Page 89 of Beauty and the Daddy
What if Luca is already dead? What happens to Sofia and me and this baby that nobody knows about?
My hand drifts to my belly.
The baby. Oh God.
I've been so wrapped up in the immediate terror that I hadn't even thought of what tonight meant. If I'd been hit, if a bullet had found me instead of the wall...
Just then, the panic-room lock growls awake. Sofia tucks in closer like I'm Jodie Foster and she's got nothing to fear. I raisethe gun he pressed into my palm and aim for whoever forgot to knock.
It swings open, and there he is.
Luca.
He's breathing hard, his shirt splattered with blood. There's a cut across his cheekbone, but I don't care about that. Alive's the perfect look on him right now.
"Daddy!" Sofia launches herself at him, and he drops to one knee, catching her against his chest.
"Princess." He looks her over. "You good?"
She nods, tiny arms wrapped around his neck like she's never letting go. "Belle kept me safe. She said you'd come back and cuddled me till you did."
He kisses her hair, then looks at me like I invented oxygen. "You okay?"
I nod, because the truth would crack my voice. I'm a little shaky, and very guilty.
I want to askwhat happens if I get you killed because I distracted you from keeping an eye on the door?But my brain's a Rubik's cube I can't line up, so I just stay mute.
"Come on." Luca motions at me, carrying Sofia in his arms now. "Out."
I'm still clutching the gun, I realize. I lower it slowly.
"Are they gone?" I ask as I pass.
He nods. "They're gone." Then, lower, for my ears only, "Dead."
But from the tightness around his eyes, I know this isn't over. Not by a long shot.
The house is a wreck. Luca's men are everywhere, some tending to injuries, others recalibrating.
And there's blood. Not a lot, but enough to turn my stomach.
"Don't look." Luca catches me pale. "They're cleaning it up."
Sofia's eyes are closed on her father's command. He's shielding her from seeing the aftermath, and I wish someone would do the same for me.
"What happened?" I ask as we move toward the wing of the house where our bedrooms are.
"Someone wanted to send a message," he says simply.
"What message?"
"That I've got blind spots I can't see."
I can't stand the way he looks right now—like the danger is me being in his periphery. I want to cry. I want to kiss him. I want to throw myself into a lake and let the cold burn the panic off.
"Hey," he says softly. "It's over."
Guilt taps the mic.Is it? Or are you just in intermission?
