Page 163 of Jordan

This is really not good.

My breathing comes in quick sharp pants as I curl closer to the corner of the desk, praying to whatever gods are above that Enzo has this handled. I’ve never been more grateful for the men walking around this property than I am right now. I feel the need to vomit more than I ever have in my life, but I push it down.

Think, Jordan. Think.

Enzo has to have a gun around here somewhere, right? I mean, the man is in the damn mafia! Surely he has guns hidden everywhere in this house. I just have to find it.

I listen for a moment, and when I don’t hear anything, I move out from under the desk and pull open drawers as quietly as I can. Nothing. I look around the small office, my heart thundering in my chest as I rake my hands through my hair. My gaze lands on the cabinets, so I rush over and pull them open, checking each shelf. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing! Just shelves with papers and folders and other office supplies.

I move to the narrow drawers below, and see nothing, so I start feeling around.

There has to be something—

Jackpot!

The cool metal and unmistakable shape of a gun brushes my fingers from above. I grip the handle and pull it down as quickly as I can. With trembling hands, I check if it’s loaded. It is, and with a full clip. I flip the safety off and hope like hell I remember how to use this thing.

I don’t know much about guns. I’m a terrible shot, but Dad made sure I at least knew how to check one and shoot if I needed to. He’d told me there were people who wanted his head for all the money he made at the clubs, but now I know that’s a bunch of bullshit and it’s because he was screwing over mafia guys left and right. I have a feeling if someone like this happened with my father, I’d already be dead. But I trust Enzo more than that. I know he won’t let anyone hurt me.

Something heavy slams into the door. I whirl to face it, lifting the gun and aiming. A fool from a mile away could see how badly I’m shaking, so I take a deep breath and let it out. I do it again and my hands steady a bit. Another loud bang against the door has me jolting.

Calm down, Jordan!

Another deep breath. Another bang against the door. The frame splinters and cracks. I aim and focus. If someone comes in here to take me, I’m going to shoot them.

It’s kicked in a second later, and I pull the trigger without looking, the power of the gun sending me a step back.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Oh my god!” I scream, when I realize the man I shot at is Enzo!

He runs toward me, grabbing the gun from my hand and holding it away from me.

“The first thing we’re doing tomorrow is teaching you about gun safety. Fucking hell,” he growls, grabbing me by the arm and tugging me to the door.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes stinging with tears. “What is going on?” He peeks his head into the hall and looks both ways. He yanks me out, and we run toward our bedroom. “Enzo, what is going on? Why is there a helicopter in the parking lot?”

He ignores me, and we keep going until we’re in the room. He closes the door behind him, locking it, and ushers me inside the closet.

“I need you to stay in here and don’t move until me, Antonio, or Rocco get you. Do you understand?”

I shake my head. “You’re not leaving me.”

“I have to.”

Tears blur my vision. “What is going on?”

“Just trust me,” he says, moving to his side of the closet, parting his shirts, and pushing on a false board that opens up to a small room. Jesus. His arm wraps around my waist, and he shoves me toward it.

“No! No, I’m not hiding in here. Tell me what is going on. You’re not leaving me!” I fight him on this, not going into the room easily, but he overpowers me. When I catch sight of his eyes, I freeze. He’s terrified.

“Someone will be back for you. Remember what I said. Me. Antonio. Rocco. That’s it,” he growls.

“Enzo—”

He grips my face and kisses me hard. “Angel, I—”

There’s a heavy bang on the door, and he whips his head away. “Stay quiet,” he hisses before shoving me deeper and shutting the door. I’m in compete darkness.