Page 22 of Cruel Heir

Antoni nods. “At your men. From a distance. Maybe trying to figure out how heavy of a security detail you really have? Better not to show your hand on that, I think. That lets him plan better next time, if it is Fontana. If he thinks you don’t have much to protect you, he’ll keep sending small groups to try to get in.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” I nod. “They’re at the front and side?”

“From what we can tell. You should stay in here, sir. We’ll stay with you; there are enough men already outside to deal with what’s out there. They’ll let me know if they need more backup.”

I want to go out and take care of Fontana’s men myself. I feel sure that it must be him, that no one else would mount an assault on my estate. If they’re not his personal foot soldiers, then they belong to one of his allies, someone he’s talked into testing the waters and seeing how much of a force I have to protect my estate and keep Lucia here. I frown, itching to go out and send a personal message to Fontana—but I know deep down that he won’t know if it was me or my men who put a bullet in the men he sent to assault the house.

“Fine,” I grit out. “Keep an ear out for what’s happening out there. I want to know everything.”

There are more shouts as I make my way towards the front hall, away from any windows. I hear the shattering of one from the living room, a volley of gunfire, and then the low moan of someone dying. I push past the three men towards the living room, ignoring Antoni’s shout for me to wait, my blood boiling under my skin.

This is my home. Lucia is my wife. And I’ll be damned if Don Fontana is going to take anything more from me.

I see movement outside one of the windows, a flash of dark hair and a face half-covered in a black balaclava. I know for a fact none of my men are wearing those, and I raise my gun, firing through the shattered window at the man just outside of it. I feel the jerk of the pistol in my hand, the sound of the shot ringing in my ears, and satisfaction spreads through me as I see the man outside fall.

I always was a good shot. My father made certain of that.

“Don Leone!” Antoni catches up to me, his voice tight with worry. “I’m sorry, sir, but I really need you to move away from the windows. Our men are pushing them back, but it’s not safe—”

My blood is up, and my lust to finish this myself is far from sated.My hand clenches the pistol, and I hear Antoni behind me, his voice low and calming.

“You can’t avenge your father or bring your family back to power if you’re dead, Don Leone. Come with me, please.”

As difficult as it is to swallow, I know he’s right. I nod, stepping back from the doorway, and out into the hall. Outside, I can still hear the sounds of fighting, but it’s growing quieter. I lean against the wall, my thoughts briefly drifting back to Lucia.

“Fontana figured out his daughter was here awfully fast,” Antoni remarks, as if his thoughts have gone in the same direction. “Someone must have said something—alerted him that she was here.” He rubs a hand over his mouth, looking at me warily, as if he doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind.

“Just say it,” I snap irritably, and Andre shrugs.

“Might have been her. Maybe she’s more resourceful than you think.”

If she did, I’ll make sure she regrets it.My anger churns, finding a different target. I might not be able to do much about the men outside without putting myself at too great a risk, but I can unleash that anger on Lucia, if she’s the reason this has happened at all. She needs to learn that this is her place now, at my side. There is no escape for her.

Antoni turns his head towards the walkie at his shoulder. “Is it all clear?” he asks, and a gravelly voice comes through from the other side, confirming that it is. He glances at me. “I’ll handle the cleanup outside,” he says calmly. “I’ll come and give you an update once we have any information.”

“Alright. Let me know quickly.” I glance back towards the study, torn between wanting to see the results of what’s happened outside, and wanting to question Lucia about her part in it. My anger surgesagain at the thought, and I give Antoni a sharp nod, pivoting to walk back to the study.

I don’t hear anything from inside—no sounds of her snooping or trying to dig through the desk drawers—not that she would find anything, unless she were oddly good at picking a lock. I listen for a moment, wanting to know if I’ll hear anything unusual, and then I unlock the door and step inside.

Lucia is slumped in one of the chairs by the fireplace, her face pale, her hands knotted together in her lap. She looks up at me sharply when I walk in, her eyes wide, and I can see that she’s been biting her lips nervously. “What’s happening?” she asks, her voice high and breathy, and I close the door behind me, locking it behind me as I lean back.

“You look nervous, Lucia.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Any particular reason?”

She stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Other than what was apparently agunshotoutside? The fact that you didn’t tell me anything about what you thought was going on? You just locked me in here and—andleftme—”

I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest. “Now you’re eager for my company? A little fear does wonders for you, I think.”

Lucia’s jaw tightens, and she glares at me. “Andre,whatthe hell was happening out there?”

“Mm, what a filthy mouth. Not very becoming of the mafia princess that I wed.” I narrow my eyes at her. “Neither is lying and pretending that you don’t have any idea what all of that was. After all, it was you that brought your father’s men here, wasn’t it? Tosavehis little damsel in distress?” I cock my head, looking at her as she glares up at me. “You couldn’t have done it alone, though, I don’t think. Someone must have helped you. A traitor among the staff, maybe, someone with a soft spot for sad little princesses. But I’ll find out who it is, eventually. And they’ll pay for their mistake.”

I watch her face carefully as I speak, looking for some sign of recognition, some flinch that lets me know I’m onto something. Butshe only looks back at me wide-eyed, her eyes welling up as if she’s genuinely shocked by what I’m saying.

Either my little wife is better at lying than I thought, or she honestly didn’t know.

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head rapidly. “I didn’t do anything—no one helped with anything—I had no idea this was going to happen! Are you sure it was my father?” Her voice is shaking, a thin thread of terror running through every word, and it’s hard to be sure whether that terror is from being caught out, or because she’s truly afraid of the attack.

I can’t imagine how this could have happened, especially so soon, without her being in on it somehow.

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