Page 84 of Thorns of Love
Isla waved her hand. “I’m used to it by now.” I blinked my eyes. What the fuck was going on here? “Tatiana, you go and get my brother. Okay?”
My gaze flickered to Marchetti, but he was impossible to read. His expression was made out of granite. He didn’t seem to be joking around though.
“You put even one scratch on her and what Adrian wanted to do to you will pale to what I’ll do to you,” I hissed my warning.
“Really?” he asked, amused. “Considering you married Illias, you’re part of our organization too. And that means, you’re required to protect Omertà interests. When he married you, he signaled to everyone you’re off limits and under our protection.”
Huh? That sounded like a bunch of rubbish to me. It was so fucking clear I was way out of my element here, but I’d be damned if I’d show him that.
“Now see, he failed to mention that,” I said, keeping my voice bored. “And I’m not much for one for all and all for one, you know. That shit has never been my thing so I’m not gonna start now. Besides, if this means being under your organization’s protection, please take it the fuck away.”
He let out a sardonic breath. I was getting on his nerves.
“Go to your husband, Tatiana,” he drawled. “I’ll deal with Isla.”
Shit, that didn’t sound very good. Enrico Marchetti had lost his status as a hot daddy. He’d been demoted to… just daddy. Fuck, I didn’t know.
My gaze found Isla’s. Strangely, she didn’t seem scared.
“I’m still mad at you,” she muttered. “But I’ll be okay. You go and find Illias.” It sounded foolish leaving her here. Except, I didn’t know what other options I had.
“Tatiana! Go. Now.”
I had no idea Isla could be so bossy.
THIRTY
TATIANA
Istood in front of Marchetti’s house, hesitant to leave.
My heart pounded at all the reckless images that played in my mind. Sasha would bust through this fucker’s door and begin shooting. It sounded like a good plan. Except, I left all the bullets in the hotel room, worried I’d accidentally shoot Isla.
This fucking blows.
And I didn’t even have a phone. It was in Isla’s jean pocket. Damn it! Maybe I’d finish Marchetti myself. Hot motherfucker.
A hand grabbed my arm from behind and I instinctively tried to jerk it. A sharp object dug into my ribs.
“Don’t scream or I’ll slice you open.” A thick Russian accent. Definitely not Illias. Fuck, I just held a gun to Isla’s back and now what… Was it my turn?
I swallowed. “My husband is Pakhan and he won’t take kindly on you threatening me.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
Today was a bad day. Paris. The city of catastrophes.
I definitely regretted leaving the magazine of my gun blank. Stupid, stupid decision. If I had loaded it, I could have killed Marchetti and this damn fool behind me.
As it was, I was helpless.
A black car, an older style Crown Victoria, pulled up in front of me and Nikita jumped out of the car. My eyes widened. My brain had to be slow because I exclaimed in relief. “Nikita, this guy–”
I never got to finish my sentence because the guy behind me shoved me forward.
“Get in,” Nikita hissed, his gaze dark. Then he pulled out his gun. Jesus Christ.
“What are you doing? Illias will have your head.”
