Page 64 of Cruel Heir

But then I hear it again—shouts, and then a rattling, and I jerk upright as I reach for Andre’s shoulder, fear flooding through me.

“Hmm?” His voice is thick and sleepy, and he blinks awake, still groggy, as the sound echoes from downstairs again. A moment later, I hear heavy footsteps coming towards our bedroom door, and I shrink back. When a fist pounds on the door, I yelp, and Andre reaches for me instinctively before he pushes the blankets back, reaching for his discarded pants.

“Wait here,” he says sharply, some of his old demeanor coming back as he strides towards the door. He pauses at the dresser, opening the top drawer, and I see him slide a gun out and hold it at his side as he reaches to open the door.

Antonio, Andre’s enforcer, is on the other side of it.

“It’s Fontana.” His voice is short and clipped, and he doesn’t seem to notice me, not even when I make a strangled noise at the mention of my father’s name. “His men are pushing onto the estate. He’s sent more of them than I know we can handle. We can call for reinforcements, but you said—”

“I know what I said. Go downstairs, and get in touch with Amalfi. I’ll deal with the others. I’m right behind you.” Andre turns towards me, his jaw tight. “Stay here, Lucia. Do you understand? Donotleave this room, no matter what. You’re safer here than anywhere else in the house.”

“I—”

He cuts me off, his face wreathed in anger—and what I think is a glimmer of fear, though he’s doing his best to hide it. “Promiseme, Lucia.” Andre strides towards the bed, quickly enough that I flinch a little out of old habit, though I don’t truly believe that he’s going to hurt me. “Don’t leave. Stay here, where you’re safe. I’ll be back.” He reaches for me, kissing me almost viciously, his teeth scraping along my lip. “Promise.”

“I promise.” My voice is high and breathy. I wrap my arms around myself, feeling emotions I can’t begin to untangle, churning in mystomach. My father is here, in force—if not himself, then with enough men as his proxy that I might very well be taken back home tonight.Tonight, of all nights, when I’ve come to the realization that I truly might not want to go.

Andre nods, turning sharply on his heel, and then he’s gone.

I huddle in the middle of the bed, shaking. I thought I’d discovered what it meant to be really, truly afraid the night that Andre brought me here, but a new depth of fear washes over me. I crouch there, waiting for more footsteps, waiting to be dragged away from a place that never felt like home until tonight—and back to a home that never really was. The gunshots downstairs, the sounds of men shouting—I wanted that. That was meant to be my salvation.

How quickly everything changed.

Andre. My heart pounds in my chest. He’s down there, in danger. My father’s words today come back to me, his promise that Andre’s life was forfeit as soon as we left the estate. That he wouldn’t make it out of this alive.

That should mean my freedom. But all I can feel is a terrible fear at the thought of Andre being hurt, Andre captured again, Andre dead.My husband.My hands knot in my lap, fingers digging into my palms until the pain of my nails biting into my skin goes numb. I want to go after him. I want to beg for his life. But I promised to stay where I am.

There’s nothing I could do.There’s no possibility that I could stop them—unless my father is here. Unless I could offer something, plead in some way for Andre’s life. If my father is here, then there’s a chance.

A part of me still believes he loves me. That he wouldn’t deny his daughter if she begged him. And a part of me wants to believe that if he’s ordered this terrible thing, the destruction of Andre’s estate and his life, that my father would be here in person to carry it out.

He has other men to get their hands bloody, so his don’t have to be.Andre’s words come back to me, but it’s still impossible for me to reconcile, even after my father’s treatment of me today.

I slide off of the bed, still trembling. I wrap a robe over mynightclothes, wearing it like armor as I reach for the door. Downstairs, I hear the sound of glass shattering and a cry, another volley of gunfire, and fear grips me like an icy hand. Andre made me promise to stay, told me I would be safe in this room—but he’s down there, and if I can save him, I have to try.

I haven’t stopped believing that there’s a peaceful end to this.

I yank the door open, legs quivering as I bolt out into the hall. The sounds of fighting are louder, an acrid smell wafting up even to the third floor, and I feel a twist of panic as I wonder if the house is on fire. I scurry towards the stairs, hurrying down, only to see nothing on the second floor as the noises grow louder. But the first—

When I reach the landing on the first floor staircase, I see a nightmare in front of me. The front door to the mansion is broken open, men shoving inside, the windows are shattered on the far wall. Andre’s men are fighting back, more gunfire going off, and I can’t see Andre anywhere. I can’t even be sure which of the men are his and which are my father's—they’re all dressed in black, armed with guns and knives, and I hear screams from the kitchen. A moment later, I see two men striding out, a woman trapped between them, and Iknowthe sound of her voice before I even see her face.

“This is the one that tried to get a message through,” one of the other men shouts, dragging her forward. There’s a bruise on her cheek, and she screams again. A door slams from the other side of the first floor, and I clap my hand over my mouth as more gunshots go off. One of the men holding Celeste drops, blood spattering, but the other aims his weapon as two more men near him aim and shoot, and I hear the heavy thud and groan of other bodies hitting the floor as they return fire.

“No orders to do anything other than clear the house, except for Fontana’s daughter,” one of the other men snarls. “And get the Leone boy, so Fontana can have a word with him. The rest of them—” He draws a finger across his throat. “But feel free to enjoy her first, if you like.”

I can’t stop the strangled sound that comes out of my mouth, even behind my hand. I want to run, but I’m frozen, torn between the needto help Celeste and the knowledge that if I go down there, I’m running right into their hands.

She tries to jerk loose, writhing in the grip of the man holding her, and he backhands her across the face. She sags to one side, and I let out a shriek of horror before I can stop myself, the sound tearing loose at the same moment that the men’s attention turns towards the stairs.

As they start to move in my direction, I know I’m screwed.

“That’s Fontana’s daughter. Get her!” There’s a shout from one of them, and that’s all I need to bolt back up the stairs, panic flooding me. I scramble towards the second-floor staircase, tripping and slamming my knee against one of the stairs, and the footsteps behind me are too close. I get back on my feet, desperate to run, knowing that they’ll follow me now, and I wish more than anything that I’d listened to Andre. Especially when a hand grabs my arm, wrenching me backward and off-balance so that I fall into the thick arms of the man who grabbed me.

Four of them circle around me as he drags me down, blocking me in. “Lucia Fontana?” one of them growls, but it’s clear it’s a rhetorical question. He looks me over as if he’s assessing a piece of meat, his gaze hungrily taking me in, and I feel cold fear wash over me.

I don’t want to tell them who I am, and be taken back to my father—but if I pretend to be someone else, my fate is going to be far worse.

“That’s me,” I breathe, trying to wrench myself out of his grip. When he doesn’t let go, I tilt my chin up, summoning every ounce of the haughtiness I learned as the daughter of the Family’s head, staring directly into his eyes despite my fear. “Take your handsoffof me,” I order him, loathing that I don’t have to fake dripping off of every word. “My father will kill you for touching me like this.”

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