Page 28 of Hunted to the Altar (Caputo Crime Family #3)

Samuel called my name, but I could not stop running, no matter how much this was hurting my heart. He couldn’t be trusted. All his obsessive talk was some ruse. A way for me to lower my defenses. He didn’t care about me or the baby. The man was unhinged.

I began to pull myself up the fence, thanking the Lord for answered prayers.

No electricity. No bullet through my stomach.

I’d never tried to climb something like this before.

It was harder than it should be. Maybe if I was lighter.

Maybe if I did more cardio. Maybe if adrenaline and nerves didn’t have me trembling so badly.

Before I could get halfway up, an arm grabbed my leg.

Shrieking, I tried to fling my leg backward to disengage the guard’s hold. But rather than be deterred, he shifted his hold to my ankle and resumed pulling me back toward the hell I was trying to flee.

A crack sounded in the night and he released my foot with a yowl.

Then a second crack sounded, warmth splattered my body, and his screams were silenced. Permanently.

Terrified, I looked over my shoulder and watched Samuel approach the scene. His men had parted to let him through, with him walking down the makeshift aisle like he was a king going to his throne.

Shaking in fear, I kept one hand clinging to the fence and fumbled to pull the gun out with the other. After multiple attempts, I finally freed the gun from my dress, but it was too late to demand he keep his distance. He was already standing beside me.

I tried to lift the heavy weapon between us, but before my eyes could acknowledge his hand, the gun was gone from mine. I don’t know what kind of fucking move he did to disarm me, but rather then dwell on what I could not control, I grabbed onto the fence with all ten fingers and braced.

“No, no, no,” I begged. “I don’t want to be with you. Leave me alone.

“You’ve embarrassed me in front of my men, Nina.” He ignored my pleas. “And you dared to do this while carrying my child too.”

It was scarier when he didn’t raise his voice. Despite how low his tone was, goosebumps broke out along my arms. It might as well have been the devil next to me.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I whispered.

“I see,” he acknowledged.

Rather than forced me down, he turned and walked away. For a brief moment, I felt victorious. Had I finally gotten through to him? Was I free to go?

But then he addressed his men.

“This, men,” he said clearly, “is what happens when my wife challenges me.”

It happened so fast yet so slow. He turned and raised the gun he’d taken from me. I saw the flash, heard the shot, felt tension give away on my leg, then burning hot like fire exploding through my nerves, and I realized what had happened.

I screamed, let go of the fence, and collapsed to the ground.

Blood poured from my leg, and in the dim light of the lamps lit along the property’s drive, I could see my knee was shot. The entry left a clean hole. I pressed the wound with my hands in a hopeless effort to staunch the bleeding. If there was an exit hole, I could not see it.

I must admit I couldn’t see much, blinded by fear and pain as I was, but there was one thing I was acutely aware of, and it was of him — watching me, unblinking.

“So if she is to remain whole, I suggest you encourage her to behave herself if, in the future, it is your duty to care for her. But remember, never touch her. No man is allowed to touch her but me.”

My eyes welled as vomit teased at the back of my throat. I was going to be sick.

Samuel crouched beside me and brushed a curl off my sweat-drenched forehead like I hadn’t just become his example.

“I warned you, my little bunny. Now you’ll never run again.”

He stood, adjusting his cufflinks like I was already handled.

“Take her to the doctor,” he ordered, “And dispose of the dead guard.” He then walked off like the chaos he left behind meant nothing, that my pain meant nothing. He’d purposely maimed me. He purposely shot me, a pregnant woman carrying his baby, without remorse.

I felt my heart turn to stone. There would be no escape from him. Not now. Not ever.

A sob tore from me, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or the sick realization that a part of me had always known this moment was coming. That no matter how fast I ran, this would be where I ended up.

Despite his declaration that I was not to be touched, I guess he gave the go ahead for his men to give basic first aid and lift me onto a stretcher that arrived a couple minutes later.

When we passed him again, Samuel reached out and gripped my chin, forcing my eyes to his.

There was something wild in him. Triumphant. Hungry.

“You belong to me, Nina. Forever.”

Then he kissed me.

Kissed me like my lips weren’t covered in sweat, blood, and tears.

Firm. Branding. Possessive .

It should’ve made me scream in frustration if not all out rage and despair.

Instead, my heart twisted with something far worse: recognition.

Because even now — even broken, humiliated, bleeding — my body still reacted to him. That cruel, unkillable pull between us hadn’t vanished. It was still there, tangled with the hate. The shame.

They carried me back to the Villa. Samuel followed close behind.

“You understand now, don’t you?” he said gently, mockingly. “You can’t run, Nina. You never could.”

I wanted to hurt him. Claw at his face. Scream until I couldn’t breathe. But I just trembled, staring at the man who had shattered me and still somehow owned me.

And then he smiled. Shut the door. Took his knives out their holsters and placed them on the foyer table was just another Tuesday.

He even whistled.

A wail swelled in my throat, but I swallowed it. There was no comfort in sound. No relief.

There was only pain. And the slow, suffocating truth.

No escape.

No future without him.

No freedom for me — or the life now growing inside me.

Each bump in the road sent shocks of agony through my body, but the pain in my limbs was nothing compared to what bloomed inside my chest.

I had believed, stupidly, that I had a way out. That I could still choose something better.

But Samuel had taken that away with a single shot.

Not just to my knee — but to everything I thought I was.

And the worst part?

That hollow ache in my chest wasn’t just fear .

It was need.

I still wanted and needed him.

And I hated myself for it.

The realization settled in my chest like lead. Heavy. Permanent. Unforgiving.

Tears slid silently down my cheeks, but I made no sound. He had won. And somewhere, deep inside the parts of me I didn’t dare to examine, I knew that I had never truly stood a chance.