Page 29 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)

Her eyes narrowed when the door opened and the man who had been waiting for the woman stepped out. She didn’t know who the man was, but she knew that he was dangerous. Any idiot, including the one across from her, could have sensed that. She raised an eyebrow when he paused… and looked up.

Right. At. The. Camera.

As if he knew.

As if he saw her.

Stella went still, a slow, chilly ripple climbing her spine as she stared into the man’s eyes.

“Who is that guy?”

Kyle looked up from his screen. “How am I supposed to know?”

She curled her fingers at Kyle’s disgruntled attitude. He sounded like some teens who had been in the café. She would have to ask Kramer how valuable the punk was because she might just have to kill him if he smart-mouthed her again.

This is why people shouldn’t have children.

Instead, she stood abruptly, her long, red coat flaring around her legs. She turned silently on her heel, pausing to glare at Kyle over her shoulder.

“Find out who he is,” she snapped.

Kyle blinked. “Wait—where are you going?”

“To kill someone other than you—for now,” she said without turning. “Tell me the second they leave the room.”

“But—”

Kyle’s voice faded behind her. The low hum of conversation, the ding of the elevator, and the music from downstairs faded. Her focus narrowed to a single exit strategy. If they were planning to leave tonight—and every instinct screamed they were—they would have to go through the parking garage.

That’s where she would be waiting.

She might have to shoot the woman to keep her from running. O’Toole wanted the woman alive. That was fine.

He never said she had to be whole.

The elevator doors opened onto the hotel’s underground parking garage with a hollow ding. The lighting here was different—colder, more metallic. It clung to the exposed pipes and gray concrete like condensation that never quite formed.

Stella stepped out, her high-tops muffled by the dull concrete. The garage stretched around her, quiet but never quite silent. A distant hum from a ventilation shaft and the mechanical room where the elevator equipment was installed mixed with the traffic from the road outside.

Her hearing was attuned to every sound. The bang of a car door, the muted voices of excited visitors mixed with the occasional tick of cooling metal. Somewhere, a water pipe groaned like something exhaling in its sleep.

Her eyes swept the level.

The tan Land Cruiser with the bullet holes in it wasn’t hard to spot.

She approached it slowly, her gaze alert, calculating. The windows were tinted, but not enough to hide what was inside.

Her lips curled when she spotted a longbow, nestled diagonally in the backseat, the quiver tucked beside it. Sleek. Deadly. Barbaric.

A relic for a museum.

“Well, hello,” she murmured.

She crouched, fingers brushing the sidewall of the rear tire. The sharp gleam of her knife flashed as she pulled it from her coat. One press—one precise angle—and the SUV would be reduced to a sluggish crawl.

She hesitated. That would alert the two Princes who had obviously been more challenging to eliminate than Detri had been expecting. She tapped the tip of the knife against her knee and shook her head.

No, this would make it too easy. Too obvious.

She straightened, pivoted on her heel, and walked across the parking area to the sleek, black BMW M2 she had parked earlier—directly across from the SUV.

She unlocked the door, slid into the driver’s seat, closed the door with a quiet thump, and dropped her handbag onto the passenger seat. Her eyes remained glued to the vehicle as she tapped her finger against the steering wheel.

She wasn’t concerned about the security cameras.

Those were easy enough to deal with now that Kyle had hacked into the security system.

No, it was the busyness of the hotel that made this a bad—not impossible—but less than desirable spot to conduct an assassination.

Raja Hadi’s new government frowned on the murder of visiting royalty.

“It’s a shame he came back from the dead,” she mused with a sardonic laugh.

Reaching over, she pulled out the matte black, compact M9 pistol, screwed on the suppressor, and tapped the cool metal against her palm. With an impatient sigh, she set it in her lap and rested one hand on the steering wheel and the other lightly on the grip as the minutes dragged on.

Her eyes drifted back to the phone—waiting either for movement on the camera or a ping from Kyle.

A soft, pleased chuckle escaped her as the screen lit up.

Room 1420. The door opened.

Three figures stepped into the hallway—tall, focused, bags in hand. The woman’s braid swayed as she walked. The two men flanked her like wolves on high alert.

“Yes, my pretties,” she whispered, her smile widening. “Come to me.”

Stella sat back in the leather seat, one red shoe impatiently tapping against the floorboard.

This was the part she hated the most. The waiting for the thrill of adrenaline that she knew would surge through her when she made her kill. That was what she lived for—the rush.

The elevator doors slid shut with a smooth chime, enclosing them in silence.

“Our escort will be waiting outside any time now,” Musad said, adjusting the duffel over his shoulder. “Raja arranged for one of his elite teams to guide us to a private airfield. A helicopter will be waiting to take us to Narva.”

Dalla glanced at him, her features pale but composed. She gave him a smile of relief at the news. He reached down and squeezed her fingers in response.

“Donovan told me Cianna and Nanna made it back safely.” Nasser said. “Cianna’s with Lissa and Mario. Lissa’s recovering faster now that she has Cianna back.”

Relief flowed through Musad. He hadn’t realized how tightly his chest had been clenched until that moment.

