Page 30 of Italian Mafia Boss's Virgin Lover

In the entry, I hear men. I duck into the parlor, plastering myself to the wall. Shouting echoes in from the drive, and my gratitude for my men wars with grief for all of those who will be lost. I was so close. A few more days and I could have shored up my forces. I could have taken down Gregorio. I could have made him pay for what he did.

But time never was on my side. I think of Vittorio, my brother, crumpled cold and stiff in his own blood, in this very house. And I grip my pistol tighter.

A pair of Gregorio’s men thunder down the stairs, rushing past me for the front doors. I wait a beat for any to follow. When no one does, I execute them from behind. Two neat shots, filed into the backs of their skulls. I peel the AK off one of them and face the stairs, listening.

Footsteps. Not an army, but a lone pair.

Dani?

I rush up. With so many windows shattered, the castle is frigid, fires guttered in their hearths and wet wind howling through empty casements. I stick to the shadows as I reach the landing, heart beating against my ribs. It’s not fear coursing through me though. This familiar heat is rage, and I let it fuel me.

“Daniella!”

I freeze, halfway down the corridor to the west wing. I smell the harsh tang of blood before I spot the trail of it streaking across the flagstones.

“Daniella! Come out and face me!” It’s Gregorio, his voice sharp with rage, ragged with pain. This blood—is it his? Is he wounded? “You know I like a good game, but we both know how this one is going to end.”

I sidle against the wall, turn down the corridor. There he is, a limping shadow, pistol in hand. He’s entering the great library at the end of the hall, pressing open tall varnished doors. As he turns, I see a smile on his face.

Is that where Dani is hiding? I don’t have time to think. I run.

Something hooks around my neck in the same instant. Sharp, blinding pain rips through me. I feel my gun fly from my fingers, both hands straining for my own neck.

“I’m not sorry.”

I choke, barely managing to hook my fingers beneath the wire. It’s thin, resilient metal, caught and drawing tighter around my windpipe.

Gio’s voice is in my ear. “Don’t,” he says, and I swear I hear sorrow in the word. “Don’t fight, Santo. It’s over.”

Pain bursts behind my eyes, the strain of the wire choking the life straight out of me. It’s a coward’s manner of attack, and maybe Gio realizes this. Because suddenly, he loosens his grip, and I fall forward onto my knees. He has my AK in his hands, his face pale with grief, sweat gathered at his hairline.

“This is a courtesy,” he says softly, slowly swinging the barrel between my eyes. “One your brother didn’t get. If I’d been here, I would have made sure of it, Santo. Vittorio was a good man. Truly, so are you. But good men don’t win wars. Good men don’t survive.”

I’m still gasping for breath, my throat swelling, pressing the air from my lungs. The flagstones swing violently beneath me and all I can think, with every heartbeat, isDani, Dani, Dani.

“Don’t do this,” I finally manage, looking up the barrel at Gio, my old friend, my brother’s old friend. “What are you doing, Gio? What can you possibly stand to gain by killing me?”

“You’re a wall, Santo,” he says, sweat cutting down his temple. He’s trembling. Deep down, clearly, he doesn’t want to do this. Sowhy? What could have bought him? “You’re a stone in the path. Don’t you see? The days of kings are over. Your wealth, your empire, your blood, your name—it’s too big to beat. So we have to remove it.Youhave to be removed. It’s a new world order.”

“Fuck you,” I spit. “You could have joined me. You could have fought with me—”

“Fought with you?Lookat you! Santo. We are old friends. And this,” he shakes his head, eyes wide and brow furrowed. He shakes the AK meaningfully. “This is a mercy. Vittorio—he could have done it, I think. I believe that. He could have brought the Amata name out of the shadows, and rebuilt the empire this great family once knew. But you? You were never meant for great things. You’re a solitary man, a bad man, and in that, you’ve always thrived. You should have stayed in that world. Petty crime. Money. Drugs. But this? You’re in over your head. Look how many people you’ve gotten killed! Is this really what you want? Is this really what Vittorio would have wanted?”

Shame cinches tight around my throat, more painful than that strangling wire. I’d say he was right, two months ago. Six. A year. I’d agree with this traitorous bastard readily. After Vittorio died, after I failed to protect him, what did I care if I lived, so long as I got my blood? So long as I got my pound of flesh?

I would have let the Amata name die just like that, and no, that’s not what my brother would have wanted.

But now, suddenly, finally, I have something more to fight for than revenge.

“Put the gun down,” I order Gio, “and I’ll spare you your life.” I don’t have time to wager with him. I don’t have time to rationalize. Dani,myDani, is somewhere in this castle. Fighting, like the brave, bold woman I know she is.

But how long can she really hold them off? How long can she survive, without me there to protect her?

“I’m sorry, Santo,” says Gio again, and his face is struck with grief. “This isn’t personal. I just have to choose the right side this time. I have to choose the winning side.”

“And Fyodor?” I ask, thinking of the men outside. If I die here, will they surrender? Or are they, like Gio, fighting only for the appearance, preparing to turn their coats at the first opportunity? “His men?”

Gio’s eyes narrow to slits. “Fools, all of them, to back you. But after this, after so many of them die—afteryoudie, there will be no one to stand behind. They’ll choose Gregorio, as they should have a long, long time ago.”