Page 36 of Wicked Sinner

Before she can answer, I hear the heavy crunch of gravel under boots, and I freeze.

"—sure she's in there?"

"Attendant said he saw her go in.”

“Boss wants her alive. Make sure you don’t hurt her too badly when you—”

I push Bridget behind me on instinct, drawing my gun the moment that the bathroom door flings open and I see three men standing on the other side.

They're dressed in black, armed with pistols, and they have the look of professionals. Not street thugs—these are soldiers.

The first one registers me a split second before I put a bullet between his eyes.

The second one manages to get his gun halfway up before I put two in his chest. The third one is faster, smarter, and he dives to the side as he returns fire, missing me as the bullet goes wide and tile sprays from the wall next to me.

The gunshots are deafening in the confined space, and I can hear Bridget screaming my name as she stumbles back, trying to get cover. The sound of her voice, terrified but alive, gives me the strength to push forward.

I veer to one side, still trying to cover Bridget as I look for a line of sight on the last gunman. He's good—better than the other two—but he's also panicked. When he pops up to take another shot, I'm ready for him.

The bullet takes him in the throat, and he goes down gurgling.

“We need to go.” I keep my gun out—there’s one bullet left—and reach for Bridget where she’s cowering behind a sink. “My car is where the SUV wrecked. More might come. We need to go now.”

Even as I say the words, my mind is racing. This wasn't random. This was planned, coordinated. Someone wanted Bridget dead, and they were willing to kill my men to get to her.

Someone is going to pay for this in blood.

“Can you walk?” I ask her, and she nods.

“It just grazed me,” she manages through clenched teeth. “It hurts, but I can walk. Probably faster than you can carry me.”

I shake my head, scooping her up into my arms. “There’s no telling how bad it actually is. Just hang on.”

By now, the gas station attendant might be calling the police.

There’s not a damn thing they’re going to do to me, but explanations and bribes take more time than I want to spend on anything other than getting Bridget to safety right now.

I hold her tightly against my chest with one arm, the other keeping my gun at the ready as we slip out of the bathroom and I look for any other attackers.

Their black SUV is parked diagonally to the gas station, but there’s no one else in it. I walk as quickly as I can, taking a route back to the Ferrari that doesn’t follow the blood trail this time, in case more are coming. “What the fuck happened?” I ask, and Bridget lets out a long breath.

“I don’t really know,” she whispers. “The SUV was attacked. They—” She swallows hard. “They shot Marco and Bryce. I was going to run, and they grabbed me. I kicked one of them, called you, and tried to go to the back of the car, but there were more—”

She breathes in shakily. “They got the phone away from me. Got me into the car, but I managed to claw one of them in the eyes. He let go of me just long enough that I got to the door and ran, but they followed me. They were trying to shoot me, and—” Her gaze drops to her bloody leg.

“They almost got me. I ran to the gas station, and it sounded like they were falling back.”

“They probably called for instructions. They didn’t expect you to fight back like that.

” Relief washes over me at how tough she is, how much more capable than I would have ever imagined, even knowing her.

The fact that she threw them off enough that they likely had to call in to ask what to do next saved her. It gave me time to get to her.

We make it back to the Ferrari, and I ease Bridget into the passenger side before hurrying around to the driver’s.

For once, I’m not worried about her running, and I hadn’t realized just how much of a relief that would be.

How good it would feel to know that she’s not going anywhere, at least for now.

The drive back is silent, and when I look over, I see Bridget’s eyes are closed. Panic runs through me for a brief moment before I realize her chest is still lightly rising and falling—she’s asleep.

I fight the urge to reach out and touch her, speeding up as much as I can while still driving safely in an effort to get back as soon as possible.

I’ve already sent a message to Dr. Ackley, demanding she drop everything and get to the penthouse immediately.

She won’t blink at a suspicious bullet wound—she’s worked for the criminal families of Miami far too long for that.

My mind is racing as I drive, working through the possibilities, trying to figure out who's behind this. I keep coming back to Tristan, though there are others it could have been. I keep thinking about how silent he was during the meeting. How he was a few minutes late.

It’s not the most rational suspicion, though it is a possibility. But it feels like it’s sunk into my brain, making me angrier and more certain that it’s him with each passing moment.

If he tried to hurt Bridget, I’ll have his life for it. Whether Konstantin likes it or not.

Back at the penthouse, I carry Bridget straight to the master bedroom, settling her on my bed as Dr. Ackley comes in behind me. Bridget looks at her with an expression of distaste, but she says nothing as her hand goes to her stomach.

“The baby,” she whispers, biting her lip. "Oh God, what if—"

"Hey." I reach out to press my hand against her cheek, my entire body reacting to the feeling of her warm skin against my palm as I turn her face so that she has to look at me. "You're both fine. You're both going to be fine. I won't let anything happen to either of you."

She searches my eyes, and I can see the moment she decides to trust me. It's a small victory, but right now I'll take what I can get.

