Page 12 of Vows of Blood

Through gritted teeth, I hiss, “I’m her fiancé.”

“And I’m trying to keep her alive.” He doesn’t flinch from my glare, but he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back again. I’m sure he’s been warned who he’s dealing with, so he’s either extremely brave or has a death wish. “You can follow us there.”

Taking a step in his direction, already well past boiling point, Sienna’s gentle touch to my arm stops me losing control.

“Let them do their job without you breathing down their necks.”

Nico nods. “We’ll be right behind them.”

Sensing their opportunity, they hurry out, wheeling her toward the shattered front entrance and out into the glare of flashing red and blue lights.

I trail behind and watch the ambulance doors slam shut, sirens blaring as it pulls into traffic, forced to stay behind as it pulls away with the woman I’m supposed to marry inside.

“Get a car. Now,” I order, pulling the unlicensed gun from my waistband and handing it to him to get rid of.

“Two minutes.” Nico’s already moving toward the back entrance of the restaurant, past the cracked, smoky mirrors and booths with tufted leather seats, stuffing hanging out in places.

He leans over the bar as he passes, opening a cash register, pulling out a wad of bills, and stuffing them into his pocket before disappearing outside.

Sienna is picking her way across the broken glass, arms out to balance herself, her white uniform blouse so soaked with blood, it’s more red than white.

When she comes to a stop, looking around, lost, her face is pale, eyes hollow. The competent woman who kept my fiancé alive has vanished, and in her place is someone barely holding it together as shock creeps in.

For a second, I hesitate. I have enough shit to deal with. She’s not my problem and hasn’t been for ten years. But reluctantly, I’m forced to admit that I may actually need her.

Because she watched the shooter leave, and if she saw anything useful, anything at all, I need to know exactly what she knows.

4

LUCA

Crossing toward Sienna, the soles of my shoes scrape over broken glass. The destroyed chandelier in the background flickers red and blue, reflecting the lights outside. Half of the crystals are smashed, dangling on clear filaments, shot to shit, just like my plans to oust my father from his role.

Which is precisely why I’m not in the mood for Sienna Fox, or the inconvenient feelings of concern she’s stirring within me.

She doesn’t see me approaching, staring at nothing. She has that vacant stare I’ve seen on men after their first gun fight. Her steps falter, just as afraid of stepping into the circus of police cars, firetrucks, ambulances, and gawking bystanders as she is of staying here.

With a wince, she looks down, fingers moving to her hip, plucking at something. There’s a narrow shard of glass embedded in her skin, through her blouse. She pulls it free with a pained hiss; the crystal coming away tinged pink.

I’m in front of her, pushing her hands aside, before I know what I’m doing. “Let me see,” I insist. “There might be more.”

“It’s nothing.”

She tries to step back, but with one hand on her lower back to keep her still, I’m already pushing the bloodied fabric aside, examining the cut beneath. A thin line of red wells up against the smooth, pale skin just above her hip.

“It’s not nothing. You’re hurt.”

My fingers curl around her waist, thumb brushing just below her ribs, as I examine the cut carefully to make sure there’s no glass left, rage bubbling up inside me at the sight of her perfect skin marked by violence.

“It’s a scratch, Luca. I’ll live. I need to find my friends.” She pulls away from my hands, her arms once again curling around her midriff, and shudders as she glances around.

I let her go, though part of me doesn’t want to.

She just looks so damn fragile.

“They’re fine, Sienna. Kate and Roman were the only ones seriously hurt.”

Before I can stop myself, I’m shrugging off my suit jacket.