Page 46 of Hot-Blooded Killer

My father starts to say something, but Lorenzo interrupts him. “No. You will never again have any say in any part of Gia’s life.”

That seems like as good a cue as I am likely to get, a perfect line on which to make a grand entrance.

But before I can push open the door, someone grabs me from behind, snaking one arm around my waist and clamping the other over my mouth.

I’m hauled up against a hard body, and a rough voice says in accented English, “Come with me quietly, and I will not kill your husband or your father.”

I struggle against his grip, but his hold is like iron as he lifts me off my feet and begins backing away from the door.

No one knows where I am. No one knew where I was going when I left Lorenzo’s home. There’s no telling how long it will take for anyone to realize I’m gone—and even more time will pass before they think to check the cameras at my father’s house.

Suddenly, I realize that Lorenzo is the only man I trust to save me.

I begin struggling in earnest, but the Colombian holding me simply continues inching away from the door.

Finally, in a last effort to draw Lorenzo’s attention, I draw my knees to my chest and kick my feet straight out.

I hit the door of Pop’s study, and it flies open, landing with a crash against the far wall.

In the same instant, Lorenzo spins around to face the door and Pop stands up from behind the desk.

The man holding me freezes for the barest second, then says, “You shouldn’t have done that,puta.”

He drops his hand from my mouth, and the next thing I know, he’s holding a gun, pointing it into the room at Lorenzo and my father.

CHAPTER20

LORENZO

It takes a moment for my mind to interpret what my eyes are seeing--but then I realize that Gia has kicked open the door to Edoardo’s office and the man holding her is holding a gun on us.

But when he speaks a single word in Spanish, the whole scene resolves itself in an instant.

“Pare!”

El Toro has sent him to take Gia to Colombia with him.

I don’t know what they’re doing here, but it doesn’t matter.

My hand twitches toward the Glock 9mm I tucked in my waistband before I made my way into Edoardo’s home.

Edoardo moves toward his center desk drawer at the same moment, but the Colombian catches sight of what we’re doing and begins waving the gun between us wildly. “Stop,” he says in heavily accented English. “Take out your guns slowly, put them on the floor, and kick them to me.”

There is no way in hell I’m going to allow him to get away with her. But first I have to get her away from him, and that means buying time. So I hold up my hands as if I’m following his orders.

Edoardo and I each pull our guns out of their respective hiding spots, holding them barrel-down, dangling them by the grips.

The Colombian hitman gestures with the gun. “Come out from behind your desk, Señor Rossi.”

Edoardo steps up beside me, and we both kneel to place our guns on the floor. Then we push them with our toes, sending them spinning across the floor.

Gia’s gaze flickers down to the one closest to her, and I can see the wheels turning in her head.

But her captor isn’t letting go of her.

Beside me, Edoardo tenses and then relaxes, and from the corner of my eye, I see him flicking his fingers dismissively. “Take her,” he says to the Colombian hitman holding Gia. “And give her to your boss with my compliments.”

An expression of pure misery flits across Gia’s face, but then her features harden, and she looks away from her father as if dismissing him entirely.

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