"Who would do this?" she whispers. "Who would want to hurt me?"

"I don't know yet," I admit. My suspicions aren’t going to make any sense to her, not until I have more concrete proof. "But I'm going to find out."

I don’t leave the room as Dr. Ackley begins to examine her.

I can’t. I can’t let her out of my sight for even a moment.

I watch as she checks Bridget’s blood pressure, examines her to make sure the baby is alright, cleans and numbs the gunshot graze before beginning to stitch it up, restless and tense.

I can tell the doctor wants me to go, but I stay where I am, watching anxiously.

Bridget is pale and exhausted by the time Dr. Ackley bandages the wound and finishes up.

“Mother and baby are overall fine,” she says calmly, packing up her things.

“She should get as much rest as possible, healthy food, and try to remain calm and relaxed. I’ll come back to check on the stitches in a few days, and I’ll leave you with supplies to keep the dressing changed. ”

I nod, escorting her out before reminding her to send me the bill and immediately heading back up to check on Bridget. She’s sitting up, and I narrow my eyes at her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need a shower,” she says exasperatedly. “Or, I guess, a bath since I can’t get this wet.” She gestures to the dressing covering her calf.

I start to go to help her, and she waves me off. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can.” I look at her, the tiredness from the day hitting me all at once, too. “Just let me help you, Bridget. Haven’t I proved, at least, that I do care about keeping you safe?”

She looks at me for a long moment, her full lower lip tugged between her teeth and her eyes narrowed. And then, finally, she nods.

“Alright. You can help me to the bath. But then you’re leaving.”

I help her up, letting her support her weight with her arm on my shoulders as we walk to the bathroom.

I get her toiletries from the other bathroom while she fills the tub, setting them out for her as she watches me silently.

She gives me a pointed look as she turns off the water, and I know that’s my cue to go.

“I have to go out for a while,” I say after a moment. “There are some things I need to handle. I’ve already called for more security outside of the penthouse.”

“In case I decide to run?” Bridget gives me a sarcastic smile, and my mouth tightens.

“In case someone else comes after you,” I tell her flatly, but we both know they’re there to keep her here as much as to keep others out. “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll bring dinner with me.”

She nods, and there’s nothing else for me to say.

Even after everything that’s happened today, as I shut the door behind me and know she’s in there getting undressed, slipping into the hot water, I can feel myself getting hard at the thought of her naked. I want her badly, and it feels like too much to hope that something might have changed.

I have no idea what’s going to happen now. Only that I have to make sure she’s safe, no matter what it takes.

I’m tense for the entire drive to Tristan’s mansion. I’m held up at the gates, where the guards call after getting my name and, after a moment, let me through. By the time I’ve pulled up in front of the mansion that used to belong to Giovanni Russo, I see Tristan striding down the stairs.

He looks irritated as he approaches. “Caesar. I don’t recall inviting you to my house—”

"Someone tried to kill Bridget today." My voice is deadly quiet, and I can see him tense. "Three professional gunmen, armed and coordinated. They killed my guards and would have killed her if she hadn't been smart enough to fight back and run away to hide."

Tristan’s jaw tightens, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have any idea who—"

"Cut the shit, O'Malley." I take a step closer, my hand twitching reflexively toward my hidden gun. "We both know you've been pushing back against my return from day one. We both know you'd prefer to see the Genovese territory absorbed into your empire."

"That's business," Tristan says calmly. "This sounds personal."

"Everything is personal when it comes to my family." Another step closer. "Bridget, my child—they're off-limits. Touch them again, and I'll burn your entire organization to the ground."

Tristan sucks in a breath. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I know you’re upset, Genovese, but—”

"I'm not upset," I interrupt, my eyes still locked on him. "I'm making a promise. If anything happens to Bridget, if she so much as gets a paper cut, I'm coming for you. And when I do, there won't be enough left of you to fill a tin can."

A muscle twitches in Tristan’s cheek, and the air between us crackles with tension. He's a dangerous man—I know that much about him—but right now I don't give a damn. Right now, all I can think about is the terror in Bridget's voice, the way she shook in my arms.

The way I could have lost her today—not by giving her up, but by someone taking her from me.

"I had nothing to do with what happened today," Tristan says finally. "But I understand your need to lash out. If I were in your position, I'd probably be doing the same thing."

"You're not in my position," I snarl.

“I understand that.” Tristan’s jaw twitches again. “So don’t come onto my property again making threats, Genovese. I had nothing to do with this.”

“Repeating it doesn’t make me believe you,” I growl back. Tristan surveys me for a long moment, the silence stretching between us, thick and dangerous. Finally, he clears his throat.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Or I will have you removed.” His tone is clipped, cold. “Now.”

I have no choice but to back down. I can’t kill him here and now, not without proof. But if there’s proof to be found, I’ll unearth it.

Because there’s one thing I’m certain of—this was just the beginning.