Page 44 of Sin City Obsession (De Salvo Empire #1)

Stella was quiet a moment. Then, carefully, she said, “I thought Rocco asked you to wait for him?”

“He did. Because he’s a macho idiot who thinks I need protection.

” Alessa tightened her grip of the steering wheel for a beat, then forced her fingers to relax again.

“I’m going to remind him I’m not that damsel.

” And if she got there too late, if Sobol managed to win even despite Cristiano’s help, then her mission would shift to ending every last fucker with a single ounce of loyalty to that name.

Strangely, it sounded as if her mother were smiling when she spoke again. “Well, be careful, sweetheart. And stay in touch. You know how we worry.” She didn’t keep Alessa on the line, and in any other mindset, Alessa might have wondered about that.

Instead, Alessa acknowledged her other obligation as she slid into the necessary lane and made one more call. She really should be doing it in person, but time was of the essence .

“Alessa.” Dante didn’t ask questions, and his tone implied he had expected to hear from her. He was a smart man. He probably had.

Alessa fought to keep her breathing steady. “I’m going back to Las Vegas. I thought you should know. Just … for informational purposes.”

“Will you be there for the remainder of your vacation time?”

My vacation time. She’d managed to forget.

She opened her mouth to just say yes, thinking it was the easiest and immediately safest answer, but she caught herself.

The truth mattered more than either of those things.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. I … I want to stay with Rocco.

I don’t know what he might have told you, or not, but—”

“Define ‘stay’,” Dante said, cutting her off without giving away his position.

Alessa swallowed hard. “I love him. I think he loves me. I think he left me here because he’s stupid, so I’m going to remind him I don’t need sheltering.

And if he’ll keep me after this … we haven’t talked about it, so nothing’s settled, but he is where I want to be.

” And she wished, more than anything, that she could be confessing these things to Rocco instead of her probably former employer.

My life always has been a little fucked up.

Dante made a sound that didn’t quite carry. “Then you’d better get to the airport. It’s a long flight.” He disconnected without waiting for a response.

His choice of words gave her mind a whole new track to spiral down as she drove, parked, and hauled out her suitcase.

She’d barely re-packed, but she didn’t care.

She would let Rocco take her on that shopping spree if that was what it took.

She only hoped she hadn’t just destroyed the alliance between the De Salvos and the Cavallos.

When she went to double-check her phone volume, as she stepped into the airport, she saw she had another text.

This time it was from Berto … and the text itself contained a flight manifest, including a one-way ticket direct to Las Vegas which departed in just over forty minutes. The seat was first-class, of course.

Her head spun. Did that mean…? That was all it could mean. She hadn’t destroyed relations between the families. Dante had given his support.

Her wild emotions nearly made her miss the flight, and she knew her face was covered in fresh tears by the time she dropped into her seat.

But she didn’t care. She was going back to Las Vegas, back to the man she hoped to spend her life with.

They were going to have a loud, Italian-style argument and it would inevitably reduce itself to hot, messy sex.

Probably quickly. But as long as he survived, as long as he didn’t dismiss her entirely, she didn’t care.

Alessa stared out the window as the plane finally rolled forward, picking up speed for its ascent. Please, stay alive, Rocco.

He needed to get his head on straight. Rocco knew it .

But he also knew that every time he stepped back into the firefight, every time he rejoined the chaos—freshly reloaded, bandaged, reoriented—his risk of not living long enough to duck away again got higher.

And with that risk came the fear of what Alessa might think if they’d already exchanged their final words.

If he never got the chance to tell her everything he’d kept locked inside, how much had she guessed?

How much had she understood from his actions?

And how little would any of that matter, given that he knew his death would devastate her.

She hadn’t been thrilled the one time he’d stepped in front of a gun for her. He could only imagine how much she would love to be witnessing this mess.

Fragments of wood exploded behind his head before he processed the sharp whizzing sound of a bullet that once again narrowly missed his face. He really needed to get his head in the game.

Rocco ground his teeth, dropped into a roll, and twisted to the side in an attempt to locate the shooter.

Smoke from whatever the hell had caught fire elsewhere on the property continued to roll in, growing thicker by the second.

But it wasn’t so dense that he couldn’t spot the movement when his latest would-be assassin ran to relocate.

He pulled the trigger twice, letting only the recoil of the gun readjust his aim, and the figure fell out of sight.

Rocco held still.

The comm in his ear crackled. “Your guy’s fleeing the compound. I’ve got eyes on the car. ”

Rocco cursed. “ Keep eyes on him.” He paused, glanced around, and snapped, “We’re moving out!

” He didn’t wait for the voices of assent before retreating out the way he’d come and taking the closest exit.

Fire crawled up the building to his right, and he thought he could hear sirens signaling their inevitable approach in the distance.

Changing location wasn’t a half-bad idea.

He met up with Cristiano on the back end of the property, the bulk of their blended crew still in the process of catching up. “Did you get the plate?”

Cristiano nodded. “Ryōma found some wheels, so he’s keeping an eye. And I’ve got him.” He held up his phone, showing a map with a blinking cursor. “Looks like the target’s heading into the desert.”

Rocco rolled his neck. “Of course he is. Even he doesn’t want an all-out firefight in the heart of Vegas.

Desert’s the only other option.” He turned toward the gathered men.

“If you’re too injured to follow, fall back for treatment.

