Page 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Santo

I was starting to worry that the food would be finished before Dasha made her way over.

The house was full of garlic, basil, and tomato with just a slight undercurrent of rosemary and olive oil from the focaccia that had just come out of the oven.

I’d checked my phone no fewer than ten times over the past hour, wondering why I hadn’t gotten an update from Dasha yet.

She’d probably just gotten busy.

It wasn’t like me to be so damn needy.

If I were really that curious, my ass could have reached out to her, asked for an ETA, something like that.

I stirred the pasta as I debated shooting her that text.

In the end, though, the decision was made for me.

The phone started to ring from the counter.

Of course she would call. Everything about Dasha suggested she was someone who wanted to actually talk to you. Or even video-call you to have a face-to-face conversation.

There was a smile on my lips as I slid my finger across the screen to unlock the phone.

That same smile was in my voice as I answered.

Until I heard her voice—high-pitched, tight, borderline hysterical. Crying out my name.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt panic like I did right then.

Adrenaline surged through my system as I had just enough presence of mind to flick off the burners before running through the house and jumping into my car.

The garage was a solid seven to ten minutes away.

But I blew through every yellow light, rolled through every stop sign.

“Is someone there with you right now?” I asked as Dasha sniffled on the other end of the phone.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice small and quivering. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Even if someone is, I got it, okay?” I said, reaching over to my glove box to grab my gun.

I knew I was probably supposed to call Luca, to tell him I was possibly going into a dangerous situation. I was supposed to have backup. But I couldn’t waste time waiting for someone else to show up. Not when Dasha was crying by herself at work after… who the fuck knew what happened.

“Where are you in the shop, baby?” I asked, seeing the building looming in the distance.

“The bathroom. By the front door in the lobby.”

“Okay. I’m almost there. But I want you to stay in the bathroom until I come to get you; can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” she said, sniffling harder, trying to pull herself together.

“I’m pulling in now,” I told her, slamming on the brakes the second I pulled into the lot. “I’m gonna hang up while I come in and look around. Just stay where you are. I’m coming for you.”

“Okay.”

I hated ending the call, but I couldn’t have a phone to my ear when I was trying to clear a building.

Sucking in a deep breath, I climbed out of the car.

I went right to the front door, but the handle didn’t give. I’d break it if I had to. But if someone came in while Dasha was in there, chances were there was a door that was unlocked.

I inched around the building until I came to a side door. That one opened right up.

I moved inside the darkened building, pausing to listen for a moment, seeing if I could hear any footsteps.

There was nothing.

So I made my way through the bay area and Dasha’s office, then the back storage room, and—finally—the reception area.

Then I moved around, flicking on all the lights to double-check.

It was then I saw Dasha’s purse on the floor, contents spread around.

Then I saw, with a twisting in my gut, blood.

A growl rolled through me as I went back to the side door, locking it.

I paused to gather the spilled contents of her pocketbook, bringing it with me as I went back toward the reception area.

Making my way to the bathroom door, I gently tapped my knuckles on the door.

“Baby, it’s me,” I called.

There was a little whimpering sound, then a shuffling. Then, finally, the slide of the lock.

The door creaked open.

And there was Dasha.

Clutching the toilet tank lid.

There was a split second of pride that she’d been quick enough to think on her feet and grab whatever was around to defend herself with.

But then I got a look at her.

Blood was all over her chest and chin, likely having come from her nose that had dried blood all around her nostrils. Bruises were starting to form on her forehead, under her eyes, and around her throat.

I didn’t realize a growling sound escaped me until she jerked.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re alright,” I said, keeping my voice low and soft. “Can I take that lid and put it back, so I can get you out of there?”

She gave me a nod before handing me the lid.

I offered her back her purse, returned the lid, then placed a hand behind her back. “We are going to go out the front door and right into my car, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, we moved out the front door.

I did pause to lock the door, but I left all the lights on.

My main concern was to get Dasha to my place, safe, assess her injuries, fix her up, and then maybe get her story if she was up to telling it.

