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Chapter 1
Massimo
Gunfire popped around me in a deafening, staccato beat. Carmen was shouting something at me, but I couldn’t focus on the words. All I could see was the blood staining Evelyn’s gold dress, blooming on the pale fabric like a gory rose.
For a moment, my mother’s frail, broken body shimmered before me, layering over the waking nightmare. Her blood had spilled over her sunshine yellow dress, and her caramel eyes had been wide with horror as the light faded from them.
My violent impulses had led to her death—if I hadn’t tried to join the gang, the boys wouldn’t have been provoked into terrorizing my parents.
Now, my fragile little butterfly was bleeding out in my arms. Because I’d trapped her in my violent world and refused to let her go. She’d told me so many times that she wanted to return to the safety of her mundane life in Albuquerque. But I’d selfishly kept her against her will and coerced her into staying, manipulating her with ruthless pleasure.
“Evelyn…” I murmured her name over and over again, but her eyes remained closed, her face disturbingly serene. The beautiful pink flush that I loved so much had drained from her pale cheeks, her light dusting of freckles standing out in sharp relief against her porcelain complexion.
The gunfire slowed, the shots becoming more infrequent. Whoever had been firing an automatic weapon from the ground floor of Stefano’s club must’ve run out of ammo or been killed. His men were still shooting from the mezzanine level, mowing down whoever was left from the assault team. Los Zetas had been fools to think they could take on Stefano Duarte in his own home, no matter how brutal their tactics.
Panicked shouts sounded from below, rapid fire Spanish curses and shouts to retreat.
“I want at least one of them alive,” Carmen barked, the cold cartel queen thirsty for vengeance. Stefano was at her side, both of them hovering near us. He caged his wife in a protective embrace. His body shielded hers, the gun in his hand held as naturally as an extension of his arm.
“Call the doctor!” she instructed him. “Evelyn was hit.”
My heart twisted at the panic-stricken words. The woman I loved had been shot. Her breaths were shallow, the pulse at her throat weak and sluggish.
I loved Evelyn. I loved her, and now she might die.
Everyone I’d ever loved had been murdered. Because of me.
The fight was over, but the ruined club hadn’t gone quiet. A car horn blared from downstairs; Los Zetas had rammed their way through the entrance with an armored SUV, and the wrecked vehicle wailed in protest. Glass crunched beneath the quick footsteps of Stefano’s guests as they scrambled to capture their wounded enemies before they could flee. And the deep pulse of the club music still thrummed through the darkened space. Golden lights flashed over the blood-splattered dancefloor, a macabre celebration of violence.
The thin, darkhaired man I recognized as Stefano’s private physician appeared at my side, his black brows drawn low over his round glasses. “Let me see her.”
It took all of my willpower to unlock my arms and lay her down on the floor so that the doctor could inspect her wound. He went to work, cutting her silky dress to reveal the wound at her side. The sight of her blood turned my stomach, and I swallowed down the bile that burned the back of my throat.
“Will she make it?” My question was little more than a strangled rasp.
“I’ll do what I can for her,” the doctor replied, calm and clinical.
“Save her,” I demanded, a savage snarl.
He would die if he failed.
He didn’t glance at me; he simply continued to treat her wound. “If you want to distract me with threats, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I growled a wordless refusal. I wouldn’t leave her side for any reason. I wasn’t going anywhere until my broken little butterfly opened her eyes and looked at me with complete devotion. She would promise me that she belonged to me, and she would never leave me.
The thought tormented me. She’d been shot because of her proximity to me. I should let her go, send her back to her safe life in America.
I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to bear it. The prospect of being separated from her made my stomach twist into knots.
If Evelyn survived, I would do anything to ensure her safety, even if that meant letting her go.
Chapter 2
Evelyn
Idrifted in a cottony haze, vacillating between dull pain and weightless bliss. Every time the pain began to crest, warmth suffused my system, cocooning me in peace. Silver eyes filled my dreams, watching over me. Massimo’s deep voice rumbled through my disjointed thoughts, soothing me in low, steady streams of Italian. I couldn’t understand the words, but the cadence comforted me. His big hand was warm on mine, tethering me to him.
During short periods of lucidity, he filled my world, his comforting scent enfolding me.
