Page 108 of His Son's Ex

EVA

I’m staring down the barrel of Gianni Lombardi’s gun.

Again.

It all happened so fast.

One minute, I’m dozing off on the pathetic cot in my cell, drifting in and out of exhausted sleep. The next, I’m being startled awake by Gianni’s rough grip as he jerks me upright.

I’m pulled off the cot and through the door, then down the dark hallway. He shoves me toward the narrow, creaky staircase. My ankles ache with every forced step, my heart hammering as I try to figure out what’s happening.

We reach the top of the stairs. I’m confronted with the grim sight of the main floor of the dilapidated house I’d been taken to. I’d almost forgotten what it looked like; it feels so long ago since I was brought here.

“Don’t try anything cute,” Linda says. She’s standing off to the side, hands on her hips, a wickedly pleased smirk on her face.

Gianni joins her. He’s breathing heavily, his finger poised over the trigger, eyes gleaming with the sick thrill of control. “This is how it ends for you, sweetheart,” he says. “No big speech. No last-minute rescue. Just a bullet and lights out.”

Linda stands with her arms folded, a snake-like grin stretched across her face. She’s practically glowing with triumph and glee.

“There’s been a change of plans,” she says. “I’ve decided I don’t need to keep you alive to get what I want. Anything you’d like to say, Eva, before my associate sends you and your baby to the afterlife?”

I glare at her, forcing a false boldness I don’t feel. “Fuck you, you conniving bitch.”

She rolls her eyes. Gianni’s hand tightens on the gun as he moves toward me, the muzzle inches from my face.Oh God, oh God.I stare him down as I brace for the flash and the embrace of final darkness afterward.

The front door explodes open, ripped off its hinges by the sheer force. Deep voices shout out urgent commands in Italian and Russian. Linda whips around, eyes wide. Gianni hisses a curse, shifting the gun away from me and toward the commotion.

Glass shatters as heavily armed men in dark suits jump in through the windows, their footsteps pounding on the old wooden floor. Linda’s handful of men scramble for cover like cowards, while Gianni points his weapon at the nearest intruder.

Dante storms in, the look on his face lethal and unforgiving. Behind him are a dozen or more men in black, also heavily armed. He’s absolutely furious. Among them, standing with a swagger that exudes fearlessness, is a tall, broad-shouldered figure I don’t recognize—until he speaks.

Alex Abramovic.

Gianni is startled by a shadow moving near the door and fires off a round. Linda shrieks, throwing herself behind a toppled table. Gianni’s unnecessary shot causes Linda’s men to panic, and they begin firing their weapons as well. As gunfire rains down, I hit the floor, crawling behind an old filing cabinet.

Dante shouts, “Linda! Call off your dogs or I’ll put them down!”

The response is more gunfire, a frantic volley back and forth. Linda’s men are outnumbered. One by one, I hear them grunt, curse, or scream as Dante and Abramovic’s men systematically dismantle their defense.

Out of the corner of my eye I watch as Linda crawls to Gianni’s side, eyes wild. “Kill her,” she snaps, pointing in my direction. “Now, Gianni!”

He grunts, wiping blood from a cut on his temple.

I scramble backward, pain shooting through my bruised body.

Hold on, little one.

Gianni lunges toward me, ignoring the mayhem behind him. His eyes are empty and manic in a religious-like dedication to finishing the job. He aims—his face twisted with lethal intent.

Bang!

The sound reverberates through my skull and I flinch, waiting for the pain to hit. But Gianni’s gun didn’t fire the shot.

He staggers backward, eyes going wide in shock. Blood blooms across his chest. Another shot cracks through the air, and he collapses to the floor, the gun clattering from his limp fingers.

Alex Abramovic stands behind me, calmly lowering his weapon, not an ounce of remorse on his face.

Lombardi is dead.