Page 74 of The San Marco Heist

“Don’t touch her unless she asks you to,” I snarled, prying his fingers off her arm.

“I just need to bypass the security on the—got it!” As the words shot out of Will’s mouth, bright lights flashed at us from the car garage, and the Velatti inched forward, its engine purring as beautifully as I’d imagined, even without anyone testing the acceleration.

A chorus of gasps surrounded us. “What’s going on?” layered over “Is Hugo playing a joke?” and “Is there someone in it?” A couple left the lounge, the others watching the car as though something magical or entertaining were about to happen.

“Jayce, Declan,” snapped Brie. “Hugo Albrecht is heading in your direction. Get out now.”

“Going radio silent, but going!”

“Eloise?” Thomas was either oblivious to the car creeping toward us or didn’t care—as if his father’s money put him above little physical threats like a super car rolling in his direction. “You can do better than this charlatan.”

It moved faster than I’d expected. The hood of the car plowed into the glass and the wall exploded into a million shards. The gasps switched to screams.

People hurried from the room. Plastered themselves against the far wall.

It headed directly for us. Gained speed.

The loud rumble of the engine nearly drowned out the crunch of broken glass under its tires.

Scarlett shoved Thomas away just before the car reached us, and I spun her against the display shelves.

An alarm sounded in the distance. Had Brie triggered that one? Or had Jayce and Declan been caught? Someone would have said something if they had, right?

Something clipped me—a mirror?—and I careened into Scarlett. She grunted, the glass behind her shattered, and she fell.

The high-pitched local alarm screeched in my ears, the scent of exhaust filling the room.

More screams. I covered my ears.

The car tore through the glass wall on the other side of the lounge.

Where was the ring? It wasn’t in its display case. None of the medieval artifacts were.

The car hit maybe ten miles an hour and dipped—oh shit, I was going to hell—it drove straight into the pool.

Scarlett lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, blood splattered across her skirt. She was hurt. Where? It had to have been the broken glass scattered around us. Or the shattered Ming vase. A painting, another sculpture, and golden jewelry littered the floor in front of the display case.

Narrowly avoiding the glass, I dropped to the floor next to her. “Are you okay?”

Without moving, she whispered, “Got it. We need to go. Play up the injuries.”

“Eloise!” I bellowed. “Oh my god, Eloise!”

“Less than that,” said Rav over the comms.

“You need a doctor. Can you walk?”

“I…” She sat up with my help and put a hand to her head. “I’m not sure. Maybe?”

“I’ll take her.” Thomas stood next to me, looking even more dramatically down his nose than usual from his vantage point. He sucked at taking hints. “I have a car waiting outside.”

I shot to my feet and swung at him. My knuckles connecting with his cheek was one of the most satisfying things I’d experienced in my entire life. For every time he’d talked to me like I was less than him. For the way he’d touched Scarlett. Fuck, just for the way he’d looked at her and thought she was his plaything. “Get your own woman, asshole.”

He stumbled into one of the men coming to check on Scarlett. From the way Thomas clutched his cheek and blinked repeatedly, mouth gaping open, it was obvious no one had ever hit him before. Good. I was glad to have been the first.

And even better, his caving shoulders made it clear he wasn’t coming after either me or my woman.

Mywoman.

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