Page 8 of Vows of Blood

Before I can decide whether to tell him the embarrassing truth or an elaborate lie, or just make an excuse to flee, a sharp crack cuts through the room.

For a split second, I think someone dropped a champagne bottle. Then the front window explodes inward. A waterfall of shattered glass showers across the floor and patio, screams ripping through the air as everyone dives for cover.

“Shooter!” someone yells.

“Get down,” Luca roars, and I flinch, hunching over, raising my hands to cover my head. He shoves his guard hard toward his fiancé, who’s clutching her stomach, staring wide-eyed as blood coats her fingers.

“Kate!” someone cries out, followed by a chorus of shocked gasps as her legs buckle, the man beside her barely catching her before she crumples to the floor.

Another deafening crack sounds as ricocheting bullets pass close by, then the guard falls with a pained shout, hands gripping his thigh.

“Fuck. Get her out of here, now,” Luca demands, drawing a weapon from somewhere behind his back as he gestures toward the back of the restaurant.

Red blooms across Kate’s pale silk gown as another enforcer appears from nowhere and hooks an arm under her legs before carrying her toward the kitchen.

Men around me draw weapons, all facing the front windows, providing cover as Luca runs, when there’s another crack. This time, from the opposite direction, tearing through the air where my head was a half second ago.

“Shit,” someone yells. “There are two of them.”

More screams. People rush for the exits, scrambling across the shards of glass on hands and knees, or taking their chances and sprinting through the now wide-open front wall.

Spinning toward the bar, I freeze. A figure dressed in black stands near the corridor to the rear exit, face hidden by a ski mask, and gun raised toward the crowd.

Another loud pop.

Luca launches himself at me, his body slamming into mine as we crash to the floor.

My skull strikes the tile, and stars explode across my vision.

His hand covers mine, pressing it flat against the cold floor, dark ink curling around his wrist where before, when I knew him, there was none. And beneath the expensive cologne, a familiar scent, one that I smelled on his forgotten clothes long after he was gone.

It has no right to steady me, not now, but it does, staving off the panic threatening to overwhelm me.

“Luca, what’s…” I whisper, but he ignores me completely, focused on directing the men waiting for orders.

“The front. Go,” Luca barks, and his men move instantly, guns raised, disappearing through the shattered window frame as the sound of a motorcycle engine rips down the street.

I twist, trying to see what’s happening and where Rebecca is, but Luca’s substantial weight pins me down, his arm shielding my head and pressing me to the floor.

“Sienna?” Rebecca’s frantic voice cuts through the panic. She’s crouched behind an overturned table with David, reaching toward me, fingers curling, beckoning frantically.

Get away from him, her eyes say.

I open my mouth to call back to her, but Luca’s hand closes over it.

“Stop talking and stay down,” he growls against my ear, low and husky, shifting to cover more of my body with his. “Be quiet and don’t fucking move.”

While Luca’s attention is on the blown-out glass wall, on the far side of the bar, the other shooter lurks in the shadows of the hallway, gun still raised as he watches the chaos.

Striking blue eyes find mine, and he slowly shifts position and points the gun in my direction.

Fear lodges in my throat, choking me, waiting for the next shot to ring out, but instead, he brings a single finger to his lips.

With Luca’s hand clamped firmly over my mouth, I can’t warn anyone anyway. Instead, I tug on Luca’s arm, trying to bring his attention to where the man is, but then the figure in black steps back into the darkness and disappears.

3

LUCA