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One stationed by the door.
Another inside by the left corner.
And the third at the front of the room.
All three of them faced the large glass windows that she’d loved so much in Grandfather’s office. The view was obstructed by heavy drapery today, blocking all sunlight.
None of the guards paid the windows or her much attention, though. Their grim faces were keenly monitoring something else on the ground.
As she followed their gaze, her knees buckled. Her hand grabbed the edge of the doorframe.
Slumped on the carpet was Gio.
Drenched in blood.
A low whimper escaped from her.
His inky black curls were matted and frayed; an angry scar was visible on his chin. Below that…everything was red. His shirt, his pants–everything was painted with his blood. Two patches were stained the deepest: one near his stomach and one by his shoulder.
Gunshot wounds.
Shivering all over, Ana stepped gingerly toward him. The guards were all pointing their guns at Gio and could easily fell her in one blow. But her legs did not stop.
She had to get to him.
As Ana hobbled forward, other bodies began to come into view by the right corner. Propped up on the floor behind the couch.
God.
Reggie.
She pressed her fingers to her lips tremulously. He had been smiling reassuringly at her just twenty minutes ago. Now, he was dead. There was no question about it, not with the bullet hole gaping from his head.
Her stomach clenched, sick.
She had been so terrified of Reggie in the beginning, paranoid after her previous encounters with guards. But he had been so kind, so loyal. He had tried to protect them to the very end.
Tears leaked out of her eyes.
The two bodies next to him were unfamiliar. But they wore the same uniform as the other Mancini guards. Maybe Gio or Reggie had managed to kill them?
Good.
Perverse satisfaction hit her. She wanted them all to pay.
Dragging her eyes away from them, she focused back on the body propped up by the window seat. The most important one of all.
When she finally reached her husband’s side, Ana sank to her knees. Unable to comprehend the sight of her powerful man in this state. How he must have suffered…all alone…defenseless in a house full of traitors.
Trembling, she gently touched his arm, afraid to hurt him anymore.
But his skin was so cold.
Just a few days ago, his warm, strong hands had run along her body–possessive and tender.
Nothing and no one else can touch you as long as I’m alive.
How many times had Gio held her and made her feel safe? How much had he overworked himself trying to find ways to avenge her? And she had left him alone here in his hour of need.
