Chapter 3 - The Cold Metal on My Skin
Alessandro grunted as a round grazed his shoulder.
His blood splattered against the side of my face.
It burned hot against my cold skin.
He didn't cry out.
He rolled across the floor, dragging me by my waist into a narrow alcove between
two wine racks.
Bottles of vintage champagne shattered above our heads.
Vintage alcohol and glass rained down like shrapnel.
“Keep your head down,” Alessandro commanded into my ear.
His breath was ragged.
His suit jacket was torn, dark red soaking through the expensive charcoal wool.
“You’re shot,” I gasped, trembling against his chest.
“It’s a scratch. Be quiet.”
He ejected an empty magazine and clicked a fresh one home without looking.
The tactical boots moved slowly down the corridor.
“Check the corners,” a rough voice ordered. “Don Carlo wants the girl dead and
the ledger in ashes.”
They didn't care about Alessandro.
They wanted him dead too.
This was a full-scale mafia coup.
Alessandro reached inside his vest and pulled out a small black cylinder.
A flash grenade.
He pulled the pin with his teeth.
He counted three seconds under his breath.
He hurled it around the corner.
A blinding flash lit the cellar.
A concussive roar shook the foundation.
High-pitched screams followed immediately.
Alessandro stepped out from the alcove like a ghost.
He fired three controlled pairs.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The three hitmen hit the concrete floor like sacks of wet cement.
Silence rushed back into the room.
Only the hiss of leaking pipes remained.
Alessandro turned back to me.
He grabbed the ledger with his left hand and hauled me up with his right.
“Move. Now.”
He dragged me through an emergency delivery chute at the back of the cellar.
We scrambled up an iron ladder into the freezing night air.
Rain was pouring over the Manhattan alleyway.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
A sleek black armored SUV screeched to a halt at the curb.
The rear door flew open.
Marco leaned out with an assault rifle.
“Boss! Get in! Carlo’s men are hitting our safe houses across Brooklyn!”
Alessandro shoved me into the leather back seat.
He slid in behind me and slammed the heavy door.
The SUV roared away, tires screaming on wet asphalt.
Inside, Camilla was huddled in the corner seat.
Her makeup was smeared across her pale cheeks.
Her red dress was torn at the shoulder.
Her precious smartphone was clutched in her white-knuckled fist.
When she saw me, her shock morphed into pure hatred.
“Why is she in here?!” Camilla shrieked. “She’s a nobody! She brought those
shooters down on us!”
Alessandro didn't even look at her.
He pressed a clean handkerchief against the wound on his shoulder.
“Shut your mouth, Camilla,” Alessandro warned in a voice of pure ice.
“No, Alessandro! She’s the daughter of a criminal! Look at her!”
Camilla reached forward and grabbed my bruised arm.
“Get out of our car, you disgusting gutter rat!”
Before I could pull away, Alessandro’s hand blurred.
The cold barrel of his Glock pressed hard against Camilla’s temple.
The click of the hammer cocking echoed in the vehicle.
Camilla froze.
Her eyes dilated in absolute terror.
“Touch her again,” Alessandro whispered, “and I leave you in the gutter.”
“Alessandro...” Camilla whimpered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’m your
fiancée...”
“You were a political arrangement,” he spat. “One that ended the second your
uncle Carlo sent hitmen to murder me.”
My stomach dropped through the floor.
Carlo was Camilla’s uncle.
She wasn't just a vain socialite.
She was the bait.
Camilla swallowed hard, her voice trembling.
“I... I didn't know he was going to attack tonight. I swear!”
Alessandro snatched her phone from her hands.
The screen was still glowing brightly.
The red recording icon was blinking.
The live stream had never ended.
Over eight hundred thousand people were watching the feed right now.
And pinned to the top of the chat was a private message from Carlo Russo:
Keep the camera on Moretti’s table until the fire starts.
Alessandro lowered the gun from her temple.
His smile was terrifying.
“You didn't know, Camilla?”
He turned the screen toward her face.
“Explain this to twenty million witnesses.”
Suddenly, the driver yelled from the front:
“Incoming! Three black Suburbans on our tail!”
A hail of heavy gunfire tore through the rear bulletproof glass, spiderwebbing
the surface.
Alessandro shoved me down between his knees.
May you like
He racked his slide.
“Welcome to the family, Sophie.”
