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CHAPTER TWELVE

I carried Jemma away from the pool area and ignored her protests.

How the hell did Zotov escape my men and just wander around the property? Was there a traitor in my ranks, or was he just that good? And what had Jemma and Isabella been up to?

Whatever it was, I was done with my punk putting herself in more danger, doing God knows what… I couldn’t risk it, not with everything that was happening.

“Vince, put me down! This is ridiculous.” She squirmed in my arms, but I held her tight against my shoulder.

Finally.

I’d missed her last night, but on top of being crazy busy, I’d been too angry, too agitated. So, instead of crawling into bed with her, I’d stayed in my studio, the one place where I could exorcise some of my anger, channel my thoughts, and calm my mind. “Not until we’re somewhere private,” I growled while carrying her across the manicured lawn toward the old greenhouse at the far end of the property.

As we approached, I felt Jemma’s body tense. “Where are we going?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I unlocked the door, then pushed it open with my shoulder. The scent of fresh paint and turpentine filled the air, mixed with the lingering smell of soil and lush greenery from the flowerbeds that were left, forming an outer parameter, a protective green wall.

I wound my way through the lush greenery until we reached the area hidden inside.

Easels stood scattered around the open space in the middle, with canvases in various states of completion on them. This was my sanctuary, my secret place where I could let my guard down and just…be.

I set her down and glared at her.

Not that she noticed. Her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings. “Holy shit. What is this place? A jungle?”

“My studio,” I answered, running a hand through my hair. “One of them.” Because in winter, when it was freezing, I used the studio indoors even though the lighting wasn’t nearly as good as out here.

Her gaze darted from canvas to canvas, her expression a mix of surprise and something else I couldn’t quite place, especially when it landed on the painting I did last night—an abstract piece, angry colors, reds and greys, full of aggressive strokes and chaos.

“You’re good.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling exposed. This wasn’t a side of myself I showed to many people. But Jemma wasn’t just anyone anymore, was she?

“Now, what were you doing with Isa and Zotov,” I asked, narrowing my brows.

She ignored me and traced the edge of a nearby canvas with her finger, her touch light and reverent. “This is beautiful. I had no idea…”

I stepped closer, drawn to her like a magnet. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Just like there’s a lot I don’t know about you.” I cupped her chin and tilted her face up to meet my gaze. “Like what you and Isabella were doing out there with Zotov.”

Jemma’s eyes flashed with anger, and she faced me. “Why don’t we start by you telling me where you were last night?”

I stiffened, caught off guard by her directness. “I was working. And then…” I pointed at the painting.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said. “Why?”

I turned away, pretending to examine one of my paintings. “There’s just a lot I had to do, a lot on my mind?—”

“Cut it,” she interrupted, stepping in front of me. “It’s not even that you didn’t come to bed yesterday. You’re cold and pushing me away, and I want to know why.”

Her perceptiveness was both impressive and infuriating. I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I’m not pushing you away. I’m just?—”

“Trying to protect me?” She let out a humorless laugh. “By shutting me out? Now? That’s rich coming from the man who kidnapped me and threw me in a pool, who kissed me and demanded I marry him. ”

I couldn’t help but smirk at the memories. Our time getting to know each other might not have been long, but it had been intense and fun. “That was different.”

“Oh, was it?” She crossed her arms, her green eyes blazing. “Enlighten me, Oh Wise One. How was this any different? You told me we’re a team just yesterday; was it all lies? Horseshit.”

Her sarcasm caught me off guard, and I found myself chuckling despite the tension. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She narrowed her brows and glared at me. “And you’re an emotionally constipated idiot,” she fired back.

I walked right into her and pushed her back until her knees hit one of the flowerbeds. “You better watch your mouth, Little One.”

She growled but held her ground. “I’d rather watch your back.”

“You”—I scanned her up and down—“watching my back? That’s the most terrifying thing ever.”

She straightened against me. “Stop acting like a jerk, and stop trying to pick fights. Just talk to me.”

“You think I’m the one picking fights? When you’re the one insulting me constantly?” I growled.

She rolled her eyes and exhaled but then softened against me, laid her head against my chest, and slung her arms around my waist. “What did you think? That I’d magically be safer if you kept your distance?” She shook her head. “That’s not how this works, you big dodo. We’re in this together now, whether you like it or not. ”

Wow. I stared down at her. This was not how our arguments usually went.

I sighed.

She remained quiet, held me, waited for me to say something. She wasn’t going to let this go, and she wasn’t going to give in either.

“Fine. But this is not some Shakespearean tragedy.” I put a finger under her chin and lifted her face until I could stare into her beautiful eyes. “My own father wants me dead, and now you’re in danger, too. I thought if I kept my distance, maybe…”

“Maybe what? I’m right here—like you wanted me to. I’m marrying you—like you wanted me to. How dare you treat me as if I’m not strong enough to stand next to you.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at Jemma’s fiery retort. She was right. She was a strong woman. Feisty. “Strong enough to stand next to me? You barely reach my shoulder, Little One.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I meant metaphorically, you overgrown suit. And I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and you.”

“Oh really?” I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a low growl. “Is that why I found you and Bella alone with Zotov?”

She pushed against my chest, but I didn’t budge. “I didn’t plan for that to happen.”

