Page 86 of Wounded King

"Marcello? Do you know what time it is?"

"I might care about how late it is, if the fucking Las Vegas family hadn't just tried to kill me," I yell into the phone.

Luciano slaps his knee in amusement, and I turn my back to him. I don't need amusement right now. I channel my fury and unleash it on Edoardo. As our Don, we don't only pay our taxes to him; he has a job to do as well, which is to keep us safe, which he obviously failed at.

"Vegas?" Edoardo sounds confused.

"Yes, fucking Vegas. Il Macellaio's crew. They tried to kidnap my fiancée and shot at me."

"Your what?" Edoardo barks back. He is a control freak and thinks he can dictate who his capos can marry. He's already pissed off Enrico with that nonsense.

"My fiancée," I repeat. "Did you hear what I said?"

"That you have a fiancée I know nothing about? Yes, loud and clear." Edoardo sounds pissed.

"No, that Il Macellaio is after me. Do your fucking job and find out why. If you can't protect your capos from other families…" I let that dangle for a moment. "We have no guarantees you can protect us from anybody."

"Now hold on?—"

"No, you hold on. I've had enough of this shit. First Jacomo is killed under your watch, now my dad is on trial for extortion, my sister has been fucking kidnapped, and someone is trying to kill me. I want a meeting. And I want it tomorrow."

"Now listen, you little shit. You don't tell me what?—"

"Tomorrow!" I reiterate and hang up with a smirk.

"That was…" Luciano claps his hands, "and the Oscar goes to…" he stops and spreads them toward me.

I shake my head, trying hard to swallow my fury down. That call wasn't acting. It was a controlled letting go of my raging emotions. Every word was true.

The sound of gunfire still echoes in my ears, even though the chaos is long gone. My hands won't stop shaking. The scent of gunpowder clings to my skin like sweat, and every little sound in this damn penthouse has my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest. But I'm alive.

I'm alive because Marcello came for me.

I keep replaying the moment he stepped into the alley—like a force of nature, relentless, merciless, but somehow still mine. He didn't hesitate. He didn't even blink. He shielded me with his body like I meant more than his own damn life.

That thought should terrify me.

It did. Itdoes. But it also does something else. It roots deep in my chest like a steel hook and tugs every time I think of him. I should run. My mother would tell me to pack my things and disappear. Pretend none of this ever happened. That I never met him. That I never let him touch me, kiss me, see me the way he has.

But I did.

And as much as I search my soul, I don't regret it. Not for a second. Not when he held me behind that desk, whispering promises through clenched teeth as bullets shredded the air around us. Not when he pushed me behind Luciano with the kind of fury only a man in love can wield. And not now.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I've seen who he is. What he is. I've seen what his world looks like. Blood-soaked, brutal, and unforgiving. But it's also full of loyalty so fierce it sears. Of men who would die for each other. Of a man who would die forme.

If there is one thing I know for sure, it's that nothing will ever happen to me with him at my side, protecting me. He didn't ask any questions; he didn't demand any details. He simply came. He risked his life when he knew I was in danger. What kind of man does that? None of the ones I know. Scott would have demanded a full analysis of the situation first, and Lee, my brother-in-law, whom I dearly love, can't even hurt a fly. It would have been Elaine standing in front ofhim.

God, I'm scared. What does this make me? What have I chosen? But I'm more scared of going back to a life where nothing ever felt this real.

Marcello is chaos. He's fire. But he's also security and steel—unshakable when the world tilts, the kind of man you can stand next to while being shot at and still feel safe.

I'm done pretending I want a life without him in it. The last few days taught me that. They were endless, painful, and lonely. I'll learn to survive in his world—hell, I'llthrivein it—because I've seen the man behind the title. And I'm not walking away from him again.

I take a bath and pilfer one of Marcello's shirts and a pair of socks. I also pour myself a liberal glass of whiskey. It's not something I usually imbibe, but given the afternoon I've had, it's well needed. I revel in the knowledge of the four guards in the anteroom. Nothing and nobody will get by them. I'm safer than the gold in Fort Knox. And that too is like balm on my soul.

I want to call Pippa, but I realize that I lost my purse and phone somewhere at the restaurant—probably she did too. I'll have to ask Marcello if there is a way to get them back. The cops might even want to talk to me.