Chapter 3 - Locked in the Penthouse Vault with the Only Man She Fears Loving
Gunfire exploded across the concrete expanse of the underground garage. The deafening roar of automatic weapons ricocheted off the pillars, shattering the headlights of parked luxury sedans into glittering showers of glass.
Elena gasped as Enzo pulled her down behind the reinforced wheel well of the black SUV. His arm was an iron band around her waist, holding her so tightly she could feel the rapid, violent thud of his heartbeat against her ribs.
"Marco! Cover the flank!" Enzo shouted over the din.
Marco leaned around the bumper, firing controlled three-round bursts. Two of the attackers crumpled to the ground instantly. The third ducked behind a concrete pillar, returning fire that sparked furiously off the hood of Enzo's vehicle.
Enzo leaned out, aimed calmly, and pulled the trigger once. The final shooter dropped.
"Get in! Now!" Enzo shoved Elena into the armored rear seat, diving in right behind her as Marco vaulted into the driver's seat and threw the heavy SUV into reverse.
Tires screamed against the polished concrete. The SUV smashed through the parking barrier, rocketing up the ramp into the bright Mediterranean daylight. Elena pressed her back against the leather seat, her hands trembling so violently she couldn't clasp them together.
Enzo slammed the door shut and engaged the deadbolts. He turned to her, his hands immediately scanning her arms, her shoulders, her neck—checking for blood, for injuries, for anything broken. His touch was frantic, stripped of all corporate composure.
"Are you hit? Elena, look at me. Are you bleeding?"
"I'm... I'm fine," she stammered, looking down at his hand. His white cuff was stained with crimson. "Enzo... your arm. You're bleeding."
A graze from a ricocheting round had sliced through his forearm, soaking his linen sleeve.
Enzo didn't even glance at it. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing!" Her voice cracked with the shock of the last ten minutes. "Who were those people? Why were they shooting at me? I am an accountant, Enzo! I look at spreadsheets! I don't have enemies with military-grade rifles!"
Enzo’s jaw set into stone. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, pressing it against his own wound without breaking eye contact with her.
"They aren't your enemies, Elena. They are mine."
"Then why target me?"
Enzo stared at her, his expression a mixture of profound regret and dark possessiveness. "Because the syndicate knows that if they shoot at my ships, I lose money. If they shoot at my men, I replace them. But if they take you... they take the only thing on this earth I cannot replace."
Elena froze. The noise of the roaring engine and the Monaco traffic outside seemed to fade into absolute silence.
"What did you just say?" she whispered.
Before he could answer, Marco spoke from the front seat. "Boss, we're being followed by two black Audi sedans. They're cutting through the Boulevard du Larvotto."
Enzo tapped the partition. "Take the private tunnel route to the mountain fortress in Eze. Activate the localized jammer. Nobody tracks this car."
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"On it."
Enzo reached over, taking Elena's trembling hands into his large, warm palms. He didn't let go, and for the first time in two years, she didn't pull away.
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