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The blade flashes as Lula cuts just as I taught her. I force myself to wait with my weight pitched forward into my toes until the stench of death rises in the air. I pull off my ski mask, meant to dull my distinctive hair.
Lula rises slowly, her dark hair swinging like a cape behind her. I don’t have to go to her. She returns to me, offering me the knife back. Her eyes are black. “You’re right. It is more satisfying.”
There’s blood on her jaw and cheek. I secrete away the knife and touch her face carefully, tipping it this way and that. There’s a dark stain in the corner of her mouth, blending with the brighter red of her lipstick. “You have some blood. . .”
“Don’t worry,” she murmurs. “It’s not mine.”
I swipe it away and bow to claim her lips.
My dark, vengeful angel.
The sound of a slamming door breaks us apart. “What—” She raises her empty hands. I still have her Glock.
“It’s all right,” I say, even as I draw us into the shadows. “Spiro made a call to your cousin.”
“Royal?” she says as her cousin appears, flushed and angry and glaring at me. His men fan out behind him, covering him.
“Lula.” His gaze sweeps the area, registering Stephanos’ still form before returning to us. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, someone else pushes forward, raising a gun with a shout.
Lula
I watch it in slow motion. Royal, looking angry and relieved, ready to tear me a new one. Enzo and the rest of our cousins are covering his back but turn toward the new threat.
It’s my brother, crashing through the debris, his gaze fixed on Victor. “You,” he snarls and swings his gun muzzle upward.
“No,” I shout and step between them.
Too late.
Gino’s pulling the trigger, but fate’s on our side. In his carelessness, Gino blundered into one of the booby traps. He’s already falling forward as the gun goes off. I flinch, but the shot goes wild. It hits a machine and ricochets. Everyone ducks.
Royal curses in Italian. “Someone take his gun.”
Enzo rushes to take care of it. Gino’s still flailing on the floor.
“Idiota.” Royal runs a hand over his face. He looks tired as he turns to me. “Lucrezia.”
“I’m okay.” I step forward, tears pricking my eyes at the sight of him. “I’m in a vest. Victor. . .” I turn back to where Victor stands silently, the sunlight filtering in through the dust gilds his stunning features. He looks calm, maybe a little sad.
Behind me, Royal clears his throat, and I realize I’ve lost my train of thought. It’s not often that that happens.
“Victor,” I say more firmly, “found Stephanos. He helped me.”
“Helped you?”
“Saved me. He saved me.” From myself especially.
Royal looks back and forth between us. I can tell it’s on the tip of his tongue to give the order to incapacitate or maybe even kill Victor.
So I gesture for my beautiful monster to come and wait until he’s standing at my side to make things clear. “You can’t kill him,” I tell Royal and the men of my family, gripping Victor’s hand. “He’s mine.”
CHAPTER 17
lula
The Regis mansion is the heart of La Famiglia. Dark and filled with heavy, imposing furniture, it’s a shocking contrast to the sterile, modern decor Victor prefers. Royal used to keep the temperature five degrees cooler than what was comfortable, but then he found his wife. Now, the air is a tad too warm but perfect for Leah and the spaghetti strap camisoles she likes to wear. And if she gets overheated while baking, sliding things in and out of the oven, well, Royal’s always trying to get her naked, anyway.
There was a day when I swore that Royal would never marry for love. Some would say he didn’t, but I know better. When it comes to devious, dangerous men, love looks a lot like obsession.
