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There are two small oval-shaped windows, and through them, I can see dark, choppy waters.
Standing in my black bra and panties, the survival instinct that’s kept me alive since birth kicks in. I grab the shoe off my right foot, and with a cry, I lunge at the closest man, burying the five-inch heel in his eye socket.
When it registers what I’ve just done, I watch with horrified shock as he falls to the floor. I gag at the gross sight covering my mouth with my hand.
I’m untied?
When did they untie me?
My eyes land on the torn dress that Tyrone bought for me.
He worked hard for that money.
He was so proud of me when he saw how beautiful I looked in it.
Again, I look at the man who looks way too dead for my liking.
I killed someone.
With a shoe.
Shit, now I’m short a shoe.
I’m tackled off my feet, and as I fall, my eyes latch onto the man with my heel buried in his eye.
He’s really dead. Like dead dead.
I hit the floor with a painful thud, and it rips me out of the shock I was caught in. My arms fly up, and with angry grunts and cries, I hit every part of the other man I can reach.
I bring my knee up and slam it into his balls, which has him falling to the side with a funny squeak escaping him.
“Jesus,” I mutter as I climb to my feet, and taking off my other shoe, I hold it ready in my hands. “Come on. I’ll fucking kill you, you motherfucking piece of shit. I loved that dress!”
I lunge at him and start hitting him with the heel of my shoe until he manages to grab his gun.
When he aims it at me, I jump off him and shriek, “Oh shit.”
A stupid nervous chuckle escapes me before I suck in a ragged breath.
Shitshitshitshitshit.
He keeps the gun pointed at me as he climbs to his feet, then hisses, “La perra,” right before he slams the weapon against the side of my head, knocking me unconscious.
Dario
We had to split up. Renzo and Franco stayed behind to make sure their women and Vittoria got home safely after the ballet show.
Damiano, Angelo, and I are in a helicopter that Carlo is flying. We’re searching the fucking ocean for any boat that looks suspicious, which is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Especially at night.
“This is taking too long,” Damiano mutters.
“No fucking shit,” I growl as I check the dark web for any information that can help me find Eden.
“I’m picking up activity in the air,” Carlo suddenly says. “Three helicopters.”
“And?” Damiano barks.
“They’re all flying in the same direction,” Carlo answers.
