Page 64 of Bloody Vows
If I’m willing to shed the blood that’s required to pull it off… or be an accomplice to it, at least.
“I can’t go back,” I say softly, the sharpness dissipating from my voice. “Tristan will punish me for running. He’ll be on alert. I won’t be able to do anything. I can’t…”
“You don’t need to.” Sal’s voice turns soothing, something I’ve never heard from him before. “Come with me, Simone. I’ll protect you while plans are put in motion to bring Tristan down. When he’s dead…”
“It’ll start a war,” I blurt out. “Because I ran. Enzo’s plan before was to make Tristan’s death look like an accident. But now that I’m gone, if you go up against Tristan, that means going up against Konstantin…”
“We still might be able to arrange an accident,” Sal says calmly. “We’ll talk about details later, when you’re safe, andindoors, out of this alley, and we have time. For now, just come with me, Simone?—”
Sal breaks off, turning back toward the mouth of the alley. I hear it too, then—the distant sound of car engines, multiple vehicles moving fast. Sal tenses, and his hand moves toward his jacket as he curses under his breath in Italian, moving away from my car.
The sound gets closer, and suddenly the mouth of the alley is flooded with headlights. Three black SUVs screech to a halt, and armed men pour out of them, twelve or fifteen at least.
Leading them, his face a mask of cold fury, is my husband.
Tristan moves with deadly purpose, his men flanking him as he advances into the alley. He's changed clothes—gone is the travel-worn businessman from earlier, replaced by a man in fatigues strapped with weapons, one in his hand. Despite everything—despite my fear and hatred and humiliation—something in my chest leaps at the sight of him, heat blooming through my veins.
He looks like a man ready to go to war for me.
His eyes find mine through the car’s window, and even from this distance, I can see the rage burning in them. But there's something else there too, something that looks like relief.
"Step away from the car, Sal," Tristan calls out, his voice carrying easily across the space between them. "You should have stayed hidden.”
Sal chuckles. “How do you know who I am?”
Tristan’s face remains impassive. “Konstantin briefed me on everything having to do with the Russo conflict. Including the coward who tried to rape his enforcer’s wife and then ran and hid when Damian came to collect on his vengeance. Now you’re interfering withmywife?” There’s the click of the safety on a gun, loud in the alley. “I should shoot you where you stand.”
Sal straightens, his hand still hovering near his jacket. "O'Malley. I should have known you'd come running. I expected Konstantin, if anyone. But impressive that you showed up."
"She's my wife. Of course I came."
Something in my chest twists at that. I ran from him. I told him I hated him, that I’d conspired to possibly kill him. But he still came for me?
Because he thinks he owns you,the defiant voice in my head whispers.Not because he cares.
Sal chuckles, seemingly unafraid despite how outnumbered he is.
"Your wife, who was running away from you in the middle of the night? Funny way to show marital bliss."
I see Tristan's jaw tighten, but his voice remains steady. "That's between my wife and me. You, on the other hand, are trespassing on my territory, threatening my family. That's between you and me."
"Your territory," Sal laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You've been here, what, a few weeks? And you think you own the place?"
Tristan raises the gun, advancing down the alley two steps before stopping. When he speaks again, I hear it loud and clear, his voice a sharp knife in the darkness.
"I think I own what I was given. And I think I'll kill anyone who tries to take it from me."
17
SIMONE
The two men face each other across the narrow alley, and I can feel the violence crackling in the air between them. This is going to end badly—I can see it in their postures, in the way Tristan’s men are positioning themselves.
I have to do something. My instincts tell me that Sal isn’t alone. Out of the corner of my eye, at the other side of the alley where I was blocked in by the back of the shops, I see movement. My stomach drops as I realize that there are other men moving in from the narrow spaces between the walls, and from the tilt of Sal’s mouth, they’re his.
This is going to be a firefight.
“Sal.” My voice catches. “Just let me go back to Tristan. Maybe… maybe we can work something out later. Just let me go.” It hits me as the words come out of my mouth that I’m asking Sal to let me go, not Tristan. That in this panicked moment, my instinct is that Tristan is the safer of the two men.