I—or someone else in the Family—could deal with the garage some other time.

Because this was officially no longer just a personal matter. That garage was under our protection. The owner getting attacked fell squarely in the parameters of the kind of assistance we provided.

All that could wait, though, until Dasha felt safe.

“We’re gonna go slow so I can look around, then we run,” I said, holding Dasha to my side with one arm, holding the gun as I glanced around, hyper-aware of all the places someone could hide. Lying in wait until they caught us unaware, then picking us off.

My paranoia was for nothing, though.

No one was ducked down behind the cars in the lot or hiding behind the dumpsters to the side.

It was just us.

“Okay. Now the quick part,” I said, shuffling her to the car, checking in the backseat, then pressing her into her seat before climbing in.

On the passenger side, she had her face in her hands and was crying quietly as I slid into the driver’s seat.

I wanted nothing more than to reach over, to pull her against me. But I had to get her away from the garage first.

So that was what I did, pulling out into traffic and ignoring someone who laid on their horn.

I drove down the road, pulling off into the parking lot of the local supermarket. It was well-lit and crowded, safe enough not to have to worry about any kind of ambush.

Parking in the back so no one would gape at us, I reached for Dasha.

I expected tension, but she just melted into me, letting me hold her as she purged the rest of the fear and pain. Eventually, her arms went around me, holding me tight as I stroked her hair.

When she was hiccuping and sniffling, she pulled back, head ducked. “Sorry,” she said.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I probably should have called the police.”

“You still could, if you want. We could go back to my place and call. But this kind of thing is what my Family does, if you just want us to handle it instead of involving the cops. It’s completely up to you.”

“I… I’d really rather not call them. But, but I want to know who did this.”

“You and me both, sweetheart. Any chance you have cameras in that place?”

“I think my uncle was completely tech-phobic. The landline still has a cord.”

“Not ideal, but okay. We will figure it out. Don’t worry about that part. All you need to do is recover.”

“Everything hurts.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do you want me to take you to my house, or would you rather be more comfortable at your—“

“No,” she chirped, voice tight. “No, can we go to your house?”

“Of course we can. That was always the plan, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, sniffling again.

“Do you want me to pick up anything at your place first? Pajamas? Blanket? Stuffed animal?”

Her lips quirked up at the end there.

“Do you not have blankets? I mean, you don’t have lamps or end tables…”

“Hey, I’ve been decorating. Sort of. I have blankets, I promise. And pajamas you can steal. Or, you know, you don’t need any pajamas,” I added just to get a little smile out of her.

“Pretty sure I’m not in a ‘no pajamas’ state,” she said, gesturing at her face. “Is this as bad as it feels?”

“I’m most worried about your nose,” I admitted. “But it’s good that it stopped bleeding. How hard did you hit your head?” I asked, raising my hand to gently brush my fingers over her bruised temple.

“It wasn’t too hard. I had some… cushioning,” she said, gesturing toward her chest.

“Well, it’s nice that they have another purpose other than just looking really fucking great.” I got a little laugh at that. “Are you nauseated? Dizzy? Double vision? Anything like that?”

“I have a headache. And maybe I’m a little lightheaded. But I haven’t eaten anything. Maybe it’s nothing to do with my head.”

“Maybe. But we’re gonna keep an eye on that just in case. And we can definitely rule out hunger as soon as we get back to my place. The pasta is probably not good, but I have some fresh bread to hold you over until we can order something in. Maybe some ice cream,” I said, running my hand over her bruised throat.

“Ice cream sounds good,” she agreed. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

Yet.

I didn’t want to freak her out, but getting choked out hurt afterward, making it feel like she was swallowing glass.

She’d learn that soon enough.

One thing at a time.

“Okay, good,” I said. “You ready to get going?”

“Yes. I know it’s kind of crazy, you know, given all of this,” she said, waving at herself again.

“But?” I asked, backing out of the parking spot.

“But I’m really curious to see your house.”