.

“You can ride?” he says.

I nod.

“Move. Fast.”

We don’t use tack.

There’s a gray mare in the stall next to the chestnut that I swing up onto. She’s unhappy about it for a second, and her ears flick back, but she appears to be just as well trained as the chestnut. Neither one is particularly bothered by the sound of gunshots, which I count as a blessing, and wonder what on earth my brother might have trained them for.

Marco opens the door to the barn, the one that faces away from the house, and on the horses’ backs, we gallop out down the path.

Without reins or a saddle, I’m clutching my mare’s mane, my heart beating a tattoo in my chest as we race away. There’s shouting, which I assume means that whoever it is that’sshooting at the manor has noticed that Marco and I are escaping.

Marco swerves, looking back at me. “Follow me,” he says, his voice a low rumble that barely meets my ears.

“Where are we going?”

Marco gives me a look. “Do you trust me, Roisin?”

It’s a statement that makes my eyes snap to his.

The horses’ hooves thunder down the trail. The wind whips through my hair.

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