I scoffed. “And yet it did.”

She hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Why was he even out there?”

And wasn’t that the question of the century ?

My anger flared again, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. How did Zotov escape my men and just wander around the property as if he was a goddamn visitor on a countryside walk? “Why were you out there? That’s exactly the kind of thing that could get you killed. Do you not understand the gravity of this situation?”

“Of course I do!” she snapped. “But do you not understand that I can’t just sit around and do nothing?”

“You’ve got a fucking wedding to plan,” I growled.

“It’s a publicity stunt, not a wedding, and I don’t give two shits about floral arrangements or seating charts,” she snarled.

We glared at each other, both too stubborn to back down. But as I looked into her fierce green eyes, I felt my resolve weakening. She was infuriating, yes, but also brave and loyal. And, God help me, that’s exactly what I loved about her.

Finally, I let out a long exhale. “Fine. You want to help? We do it together. No more secrets, no more pushing each other away. Deal?”

Her expression softened slightly. “Deal. But that means you have to actually talk to me. No more brooding alone in your art studio all night.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t brood.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever looked in the mirror? Or seen your paintings?”

I rolled my eyes but pulled her closer. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to be more…open.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said, leaning into me .

Suddenly, I heard the creak of the greenhouse door. I tensed, and every single muscle in my body tightened.

Jemma must’ve felt the change in me because she looked up at me, her eyes full of questions.

I shook my head at her. We weren’t immediately visible so whoever had entered might not even know we were in here.

I held my breath and strained my ears to catch any sound that might betray the intruder who was coming in. Who the hell would dare to step foot in here? This wasn’t one of my people—they knew better than to disturb me here. But what about Hawk or Donnelly?

I pulled Jemma down into a crouching position and instinctively reached for the gun holstered at my ankle, my fingers brushing against the cool metal.

“Pssst,” I whispered into her ear, my voice barely audible. I felt her nod against my chest, then focused back on listening.

The footsteps drew closer—slow, deliberate, making their way between the flower beds. Soon, they would reach the open space in the middle—and us.

My fingers tightened around the grip of my weapon.

I tapped Jemma’s shoulder, pulled her up, and pushed her in the direction and through an opening between the flower beds. This was not ideal but the best we could do for now. I pulled her down into a crouch next to me, then positioned myself so I had a clear line of vision through the greenery.

The intruder came into view—a shadowy figure. As soon as he came into full view, I knew we were fucked. Dressed in all black—including his face covering—this was not one of us.

His fluid and barely audible movements through the easels and canvases told me this was a professional. And where there was one, there might be more.

In one swift motion, I took aim while I raised my left hand and covered Jemma’s eyes. I didn’t want her to see this. Didn’t want her to bear witness to the violence that was about to unfold.

The sudden shift in my position must’ve caught the intruder’s attention because, in an instant, he swung around and trained his weapon in our direction.

I could see the black steel of the silencer pointed directly at us, unwavering. He was good.

And then we locked eyes, and when his gaze moved to Jemma next to me, I didn’t hesitate.

In this world, hesitation meant death.

I fired twice in rapid succession, just as he fired his weapon, as well.

The sound, along with Jemma’s suppressed shriek, was deafening in the enclosed space of the greenhouse.

The sharp, acrid scent of burnt gunpowder, mixed with the chemical undertone of gun oil, filled my nose.

The figure crumpled to the ground, a bright red stain spreading across the stone floor. I kept my gun trained on him and kept my hand still, shielding Jemma and blocking her sight.

Until she pulled my hand off her face, crawled behind me, gripped the back of my shirt, and pressed her face against my shoulder blade.

“Don’t look,” I murmured, my eyes never leaving the fallen intruder. “Just stay exactly as you are. ”

I kept my weapon up, firmly gripping the gun, then pulled out my phone with my free hand. My fingers flew over the screen, sending out an alert to my men. “Possible second shooter. Secure the perimeter. Greenhouse compromised.”

The adrenaline coursing through my veins kept my senses sharp, every rustle of leaves, every creak of the greenhouse structure amplified in the tense silence.

You wouldn’t know it from the aged look, but the greenhouse glass was actually bulletproof.

Another security measure my nonno implemented to assure my nonna could do what she loved while minimizing the risk. So the only real threat was from whoever would come through that door next or came with the first one.

Jemma remained pressed against my back, her breathing rapid and shallow.

“Stay down,” I murmured, my eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of movement.

Minutes stretched like hours as we waited, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and gunpowder. Finally, I heard the familiar sound of men approaching, their footsteps quick and purposeful.

The greenhouse door burst open, and the space flooded with men, their weapons at the ready. I kept my gun raised until I recognized Michele’s voice.

“Clear!” he shouted, followed by a chorus of confirmations from the others.

Only then did I lower my weapon, the tension in my muscles slowly ebbing away. I turned to Jemma, ready to assure her it was over .

That’s when I saw it—a thin trickle of blood running down from her ear which she had covered with her hand.

My throat tightened. “Punk?” I cupped her face, tilting it to get a better look. “You’re bleeding.”

She nodded, and I could see the pain in her eyes.

I pulled her hand away, and her fingertips were stained red.

“He missed though,” was all she said before she gave me a weak smile.