Page 6 of Daddy's Little Mafia Princess
I’m startled by the sudden hiss of air behind me. There’s smoke pouring out of the massive heart-shaped bouquet. It isn’t just this set of flowers either. Every arrangement on the tables was emitting a medicinal-smelling smoke.
It stings my nose and the back of my throat when I gasp, jumping back. I clap my hand over my mouth and nose, but it’s too late. My head is already light and swimmy.
“What the fuc—” My father collapses by the table, and I’m not far behind him, dropping first to my knees, then onto my face. My vision blurs, but not before I see our guests and bodyguards crumpling to the floor like marionette dolls with their strings cut. The room fills with smoke, and whatever knockout agent is spewing from all these flowers.
Breathe deep, Princess.
Too drowsy to be scared, my eyes roll back in my head, and I lose consciousness.
* * *
Viktor
I check my watch, my gas mask in my hand, and all the hotel personnel who let me get this far, already well compensated for their efforts. With any luck, they’ll do the smart thing—quit, walk out the door ahead of me, and run for their lives. Alviero will suspect everyone—the guilty and innocent alike—for helping me orchestrate this. He won’t wait for proof. He’s the type to just lash out.
“In ten,” I tell my men, adjusting the headset over my ears and the mic by my mouth. “Ten… nine…”
God, I’ve missed this. Upon my father’s death, my role in the family business changed. Instead of doing the fun stuff—the exciting, get your hands dirty, get in it jobs—I’ve been sitting behind a desk. Once this job is done, it’s back behind the desk I’ll go, but with a wife at my side. Still, there’s no stopping the tiny thrill from racing under my skin, heating the blood in my veins, and giving my heart a little extra kick.
“Three… two… one,” I count down. “Masks on.”
My men are expected to operate like a well-oiled machine. They did what I did when I told them to do it. I don’t bother looking around to make sure as I slip my mask over my head. Adjusting it around my face, I grab the crowbar I’d hooked between the handles of the double doors and open the door.
The room is dead silent, and the knockout gas potently thick. A cloud of it hovers in the air, although the flowers have stopped spraying it. Alviero is on the floor by the table. The urge to pull my gun and just shoot him in the head is so tempting, putting an end to the hassle he’ll cause once he comes to, but I don’t. It’s not part of the plan and certainly unnecessary. What is necessary isgetting out of his casino. He’s made a mistake, and before I’m done, he’ll realize it. I’m going to break him for what he’s done.
Searching through the guests on the floor, I finally find Clara lying face down next to the heart bouquet I sent her. Her long hair fans across her face and shoulders, a halo of stark black against the whiteness of her shirt. The white knee-length sundress could double as a wedding dress.
The intel said she wasn’t marrying until tomorrow morning. Was I too late?
Did it even matter? She’s what I came for and all I intend to take from this party tonight.
Grabbing her arm, I hoist her off the floor. Mikhail helps me heave her safely and securely over my shoulder. She doesn’t weigh a lot, but she’s dead weight draped over my back. One wrong move on my part could send her sliding off to the floor. Pulling her left arm over my other shoulder, I hold on tightly to keep her from falling.
All the doors are left barred, and our faces remain covered until we hit the gambling floor. Using the service halls, we make our way quickly to the rear exits. I have three taxis waiting to take us away from the cameras before my twenty-minute window closes and the scrambling device in my pocket stops obstructing their ability to record our escape.
Mikhail and I ease Clara into the back of one cab, and as soon as I’m in beside her, he closes the door before running to another cab. She’s a limp doll, her head lolling against the back of the seat while her limbs sprawl where they fell. Her hand is tucked between our thighs, one finger twitching.
She’ll be coming to soon. The knockout agent doesn’t have a long lifespan once the gas dissipated. In here, where the air was fresh, she’d be waking before I get her home. That’s a problem, but one I’m ready for.
From inside my jacket, I pull out the backup plan I prepared. Swiveling sideways to face her, I push her short dress sleeve up to bare her shoulder and uncap the syringe with my teeth.
Her head lolls, and she opens her midnight black eyes long enough to look at me.
“Good evening,” I greet her.
She looks adorable, struggling to bring me into focus.
“Nuh,” she mumbles.
I don’t take offense. As much gas as she’s breathed in, she has to be seeing at least three of me. I doubt her befuddled brain is capable of making sense of anything, not even the needle as I swab her shoulder.
She cries when I stick her, depress the plunger, and pull the needle out. I doubt she felt so much as a pinch, and the sedative I’ve given her is already having an effect. Her eyes roll back in her head again, and her body grows limp as she slides sideways until her head hits my shoulder.
Her breathing relaxes, soft and shallow, but not too shallow. Her pupils are dilated. She’s out, with tears still clinging to her lashes.
Wrapping my arm around my prize, I hold her as she sleeps. She’s a comfortable armful, leaning against me, her hand on my thigh and her cheek pressed to my chest.
I’ve won again. Now all that’s left to do is get her home. The rest of my plan will set itself in motion as soon as Alviero wakes up.
