Page 4 of Sapphires and Snakes

Dan falls back with a huff.

“Further,” Zarina says.

Marcus nods, and Dan growls, putting more space between them. Marcus keeps hold of Zarina’s neck, as if he doesn’t have ten men ready to bury a bullet in her chest the moment she so much as twitches her finger on the trigger.

“Walk me to Tamayo,” she says.

Marcus stands frozen, face flushing and jaw grinding. I’d laugh if my whole body didn’t feel like it was being tossed about in a storm, helpless to find my footing. I cannot do anything to help. If we attack, we die. If Zarina attacks, she dies.

Only she can save herself. And I hate it.

Zarina steps forward without waiting for Marcus to confirm or deny her instructions. He’s forced to follow if he wants to keep his hands on her neck. They walk together through the throng of armed soldiers. My focus narrows to the two of them. The flooris carpeted, and yet each footfall is as loud as booming thunder, vibrating up through my shoes and into my chest.

Without discussion, we stand rooted to the spot. Everybody in the narrow hall is coiled so tight, a single wrong breath will spring them into action. No one speaks. No one twitches. Air roars in my ears as Zarina traverses the endless distance toward me, like a gruesome facsimile of our future fake wedding march.

And all I can do is watch.

Watch as Marcus half-chokes my bride before he gives her away. Watch as guns follow my beloved down the aisle. Watch as I am rendered impotent.

And then they stop.

They stand in the no man’s land between his soldiers and me. Zarina presses the gun harder into Marcus’s chin. He grunts and squeezes his hand tighter on her jaw.

“Tamayo.” Zarina says my name like it’s a lifeline. “Accompany me to the door.”

I lift both hands outward, showing them empty to Marcus and his men, and step forward slow and steady. Zarina might think I’m a lifeline, but I’m just the shore. I did nothing to pull her into safety but exist.

Dan the Snake scoffs in the background. “You fucking kidding me, Marky? We’re just gonna let ’em leave?”

“Shut the fuck up, Danny,” Marcus snaps.

Zarina turns to face him, gun still pressed to his chin, his hand still around her neck but allowing her movement. He glares down at her. She grins with malicious delight. “Good boy, Marky.”

His eye twitches. “It’s only a matter of time, Zarina.”

I stand so close behind her that each breath brushes my chest against her back.

“Pat, open the doors,” Zarina commands. They move immediately, at least three guns following them. “Everyoneelse, hands up and off your guns.”

I don’t spare my people more than a muttered, “Do it.”

“Now, Pat,” Zarina says.

They push the double doors wide open at the same moment Zarina steps out of Marcus’s hold. His expression is dark, flush turning purple, as his arms fall to his sides. I can’t hold myself back anymore. I grab her hip with one hand as Zarina aims her gun—Marcus’s gun—straight up and fires at the ceiling.

The party stills for a single breath before hundreds of weapons slide out of their holsters and sheaths and aim for the sound. No one gasps. No one screams.

Zarina clears the gun’s chamber, removes the magazine, and tosses the pieces to the ground. She rolls her shoulders back, takes my hand from her hip and speaks loudly, clearly, to the entire ballroom. “Marcus Accardi attempted to kidnap and forcibly marry me, Zarina Gallo, moments ago.”

She turns, guiding us into the party. Pat follows close on her heels while Darius waits until every single one of our people is safely away from the scene. We wind our way through the crowd, Zarina leading us on a circuitous route that takes us past each of the Cardinal dons.

“This is in breach of the Council, of sacred hospitality, and of my own personhood, and will be seen as an act of war lest the Accardis make amends,” she continues.

Jimmy Falcone offers me a look of impressed surprise; Alonso one of apoplectic rage that echoes Marcus’s; David appears annoyed more than anything; and Riccardo Gallo attempts to catch his daughter’s eye, as if he wants to make sure she’s okay. As if he didn’t condemn her to this the moment he agreed to marry her to a man with violence in his veins.

Zarina stops us at the front door, turning to survey the room with murder on her face. “You have forty-eight hours to respond.”

ZARINA