That is not a suggestion. If you only have a few scrapes, patch up, reload, and come with us. Also not a suggestion.”

The first SUV squealed to a stop almost before the words left Rocco’s lips. Rocco jerked his thumb to it. “Wounded, go.”

Four men peeled off, for visibly obvious reasons. A fifth body was lifted into the back.

Rocco nodded at Cristiano and they stood. Their transport would have to be adjusted, but he had the means to do that quickly.

Not that anything was quickly enough to his mind .

He just wanted it done. He wanted Viktor Sobol, and by necessity also his top men, out of the picture in a permanent way. He wanted his father to be able to recover peacefully.

He wanted to pull his woman into his arms, to breathe her in, and never let her go.

It took another forty-one minutes before they managed to catch up with Ryōma’s marker. Forty-one minutes wherein Viktor continued to live. Forty-one minutes more Rocco was forced to endure without reaching out to Alessa.

Rocco dragged a hand through his hair, gaze locked on Sobol’s obviously abandoned truck. “That dumbass really ran out of gas?”

“That’s what the scout reported,” Em replied quietly.

Cristiano’s voice whispered into Rocco’s ear. “Eyes on target. They’re moving on foot, but they’re moving slow. Two o’clock off the road.”

There was a beat of silence, and Rocco was fairly sure he heard Ignazio drop his head against the side of the SUV they were crouched behind.

It was a fair response. Who the fuck wanted to go running through the fucking desert on a summer night?

The sun had finally set, but it was still damn near a full hundred degrees outside. This is how people die in the desert.

If only he could trust the Sobols to be so unlucky.

Rocco shoved from the shelter of the SUV. “Let’s get it done. We can cool off after.”

They jogged across the way, past the verified-abandoned truck, and into the expanse of desert in the direction Cristiano had indicated.

The new venue had more than its share of drawbacks.

Catching up required abandoning a certain degree of stealth, and they were completely exposed.

No grown man could hide behind the sporadic Joshua tree, and the low desert brush wouldn’t provide much more in terms of adequate shelter.

There were some rocks, gathered together and built up in spontaneous-looking structures.

If they could take up position behind those, it would be something.

But that was nothing to pin their hopes on.

Cristiano rejoined them a few minutes later, guiding them to a rockface where Ryōma remained crouched. “One of them’s either drunk or wounded, because they’re not traveling a straight line. Over there.”

Rocco followed the indication, easily spotting a rising dune but requiring another moment to separate human-shaped figures from the nearby clump of Joshua trees. They looked to have stopped moving and one of them was gesturing with visible agitation. He frowned. “There’s only four of them?”

“Yep,” Ryōma answered without lifting his head from the night-vision binoculars.

Cristiano offered a subtle shrug. “Sobol took off with three other guys. He was the priority, so he’s who we followed.”

Rocco did understand the point. And, if Ugo’s information was correct, there were only two others he definitely needed to eliminate. He looked out toward Sobol’s group again. “I’m not waiting.”

“Sir,” one of Rocco’s men said as he shuffled forward. “If we are where I think we are, there’s an old dirt road out that way.” He gestured unnecessarily toward Sobol’s group. “It winds between some of the dunes and eventually connects back to the main road. ”

“So that’s what the bastard’s doing.”

Rocco and Cristiano exchanged nods, and everyone reached for their weapons as they prepared to descend from their hiding spot.

Cristiano moved to take point, Ignazio and Em on either side of Rocco, and they’d moved forward all of three feet before going still again at the sound of an engine rapidly approaching.

For a split-second, Rocco assumed it was the transportation Sobol was trying to get to.

But it was coming from the wrong direction. The engine—which was starting to sound like some type of bike—was coming from the approximate direction of where they had come from.

As one, the men shrank back toward the rock, using the rock’s natural darkness and remaining shadow to help disguise their presence.

“Reinforcements?” Em whispered.

“Doesn’t seem like they were expecting any,” Cristiano replied.

“Well we sure fucking aren’t,” Rocco said sharply. He could see the dirt cloud now, even in the encroaching darkness.

“It’s a motorbike,” one of his soldiers whispered. “My nephew has one. I hear it all the damn time.”

Rocco scowled as the motorbike came into view.

It was angled to roll right past them, and definitely not slowing down.

Motorbikes weren’t uncommon, and deserts with natural dunes were known for being popular places to ride.

But there was no goddamn way this person just happened to be showing up right then, right there—headed right for Viktor fucking Sobol .

There was something like a laugh in Cristiano’s voice as the bike sailed past, obscuring them in dirt. “Don’t suppose that other guy might’ve put a hit on Sobol?”

Rocco growled. “I’ll slit his fucking throat if he did.” He took a step forward, despite knowing he shouldn’t, but logic—and two pairs of hands—drew him short as the rider suddenly swerved wide.

Gunfire exploded into the night, one-sided shots evolving immediately into a shootout. The rider had gone straight for Sobol, and obviously caught them off-guard. But they were just one person.

Rocco’s eyes widened and his heart came to a sudden, full stop as he watched the assailant duck-and-weave … in a dress.

“Uh, guys,” Ryōma said through the comm in their ears, “why does Mystery Rider look like Alessa?”

Rocco’s grip tightened on his gun and he shrugged off the one hand still thoughtlessly trying to hold him out of sight. “Because it is .” As wildly outrageous as it was, there was no doubt in his mind who the crazy woman was.

She was his.