Page 49 of Caught in the Crossfire

“Nke’m,” he whispered while sitting down on the leather couch. He placed me in his lap. He’d been so gentle earlier, when he’d carefully stitched the wound running down my face. He’d offered to call a surgeon, but I’d refused. I wanted him to do it. I didn’t want anyone else to see me like this.

I knew Willow had told my men about my injuries. I’d seen each of them staring at the bandages on my chest where Buzz Cut had raked his nails into my skin. And that was exactly why I didn’t want to talk about it more. They’d look at me differently. They already were. Whether it was pity or vengeance that filled their eyes, I didn’t want any of it.

Obi, at least, had kept his features passive while he stitched it close. He’d murmured words of encouragement, praised me for holding so still, and called me a warrior. I didn’t feel like a warrior. I felt like a wounded animal, confined to her den and hidden away, while a black spot developed inside my soul and stained it.

Shame was a strange emotion. Logically, Iknewnothing that happened to me was my fault. IknewBuzz Cut deserved to die for what he did. But the shame that had overtaken me when I caught my guys looking at my bruises and the scratch marks was blistering. It made the pain of the wounds pale in comparison.

Control it.

Obi had been so tender. He’d kept careful control over everything he’d felt, and that was what I needed. That’s why I’d asked for him.

I felt so fucking out of control. We needed a plan to deal with the Vokshi Clan, Max, and the Camorra. I needed to busy myself. I could already picture the guys forcing me to stay safe in the penthouse until I had healed—or even longer.

But that was not happening.

My arms tightened around Obi’s neck. I bit my lip until it bled to keep the tears at bay, but one stubborn drop rolled out of my bad eye. It stung the stitches.

My eye. The scar. Would I still feel like myself with it branded on my face? Would it remind me of that dark, cold cell?

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, swiping a thumb across my cheek. I leaned into his touch. “I am so sorry I couldn’t protect you from this. I am so sorry I failed you.”

My lips trembled. “It’s not your fault.”

I didn’t blame them. I was trying not to blame myself. Blame wouldn’t get us anywhere. Moving on, however, would.

“I wish I could take this pain from you and carry it myself.”

I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent. Even though we’d had our miscommunications and our struggles in the past, he still made me feel safe. He’d always made me feel safe.

“Will you tell me what happened on the ship?” His voice rumbled in his chest while he played with the ends of my hair. Even my waves were limp and lifeless.

I curled in on myself slightly, clenching my eyes closed without answering.

“All right. Let us talk about Max, then,” he murmured, warm hand splaying on my lower back. “Just Max. If you feel comfortable.”

My entire body was in pain, but my heart might hurt the worst.

“He protected me. He…comforted me. He helped me break out of our cell. Then we broke the other girls free from the cargo hold and fought our way to the bridge. He protected them, too,” I answered. He’d fought with me, beside me, as much as he could. Even though I was furious he was still hidingsomethingfrom me, I couldn’t have gotten free without his help. “I don’t understand him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t he kill me?” I whispered. “He’d tried multipletimes in the past. He had plenty of chances to let me die on that ship. He didn’t have to put himself at risk to keep me safe. I know escaping together was also part of his own self-preservation, but…” I trailed off, thinking of how he’d held me as I cried and tried to cheer me up with stories of our mothers. “When we spoke in our cell, he told me he wanted me to run away from this life, but once I got involved, he couldn’t let me ruin his years of work.”

“There’s more happening than either of us knows.” His voice went thoughtful, contemplative. “Perhaps the truth lies in his connection with the Camorra.”

“His alliance.”

Obi’s grip on me tightened. “Yes. It will be difficult to face both of them.”

I knew Obi wanted to destroy the Camorra because of what they’d done to his family. Max aligning himself with them only made him a greater enemy, but we weren’t strong enough to take on both of them at once.

We’d ordered Giulio and our Italian men to fight against Max on the streets. The Russians were putting pressure on Max’s drug trade. We had taken a huge portion of his income through our deal with Anton Felix in Los Angeles. We were making strides at setting up our syndicate to take over New York.

But it wouldn’t be enough if the Camorra came after us, too. We didn’t have near enough men. Not when Max still owned the Tommasos, Chiara was missing, and the other Families were wildcards.

From our perspective, I had a dozen complicated reasons not to kill him. Yet.

For him, he had none.