“How is Dad celebrating?” he asked, his lips quirking upward with amusement.

Nasser chuckled. “He and Cianna have made cookies.”

Musad shook his head. “Which means we’ll probably walk into a feast worthy of a French bakery.”

Beside him, Dalla let out a breathless laugh. “I can think of worse things. While the French had their moments in history where it wasn’t fun to live there, they also have the best food in the world. Don’t tell anyone else I said that. I knew a few Italians once upon a time who would be offended.”

Her casual confession reminded Musad of Dalla’s unique circumstance. It was easy, seeing her dressed like this, in modern clothing, to forget that she had lived through some of history’s most profound moments—over and over again.

She is so strong. So brave. So beautiful.

He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. She leaned into him without hesitation, and he was thankful—for that simple trust, for the opportunity to hold her, because soon, she would be safe.

Their reflections in the mirrored wall were distorted, their silhouettes blurry. But the sense of unity among the three of them was sharp and clear.

“I don’t want to put you in danger,” Dalla suddenly said in a quiet voice.

“We’re always in danger, Dalla. We can handle it,” Nasser reassured. “We’ll find them, or they’ll find us, but whatever happens, we will not leave you or let you go. You belong with us now, Dalla.”

The elevator slowed, nearing the ground floor.

“We’ll get off here,” Musad said. “I’ll go down to the garage and bring the SUV around front. You two wait inside the doors until I pull up with Raja’s team.”

Dalla turned toward him, eyes darkening with worry. “You should stay with us.”

“It’s safer if we’re not all in one place, and I need to retrieve the vehicle,” Musad replied, squeezing her waist gently. “We don’t know how many eyes are watching. If something goes wrong, you and Nasser will be better positioned to move.”

She clearly wanted to argue, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave a sharp nod, her jaw tight. He didn’t miss the way her hand moved under the short, black jacket she was wearing to the seax at her waist.

The elevator chimed.

They stepped out onto the gleaming marble of the hotel lobby. Light spilled across the polished floors from the glass doors beyond, and a warm breeze teased at the air through the rotating entrance. Guests milled around the lobby, chatting, entering, and exiting.

Without a word, Musad veered right toward the stairwell.

He didn’t like elevators in situations like this—one way in, one way out, and too many ways to get trapped.

He took the stairs two at a time, his shoes soundless against the concrete. When he reached the garage door, he paused, listening.

The heavy door creaked slightly as he pushed it open. A family of six spilled out of the nearby elevator, the children chattering in a mixture of Spanish and English, oblivious to the tension thick in the air.

He waited until they turned the corner, then moved.

The SUV sat in the same space they had left it, bathed in shadows cast by the overhead lights. He approached from the passenger side, scanning windows, checking for signs of tampering.

Then he dropped to a crouch and checked beneath the vehicle—fingers grazing the undercarriage, eyes sharp for wires, strange boxes, any unnatural marks.

Clear.

He stood, moving to the driver’s side. As he rounded the rear bumper, he pulled the key fob from his pocket and unlocked the doors with a quiet click.

He did one more quick check under the seat to make sure everything was as it should be before he slipped into the driver’s seat.

Satisfied the vehicle was safe, he shut the door with controlled precision and pressed the start button.

The lights of the dashboard lit up in a colorful array as he started the engine and shifted into drive, preparing for a fast extraction if needed?—

Before he could pull all the way out of the parking spot, three black SUVs rolled into the garage from the far ramp, engines purring like predators on the hunt.

He tensed until he saw Raja Hadi sitting in the front passenger seat of the center vehicle. The driver pulled to a stop in front of the Land Cruiser. Raja slipped out of the vehicle before it stopped all the way.

Wearing a fitted navy shirt and dark slacks, Simdan’s young king walked toward him, his movements purposeful, confident.

Musad exhaled sharply and unlocked the doors.

Raja slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, flashing him a relaxed smile.

“Your Highness,” Musad said with a grin. “I wasn’t expecting royal company.”

“Only the best for visiting dignitaries,” Raja replied, his tone dry. “Besides, I want to hear firsthand what the hell happened in Kashir. I’ve heard interesting stories about your mysterious savior.”

Musad muttered an inaudible curse under his breath before he sighed and replied, “You’ll get the full report en route.”

He waited as the first SUV rolled forward. Shifting gears, he eased out of the spot, slotting in behind the lead vehicle. The other two vehicles pulled out behind them. Musad focused on a black BMW M2 sports car parked as they passed.

There was no movement. No glare of a phone. There were no signs of life.

Still, his gut whispered a warning.

His gaze flickered from the vehicle in front of him to the side mirror. His lips tightened into a firm line.

A flicker—a shadow shifting just out of sight.

He curled his fingers around the steering wheel when he noticed the movement.

“Eyes on the black coupe,” he murmured.

Raja didn’t miss a beat. “I saw it.”

Musad didn’t speak again, but every nerve in his body was on high alert as they followed the convoy toward the garage ramp.

They were almost clear.

Almost safe.

But almost wasn’t good enough. Not when Dalla’s life was at stake.