Page 161 of Cruelest Contract
Enough alcohol has soaked his shirt to instantly set it alight. He screeches and smacks at his chest.
This might be my only chance. I need to follow Angelo’s advice. I should have run and hidden when he told me to. Once Gabriel puts the fire out he’ll be more enraged than ever. He’ll kill me with his bare hands. Perhaps later he’ll feel some remorsebut in the moment he will enjoy feeding his rage by ending my life. I know this with grim certainty.
He flails, trying to grab for my arm as I stumble past him and out the door. Flames continue to lick his clothing, burning it off. His face is blistered and nightmarish.
But I’ve made it to the hallway and I blindly veer left toward the foyer, where I run straight into my husband, colliding with his chest. Julian’s strong arms instantly surround me and I’m safe.
There’s no time to savor the reunion. Gabe continues to scream out curses and murderous threats. He’s death itself and he’s chasing me.
I can feel Julian raise his right arm. The shot he fires is so loud. Though my ears are still ringing, I can hear the squishy thud when my brother’s body hits the floor.
Julian pulls back slightly and cups my chin in his palm. His face is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Don’t look at it, baby,” Julian says. “I’m here now.”
One corner of my vision catches Angelo, hobbling through the front door, injured but upright.
And nearby I see that Julian’s brothers, stricken and despairing, have gathered around their fallen father. They drop to their knees in heartache.
But I never look back at Gabriel’s body.
Instead, I shut my eyes and allow my husband to hold me up.
39
CECILIA
There are dead men all over the ranch but at least the fires are out. I’m told the equipment shed and the cowboy dorm are in smoldering ruins and yet this is of little importance right now.
Cassio Tempesta is in critical condition. There’s a medical helicopter in Laramie ready to set out as soon as the snow stops falling. The glacial temperature and three feet of snow accumulation have halted all travel, even emergencies.
The closest ranch belongs to the McNeal family. They saw the fire and arrived in the aftermath to see how they could help. Grace McNeal was an ER nurse for many years and she’s been tending to the wounded until weather conditions improve enough to transport them.
Angelo took a bullet that’s still lodged in his thigh but he’s stable for now. Sonny has been hit in the right arm. Grace says the bleeding has stopped and the shot went straight through.
While the McNeal boys are riding around with young Caleb on ATVs in an attempt to round up the Storm’s Eye horses, the Tempesta brothers are all here, holding vigil beside their father. They’ve moved him to the leather sofa in his study. Getty tookTeresa’s painting and propped it up right in front of him but the gesture is futile. Cass has already said he cannot see anything.
“Will his eyesight return?” I ask Grace, following her when she steps out into the hallway.
She tucks a strand of greying blonde hair over her ear and peers into the room. Julian’s father is lying on his side on the sofa. He was cold so we covered him with a quilt taken from his bedroom. Julian crouches in front of his father and speaks to him softly. Fort stands right behind Julian with his head bowed. Tye leans dejectedly against the wall and angrily wipes tears from his cheeks. Getty stands at the window, staring into the snow with a granite expression.
Grace has done her best to maintain professional detachment but she stalls, wincing, as she surveys the tragic sight of the Tempesta boys and their father.
“Head wounds are very tricky, honey,” she replies carefully.
There is still blood on the foyer floor. I avoid looking at it. We explained all the violence as a plain old home invasion, which will be the official narrative. However, the McNeals have lived in the area for decades. I’m sure they know the Tempestas well enough to understand there’s far more to the story. Still, they are good people and they did not ask questions before pitching in to help.
I’m wrapped in one of Julian’s warm flannel shirts and the shiver that crawls over my skin has nothing to do with the chilly house. Grace’s blue eyes fill with pity and she reaches out to squeeze my hand.
“Why don’t I go make a pot of coffee?” she suggests. “I’m sure the boys could use some.”
“I’ll help,” I offer but she stops me.
“Go be with your husband,” she says. “He’ll need you.”
And now I realize that her pity goes far deeper than I thought.
She doesn’t expect Cass to survive.
