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The door clattered against the wall as the don stalked after me.

But whatever he was going to say was silenced by the scene in front of us. Dante pointed a gun across the foyer at a man covered from head to toe in a black tactical uniform. The man leaned against the wall, a bored look on his face, body language screaming nonchalance. It took a split second for recognition to set in, and then I ran.

He pushed off the wall, arms outstretched. A noise, part sob, part cry, fell from my lips.

Two hands snatched me, tugging me violently back.

“Let me go!” I screamed and gave my brother a vicious kick.

Sandro grunted as the impact bruised his shin.

“Get your hands off my wife, don.” The words were filled with a dark violence.

I struggled and bucked, but my brother held me tight. With his focus on me, the don wasn’t able to catch his bride. Penelope gracefully skirted us, moving into the middle of the room.

“Markos, is it?” Her voice was the texture of sunlight to the ear. “I’m the mistress of this house, and while I would normallywelcome any guest of my sister’s, I’m afraid your arrival is at the worst possible time.”

“They attacked us,” Dante snarled.

“Is this how you treat your in-laws, Greek?” Sandro snarled behind me.

I elbowed him. “The attack wasn’t him, stronzo!”

“Quiet,” my brother snapped. “Penelope! Get the hell away from him.”

She didn’t listen.

Piccolo let out a warning growl, looking between my husband, brother, and the enforcer.

“My wife is correct. The enemy followed her here, and if it wasn’t for me shooting them, they would have invaded your home and caught you with your pants around your legs,” Markos scoffed. “Your guards had no idea they were on the premises, Italian.”

“I think you boys should lower your weapons, and we have a little chat,” Penelope said evenly. “Hear each other out.”

Sandro moved to catch her. I took advantage of his distracted movements to break free.

I ran.

Markos caught me easily, wrapping me tightly in his arms. His warmth enveloped me. The scent of sun and brine filled my nose. But when he tried to angle his body, protecting me from the madness, I jerked back.

“Shoot him, and I’ll cut your dick off with scissors and make you eat it before you bleed out,” I spat at Dante.

Penelope let out an appreciative whistle. Sandro tried to tug her away, but she stayed rooted to the spot in the room, taking her position as mediator seriously. Piccolo had the nerve to bark at the don, who shot the dog an annoyed look.

“You came for me,” I breathed, lacing my fingers through Markos’s hand.

That blue gaze, the color of the ocean waves, dropped to mine. “Of course, prinkípissa.”

With my free hand, I traced his abdomen. I couldn’t feel the most recent wound under the tactical vest. But the smallest of winces told me it was there, raw and tender.

“I’m taking my wife, since you aren’t capable of protecting your sister, don,” Markos said, but he didn’t take his terrible gaze off me.

“It’s your fault they attacked!” Sandro countered.

“Yours, actually.” Markos swept a hand over my hair, brushing a lock behind my ear. “You took something that didn’t belong to you and invited our enemy to take a shot at her.”

“Luckily, your wife knows how to shoot back,” Penelope said brightly.

Markos cut her a look, then arched a brow down at me. “I know that.”