Page 102 of Vows of Blood

Mikhail turns to me, and I shrink in on myself instinctively, pressing back into Luca.

The fear hasn't faded yet, and I don't know if it ever will.

This man chased me and stood over me with a knife. He attacked Tony and left him for dead, and fully intended to watch me bleed out on the marble floor.

But for now, the murderous intent is gone from his eyes. In its place is an emotion that looks almost like shame.

"I owe you a debt," he says quietly, head bowed. "Two debts. One for saving Kate's life. One for almost taking yours."

I don't know what to say or how I’m supposed to react to that.

"You fought well." A ghost of respect flickers across his face. "We are both fortunate you got the better of me.” He turns to Luca. “I underestimated her. There aren’t many people I can say that about."

Luca continues to scowl at him, his anger not the least bit softened by Mikhail's compliments of my ability not to die, and I’m relieved, because it gives me permission to maintain my distance.

Mikhail extends his hand toward me, then seems to think better of it, curling his bloodied fingers back into his palm. Probably wise. I'm not sure I could touch him right now without screaming, and Luca looks like he might reconsider putting a bullet in his brain if he touches me anyway.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

"When you are ready," Mikhail says instead, taking a step back. "I will find a way to repay what I owe. This, I swear."

Luca straightens, tucking me against his side.

I lean further into him, drawing strength from his solid warmth.

“Don’t leave this room.” Luca leaves the feed up on the screen and steers me toward the door. When we step outside, two guards I've seen around the place are waiting, face pale, to go in and keep an eye on the Russian.

"Who did this?" Mikhail asks, staring at Kate on the screen, unblinking, the softness gone once more from his voice. "Who ordered the hit on my Kate?"

Luca is silent for a moment, debating how much to reveal, and I stare up at him, suddenly fascinated by how much is going on that I obviously had no idea about.

"I know who the shooter was," he says finally. "But I can’t prove who ordered it yet. Not definitively enough to make a move."

Mikhail's pale eyes glitter dangerously. "Tell me what you need. And then point me in the right direction."

32

LUCA

My phone buzzes. It’s Bruno, looking for an update. I let him know that thankfully, nobody’s dead or in need of his services, but that Tony might get asked a few questions about his stab wound.

Conscious of Sienna, who must be terrified, I keep the conversation short, then fire off a quick text message with some additional instructions when we hang up, knowing he’ll take care of it immediately.

But Mikhail's thirst for blood is going to have to wait, because right, now, there's only one person who matters.

I leave Mikhail in my office, guarded, feet bound, and with strict instructions not to move, or they’ll put a bullet in his other leg. Our doctor is on his way, and Corso is looking after Carmella and Roman first, but he’ll make sure Mikhail doesn’t try anything else. I don't trust the slippery Russian, not even close, but for now, he seems relatively content just to watch Kate on the screen and plot his revenge.

Sienna is still trembling when I scoop her into my arms, her face buried against my neck, and her fingers clutching my shirt. She weighs nothing at all, a fragile bundle of damp silk and freezing cold limbs as I hold her tightly to me.

"I've got you," I murmur against her hair as I carry her up the stairs, unable to bear the sight of blood on her skin and the vacant look in her eyes. "You're safe now. Let’s get you warm."

She doesn't respond, hasn’t said a word since we left the office. The adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a Sienna that’s vulnerable and brittle who I need to handle carefully. Shock could be setting in. I’ll get the doctor to check her over before we go anywhere.

Cursing when I see the red paw prints dotted across the floor, I glare at Sienna’s useless fucking cat as I rush her past. If he were a dog, he might have done more than snooze on our expensive sheets while Sienna was almost murdered down the hall.

“What good are you? We’re getting a dog. A big one,” I warn Vito. He lifts his head and blinks at me, seeming to understand that his days as king of the castle are numbered.

The bathroom is cold when we enter, so I grab her robe and drape it over her shoulders when I set her down on the edge of the tub. She stays there, motionless, staring at nothing while I turn on the shower and let the water heat.