Page 25 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

RILEY

T he man holding the gun isn’t who I expected.

Ice floods my veins.

It’s not Zver.

Or Dominic.

It’s not even Dante’s ghost clawing his way back from the grave.

It’s Enzo.

Enzo fucking D’Angelo.

Dante’s brother. My brother-in-law.

And the man who killed my Da.

He steps out of the shadows like the devil on a Sunday stroll, the muzzle of his gun jammed against the doctor’s temple.

The bastard stammers, frozen in terror. “I wasn’t hurting her, I swear.”

Enzo’s finger flexes on the trigger. He presses the barrel harder, right between the man’s eyes. “At least if I kill you for lying, I’m in the right place to bury the body.”

Jesus. He’s going to do it. He’s going to kill him. Right here. In front of me.

Am I next?

My pulse ricochets, breath stuttering, every beat screaming at me to move, to speak, to do something.

And then I see it. The test result, burning a hole at Enzo’s feet.

Maybe it’s the only card I have left. That I’m carrying Dante’s child.

It could be my way out. My salvation.

For me and my baby.

My mouth opens?—

Before I can speak, the doctor snaps. He lunges, jittery hands slamming into Enzo’s shoulder.

The gunshot fires, a deafening crack that spits stone chips like shrapnel.

“Run!” someone shouts.

I don’t wait to figure out who.

I bolt.

I don’t run the way I came. My head’s a mess, instincts firing on all the wrong cylinders. Feet slam earth, carrying me clear across to the far edge of the cemetery.

I skid to a stop, chest heaving, eyes whipping for any way out—left, right. But nothing’s familiar with these graves and thickets of trees.

So I run left. It’s a mistake.

I stumble through a clearing, momentum shoving me forward, when the ground drops out and I careen down a slick hill—arms flailing, body pitching. My feet tangle, and I slam down hard, mud grinding into my palms. “Argh!”

Then—

CRACK .

Another gunshot rips the air. Birds blast from the trees in a screaming frenzy.

My stomach free-falls.

Did he just put a bullet in the doctor?

“Riley!” A man’s voice cries out.

Enzo?

“Shit.” The words shred out as I scramble to my feet, only to catch the toe of my shoe on a thick grave marker and pitch forward. My face slams toward granite, and misses by an inch.

A bronze plate stares up at me, letters worn.

Dream Team

And I know exactly where I am. And it’s the furthest point from Dominic.

Suddenly, two strong hands clamp down on me and I almost flinch, braced for the worst.

Relief floods in when I look up and see it’s Dominic.

“I heard shots fired,” he growls, hauling me upright. “Can you walk?”

It’s only then the pain in my ankle registers, hot and sharp. But it holds when I put weight on it. Barely.

My chest heaves, lungs torn raw. I can’t form words.

So, I just nod.

He doesn’t buy it. In a blink, he scoops me into his arms. “The car’s not far.”

Branches whip my face as he barrels us through the trees, feet churning over treacherous ground. And then, salvation.

The car.

The engine is already rumbling as we approach. He must’ve tracked me and drove in as close as he could.

For the first time ever, the weight of the tracker at my throat feels like a blessing.

He wrenches the back door open and shoves me inside. “Stay down.”

I flatten, heart hammering, adrenaline crawling under my skin like fire ants.

Dominic vaults into the driver’s seat and slams it into gear. We shoot forward, my body whips against the seat, then sideways into the door as he swerves hard.

“What happened?” he barks.

“Enzo—” The name tears out with what breath I have left.

He spits something in Russian, sharp enough I know it’s a curse. His mouth twists. “Why am I not surprised? Dante’s brother at his gravesite—what a shock.” The sarcasm cuts as much at himself as it does at me.

His knuckles flex on the wheel. “But today? Pulling the trigger? At you?”

My voice scrapes raw. “He wasn’t firing at me.”

His gaze flicks to mine in the rearview mirror.

“Then who?”

I hate keeping things from Dominic, but I can’t tell him the truth. He will go apeshit… and probably kill me himself.

“Someone else,” I blurt out. “They got into a fight. I ran.”

Dominic jerks the wheel, knuckles coiled tight. “Hang on.”

My fingers dig into the leather seat, bracing myself hard before I force my head up.

A blacked-out SUV squats across the road, sealing our exit. Enzo stands dead center, waiting.

And he’s not alone. Two men flank him, rifles raised.

Dominic jerks the wheel and slams the gas. The car screams forward.

I’m thrown against the door, curling tight, arms locked over my belly.

Tires shriek as Dominic somehow snakes us around them.

I twist, craning for a view.

Through the rear glass, one of Enzo’s men levels his weapon—sights locked, eyes on the kill.

“Dominic!” I shriek.

But then I watch as Enzo’s hand slashes the air. On command, the guard drops his barrel.

Message received.

He's not going to kill us. At least, not today.

My stomach knots, acid scorching up my throat.

Dominic whips us back onto the street, and my gaze stays glued to Enzo when?—

His SUV door cracks open.

A figure steps out.

And my breath stops cold.

Kennedy .