Page 52 of Of Murder and Matrimony

I opened my mouth to call out to her, but a figure approached behind her. She was defenseless, and terror chilled my blood. My focus narrowed on the hooded figure five feet from my wife as I raised my gun and aimed for the black void where his face was. I could only hope Olesya didn’t move because there was no time to warn her.

The world slowed as my finger pulled the trigger, the first shot knocking the assailant’s head back. I fired again for good measure, and his body twisted with the impact to his chest, though the first shot had to have killed him. His body fell to a crumpled heap on the ground, and the incoming fire stalled.

“Igor!” a voice behind the sedan screamed in a way that betrayed a close connection between the two men.

Fucking Russians.

They opened fire again, wildly this time, no doubt affected by their comrade’s death. It was an amateur move and would only waste valuable ammunition, but we would be pinned in place if they kept firing from behind the vehicle. Our sidearms weren’t enough to reach them through the engine and doors.

The restaurant door burst open, and Angelo’s rotund body filled the frame. He held a modern version of the Tommy gun in his hands, his eyes wild as he aimed, heedless of his vulnerable position. Bullets sprayed across the parking lot in the direction where the Russians were hiding out. Their guns fell silent after another scream punctuated the popping onslaught of Angelo’s weapon.

Doors slammed, and tires screeched as they crawled back into their vehicle and sped away into the night. The smell of nitroglycerine, sawdust, graphite, and burned rubber tainted the warm summer air. I didn’t waste any time rolling Diego off me and pushing myself to my feet.

“Get her in the car!” I shouted to Stefano, pointing to Olesya. He ran to my wife, throwing the car door open and tossing her in despite her protests.

Filippo helped me get Diego off the ground, and we hauled him to the SUV, guns still drawn in case the Russians made another attempt.

Angelo stood sentry by his back door, nodding when I looked back at him. “Cops won’t be responding.”

“Thank you,” I said. The man had likely saved our asses. “You’re fucking crazy.”

He let out a belly laugh. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you realize crazy is a creature of comfort. Get your wife home.”

I gave him a brief salute and turned to get in the car, but my stomach dropped when I saw dents in the metal where bullets had come all too close to Where Olesya had sheltered. Climbing in, I slammed the door behind me. “Back to the house. Call Dr. Messina and have him meet us there.”

Filippo sped out of the lot, ignoring the lights and taking turns wildly enough that Olesya swore from the back where she and Stefano held Diego steady. “Slow down, or we won’t be able to hold the pressure!”

Filippo glanced back in the rearview mirror, and I nodded. He slowed down a fraction and took turns a little easier. We made it back to the estate in record time, driving past the main house to one of the guest houses where guards bunked.

I flung the door open and jumped out, running around to the vehicle's rear to let Olesya and the others out. Stefano and Filippo carried Diego into the house, and Olesya rushed after. I felt useless as she ordered them to lay her guard on the kitchen table and yelled for a med kit. I grabbed it, handing it off to her and leaning against the wall as she cut Diego’s jacket and shirt off, exposing his upper body and the hole in his shoulder.

My chest constricted as I watched, only it wasn’t Diego I saw. It was Niccolò in the church after the Russians had shot him. There had been so much blood as his life drained away. It was like my lungs had forced the air from my body, and I couldn’t draw breath. My skin heated, and my pulse pounded painfully in my head, the pressure enough that I might have groaned.

“Dante!” Olesya’s curt order broke me out of my mental cage, and I looked up at her. She pointed to the gauze beside her, and I realized she’d already cleaned and sutured Diego’s wound. “Hand me that, please.”

I grabbed the roll and placed it in her outstretched, gloved hand. She kept talking as she worked, even though we wouldn't understand. I focused on her calm voice, the melodic inflections, and her tinkling laughter as Diego made a macabre joke.

Just as she finished, Dr. Messina burst through the door with his leather medical bag that was nearly as big as he was, slight as he may have been. “I’m here! Where is the patient?”

“I’ve taken care of him already,” Olesya answered, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Dr. Messina blustered, “What? You?”

“Dr. Olesya Neretti.” She snapped off her gloves, held her hand out, then looked down and pulled back. Her skin was still covered with drying blood. “I’d shake your hand, but—”

“That’s quite all right.” Dr. Messina shook his head and looked at me. “Your wife is a doctor?”

“I’m right here and capable of speaking for myself,” Olesya answered calmly. I couldn’t hide my proud smile. “Perhaps if you hadn’t stopped to find your lab coat, you might have made it in time to be useful.”

“Well, I never,” Dr. Messina blustered.

Seeing that the conversation would only go downhill, I intervened, stepping between the doctors and placing my hand on the small of Olesya’s back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my wife back to the main house. I’m sure you’re capable of cleaning up here.”

I didn’t give Dr. Messina time to respond before ushering my wife out of the guest house and across the lawn at a brisk pace. By the time we reached my wing of the house, we were both breathing hard. I pulled her past her room and straight to the bathroom in my suite.

My lip curled at the darkening crimson stains coating Olesya’s white dress. She looked like a character from a B-grade horror movie. I couldn’t stand the sight of it, not on her pale, perfect skin. An overwhelming urge tore at my insides. It wasn’t rational, but it took over my logical thought, replacing it with pure, unadulterated feeling.

I pushed Olesya toward the shower and slammed the bathroom door behind us. “Strip.”

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