Page 24 of Intrigue

I pin him with a look that makes him step back. “Set it up. Tonight. South docks.”

“Your funeral.”

“Make sure they hit the shipment hard,” I say. “Messy. Loud. Make it look real.”

He pockets the money, glancing toward the mouth of the alley like someone might be listening before melting into the shadows.

Moretti’s crew has been circling me for months, waiting for me to turn against the Don. They don’t know I’m going to use them first.

Angelo swallows, nods once. He’ll do it. He wants the cash, and he knows I’ll gut him if he screws me over.

The plan unfolds exactly as intended. Three hours later, I’m directing the unloading when shouts erupt. Gunfire peppers the shipping containers. I dive behind a crate, drawing my piece.

Five Moretti soldiers emerge, faces covered.

Then, the first shot rings out.

I spin, ducking behind a stack of crates as bullets tear through the air. The Moretti crew swarms in from the shadows, knives flashing, boots pounding. It’s chaos—just the way I planned it.

I take the first one out with a bullet to the gut, the second with a blade to the throat. Blood sprays hot against my arm. A knife glances off my ribs, cutting deep. I let out a sharp breath, shoving my attacker back, my own blade driving into his chest. He gurgles, eyes wide, before collapsing at my feet.

Pain burns through my side, but I don’t have time to feel it. Moretti’s men scatter as my crew retaliates, gunfire echoing against the metal containers. I stagger back, pressing a hand to my wound. Blood seeps through my fingers, soaking my shirt, but the wound isn’t fatal. Perfect.

I let the chaos cover my escape, slipping into the shadows. The remaining three retreat, leaving their dead. Let them think they got me. Let the Don believe the threat is real. And let Selene see what she does to me.

***

Her apartment is in a quiet neighborhood, warm light spilling from the windows, the scent of something sweet lingering in the air. The kind of life I don’t belong in. I shouldn’t be here. But my feet move anyway, my vision blurring as I try to make sense of my surroundings.

“Goddammit!” I crash into something in the kitchen and let out a sharp yelp. I press a hand to my side as I straighten and take in the décor. Her house is spacious but it’s the kitchen I’m most awed by. Everything has been painted a vibrant shade of green and white, like nature spit into the architecture. Mostly, I think it’s the pain rocking through my body that keeps me wide awake and assessing. I glance at the watch on my wrist and groan at the time. Almost midnight. Just great!

Now, I’m going to have to explain what I’m doing at Selene’s place so late into the night without sounding obsessive.

I stumble forward and crash again into a chair. It scrapes in the silence and maybe I’d have cared more about it if not for the second bout of pain running up from my stomach to my chest. Fuck, I’m bleeding out for real. I need help.

“I’m armed.”

I’m shocked that I don’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late but even then, I’m relieved to hear Selene’s voice through the blood and pain.

“And I have a surprisingly great hold on guns. If you move, you’re going to be doing so with a bullet in the back of your head.”

Despite the pain, I find it funny and badass. “If you put a bullet in the back of my head, then I wouldn’t be able to move in the end. Be kind, love.”

It takes her a second or two to respond but when she does, her voice is a strangled whisper. “Sandro? Is that you?”

I turn around slowly, hands up in the air, and step out of the shadows. “Hey, Selene.”

She gasps again, louder this time, before pressing her right hand to her chest and hitting softly. “Jesus Christ, Sandro. What are you doing at my house at midnight?”

“Bleeding I thought that was obvious,” I mutter and take off my jacket. “Sorry about your floor. I think I’ve got blood all over. I’m dying, princess, don’t look so angry.”

“I’m not a doctor,” she says but as the light fawns across her pale features, I note the concern in her eyes. “And we hate each other. Why would you even think to come over right now? It’s stupid.”

“Maybe I’m stupid in love with you?”

“If you still have time to be smug and flirty, then maybe you aren’t close to death.”

I let out a sharp groan again and fold into myself for a moment. When I straighten again, she’s closed the kitchen door and is now close enough to touch me.