Page 80 of The Kingpin’s Bride

Dario.

Then a softer sound. Small. Tired. A child shifting on a thin mattress. Camilla.

I edged along the wall until I found a window set lower than the others. The glass was dirty. The curtain inside was only half drawn. I rose just enough to look. She was there.

My sister sat on a bare mattress in the corner of a small room, knees drawn up, wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder. Her dark hair was longer and a little messy. She held an empty plastic water bottle in both hands and was quietly counting the ridges on the plastic with her thumb, the same way she used to count the flowers on my old sundress.

She looked smaller. Quieter.

I pressed my forehead against the siding and squeezed my eyes shut for one second. The sound that tried to come out of my throat never made it past my teeth.

When I looked again Camilla had not moved. I tested the window. Locked. The frame was old. I could force it if I was willing to make noise. I was still weighing the risk when a floorboard creaked inside the house, closer this time. Dario’s voice, low and irritated, drifted through the wall. He was moving.

I had no more time to wait for perfect conditions. I braced my shoulder, shoved hard, and felt the old latch give with a crack that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet. The window shoved upward. I hauled myself through the opening and landed hard on the floor inside the room.

Camilla’s head snapped up. For a moment she only stared. Then her face crumpled. “Rena?”

I was across the room and on my knees in front of her before the rest of my name could leave her mouth. I pulled her against me so hard. Her arms went around my neck and clung with a desperation that almost undid me.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered into her hair. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Outside, car doors opened. Low voices. The soft click of weapons being checked.

Inside the house, Dario’s footsteps were coming closer. I scooped Camilla up. She locked her legs around my waist and buried her face in my neck. I turned toward the window I had just come through, calculating whether I could get us both back out before the hallway door opened.

It opened first. Dario stood in the doorway.

He looked worse than the last time I had seen him. Thinner. Meaner. His eyes dropped to Camilla in my arms and then to the open window behind me.

“You little bitch,” he said, almost conversational. “I should have killed you sooner.”

I backed toward the window with Camilla held tight. Behind him I heard the front door of the house take a heavy hit. Matteo’s men were coming in.

Dario heard it too. His face changed. He reached behind him. I did not wait to see the gun. I turned and threw us both at the open window. We hit the ground hard.

The impact drove the air from my lungs. Camilla made a small sound against my neck. I rolled so most of my weight took the fall, then shoved us both up onto our feet while my vision was swimming. My ankle twisted under me. I ignored it.

Behind us the window frame scraped. Dario was coming through. I ran.

Camilla’s hands were locked in the fabric of the sweater at my shoulders. The tree line was only twenty yards away but it looked like a mile.

“Rena,” she whispered, voice cracked and tiny. “He’s coming.”

“Hold on to me.” I heard him land behind us. Heavy boots. A curse. Then the unmistakable rack of a round being chambered.

“Stop or I put one in your spine,” Dario shouted. I did not stop.

The first shot cracked the air and hit a tree three feet to my left. Bark exploded. Camilla screamed into my neck. I cut hard to the right, almost lost my footing, and kept going. The second shot was closer. Dirt kicked up near my heels.

I reached the first of the trees and plunged into them. Branches tore at my face and arms. My bandaged feet slipped on wet leaves. Camilla clung tighter, her thin legs locked around my waist.

Dario crashed into the underbrush after us. He was faster. He had always been faster when he was angry.

I made it another fifteen yards before his hand closed in my hair and yanked me backward. I staggered. Camilla slipped in my arms. I barely kept hold of her.

He spun me around and slammed me back against a tree trunk. The gun came up under my chin, cold and final. His other hand was twisted in my hair, forcing my head back.

“Drop her,” he panted, eyes wild. “Drop the little girl, or I end both of you right here.”