Page 100 of The Enslaved Duet

“In the bedroom,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut because this was where my plan could go very, very wrong.

And I really didn’t want anyone to get hurt, least of all Alexander.

He gave me one final, bruising kiss and then moved beyond me into the bedroom. The second he disappeared from sight, Salvatore appeared in the open doorway from the hall and raised a gun in the air.

Seconds later, I screamed bloody murder, and Alexander appeared in the living room holding my bag and to my great surprise, his very own gun.

Salvatore’s was currently pressed to my temple, the cold barrel biting into my skin.

“Put the gun down, Alexander,” Salvatore ordered coldly, adjusting his chokehold so that it seemed even tighter against my airway. “We both know you won’t risk her getting hurt.”

“You’re really so evil that you’d kill your own daughter?” Alexander asked calmly, dropping my bag so that he could circle around slightly for a better angle at my biological father.

“You are such a fool. Your mother tried to teach you to think for yourself, but you remain brainwashed by your pernicious father and his precious Order. I did not kill Chiara. Why would I kill my best friend?”

“Why would you press your gun to the head of the daughter you abandoned at birth? Maybe you’re a psychopath.”

“When will you stop seeing the world in black and white. Your mother tried to teach you better,” Salvatore tried again.

“Say my mother’s name one more time and I’ll put a bullet through your skull,” Alexander said calmly, leveling the gun. “Now, let Cosima go.”

I could feel the starch leech out of Salvatore’s grip as he held me. Dante and I had both told him Alexander wouldn’t be reasoned with unless there was cold hard proof, but Salvatore wanted to give it a chance before the next part of our plan went into action.

I made hard eye contact with Alexander and hoped that his strange ability to read my thoughts hadn’t been transected by our time apart. Then, I tapped lightly on Salvatore’s toe before I let out a battle cry and twisted in his arms. I used my momentum to spin us so that my back was to the door and my father’s back was to Alexander and then…bang!

I watched as Salvatore’s eyes widened in pained surprised as he was shot in the back. My throat worked hard to swallow back a sob as I pushed him off me onto the ground where he rolled over onto his stomach and lay still.

Alexander ran toward me, my bag in one arm and the smoking gun in the other. He wrapped an arm around me and leveraged me out the door.

“I think you killed him,” I whispered thickly.

He barely spared a glance over his shoulder at the prone man before racing us both down the hall. A door to another hotel room opened down the hall as we pushed through the emergency exit and flew down the stairs.

There was a car waiting at the curb, and Riddick was in the driver’s seat.

My eyes burned with unshed tears as Alexander threw me into the back and then slid in beside me, barking orders to Riddick that I didn’t listen to.

I stared out the window as we screeched away from the hotel in theTestacciodistrict of Rome and headed toward the airport.

There was very little chance that Salvatore was seriously injured. The bullet had gone into his Kevlar coated back and would probably only leave a bruise, but it surprised me how rattled I was by my own plan.

I’d needed Alexander to have closure even though I didn’t believe Salvatore and Dante had killed Chiara. In fact, it was obvious that they loved her dearly and believed Noel had somehow been the one to kill her after she’d threatened to reveal his secrets.

Some of those being that he’d murdered his previous slaves.

I didn’t know how much of that to believe given that I’d seen Yana, one of Noel’s slaves, at Club Dionysus a few weeks ago, and he had been mostly kind to me during my stay at Pearl Hall.

All I knew for sure was that this blood feud was going to get them all killed in the end, and I didn’t want that.

No, I couldn’tstandthat.

Not for Dante who I’d come to understand in my short weeks in Italy was opposite to his brother not just in looks but also temperament. He was more Latin, passionate, moody, and quick to temper, with a humour that could be cutting as the edge of a sword or hilarious enough to bring tears.

Not for Salvatore, who I remained unhappy with despite his explanations. He was a father. I didn’t care if Mama ever took him back, he should have tried harder to make a positive difference in our lives. Despite my misgivings, my old hunger to have any kind of father figure stirred in my depths, and I found myself spending most of my three-week stay at his house helping him tend to his pet project of growing olives and listening to him speak of his plans to send Dante to America to take over the Camorra outfit there.

I think it was more so that Dante could watch over Mama and Elena, but I didn’t press. Dante went by the last name of Salvatore in Naples, and it was obvious the two were bonded like father and son.

Mostly, though, I didn’t want that kind of death or criminal end for Alexander. As much as I sat in the field of poppies on Salvatore’s property and thought of the course my life had taken, I couldn’t convince myself not to love the civilized man or the beast that lurked beneath his skin.