With that, Gio slips out, leaving Marco and me alone in the stark room. My right-hand man gives me a questioning look. “Marriage, Boss? What are you thinking?”
I shrug, a faint smile playing at the corners of my mouth. “Marriages have served our family well in the past. My siblings’ unions have strengthened our alliances. Maybe another strategic marriage is just what we need to cement this new treaty.”
Marco nods, understanding the logic even if he remains skeptical. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. We’ve got enough on our plate as it is.”
We make our way back through the winding corridors, my mind already racing with contingency plans and precautions. Gio’s warning echoes in my thoughts—the Don’s loyal men could pose a serious threat in the aftermath of his demise. We’ll need to be vigilant and ready for any retaliatory strikes.
As we emerge into the crisp night air, I feel the weight of the future pressing down on my shoulders. The choices we make in the coming days will shape the destiny of not only our family but the entire Chicago underworld. It’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly.
The flight back to the safehouse is a blur, my thoughts consumed by the potential ramifications of our alliance with Gio Verrazano. I know I’m taking a risk, trusting a man who has every reason to want my family destroyed. But in this game, sometimes the enemy of your enemy is your only hope for survival.
When I finally arrive at the secluded island compound, the first hints of dawn are just beginning to paint the horizon. I make my way silently through the darkened halls, careful not to disturb the uneasy peace that settles over the house. I slip into my bedroom, and I’m greeted by the sight of Attia, her lithe form sprawled across my bed, lost in the embrace of sleep. The fact that she’s here, waiting for me, sends a thrill of possession through my veins. Even amidst the chaos and uncertainty, her presence is a balm to my battered soul.
I perch on the edge of the bed, drinking in the sight of her. The soft curves of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes fan out against her cheeks. I’m struck by a sudden, overwhelming need to touch her, to reassure myself that she’s real and not just some fevered dream brought on by my exhausted mind. Slowly, carefully, I lean down and press my lips to hers in a feather-light kiss. Her eyelids flutter open, those soulful brown eyes blinking up at me in sleepy confusion. “Bruno?” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep. “What time is it?”
“Early,” I whisper, trailing my fingers along the smooth expanse of her cheek. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just…I needed to see you.”
She smiles softly, reaching up to cup my face in her warm palm. “I’m glad you’re back safe. I was worried about you.”
Her words, so simple and sincere, pierce straight through to my heart. I capture her hand in mine, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I’ll always come back to you, Bella. You’re my home.”
And then I’m kissing her again, deeper this time, pouring all my pent-up longing and desire into the slant of my mouth against hers. She responds eagerly, her fingers tangling in my hair as she arches up into my touch. I lose myself in the taste of her, the feel of her soft curves molding to the hard planes of my body.
Just as I’m about to strip away the flimsy barrier of her nightgown, a sudden crash shatters the pre-dawn stillness. Attia and I bolt upright, instantly alert. More crashes follow, accompanied by shouts and the unmistakable pop of gunfire.
“Stay here,” I order, already reaching for the gun I keep stashed in the nightstand. “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me, understand?”
Attia nods, her eyes wide with fear even as determination sets her jaw. She sits up in bed. Shaking her head. “Chris. I have to check on Chris.”
“Shit.” This is what it means to be a husband and a father. To always have two halves of your heart that your enemies can rip out at any time. She already standing up and heading for the door. I practically have to throw her to the ground to get her frantic arms to still. “You fucking stay here,” I growl, shoving as much power into my voice as I can. “I will get him.” She shakes her head again, and I cover her when bullets spray our bulletproof glass windows. “I will get him. But I can’t waste fucking time repeating myself or looking over my shoulder worrying about you.” I open a panel behind the closet door and push her into the safe room. A room I never thought I’d need and only added on because the architect insisted. “Wait here. You can see everything on video. I’ll get him and bring him to you.”
Tears glint in her eyes, but she nods. She grips my shoulder, and before I can leave, she says starkly, “Bruno, he’s all I have.”
I want to rain down brimstone and thunder at those words.What the fuck?“No, he’s not,” I growl. This is not the way I want to leave her, but now I’m pissed at both her and whoever the fuck is attacking my house. I move to slam the door, but I can’t do it when I see she’s crying. I grab her and slam my kiss down on her, reminding her once more who she belongs to. Then I shut the door and head for my son. The responding gunfire from my men gives me hope that he’s okay. At least for now. But I’m sprinting to his room anyway. Praying he has enough sense to stay low and wait for me.
My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline surging through me as I dart down the hallway, gun-ready. Noise and bedlam erupt around me as if I’m sprinting through a minefield. I ignore it. My entire world narrows to this single, frantic mission. I need to find Christopher and ensure he’s safe. I reach his room, grateful it’s unlocked. I slide the door open carefully, my gaze scanning the room for any sign of my son. The anxiety threatens to choke me until I see Chris crouched behind the armoire, his gun shakily pointed my way.
“Christopher!” I bark, my voice sharp and authoritative. “Drop the gun. I’m here. I’ve got you.” I pray he listens and that he’s not too scared to understand my voice through his panic. Chris’s eyes widen when he recognizes me, and his eyes water. He slowly lowers the gun, his hands shaking. “Bruno,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with fear and relief.
I don’t give a shit how he feels about me. I rush to his side and wrap him in my arms. Gunfire and breaking glass replace the sound of my pounding heart. We huddle together, my body shielding him as I try to figure out how close the intruders are.
“Mom?” He asks with one simple word, but a mountain of emotion is wedged behind it.
“She’s okay,” I say, reassuring him. “Attia’s in the safe room. Now we have to get you there.”
His brows instantly furrow, and he grips my shirt like a frightened cub clutching its mother’s fur. “What about you?”
I don’t want to scare him further, but I can’t help the dark cloud I’m sure crosses my face. “I’m going hunting.”
He pulls away, assesses me, and makes the decision I would have made at his age. “I’ll go with you. They came to our house. We’ll go after them. Make them pay.”
“I will,” I promise, holding his shoulders when he stiffens and tries to argue. “You can’t come with me.” I tip his chin back up. “Not this time.”
He nods, his eyes finally starting to clear. “Alright, Dad.” He says begrudgingly. I see the determination in his eyes, fueled by the anger at what has been done. But I won’t risk his safety. I will get him to Attia. Lock them both inside and then find these fuckers and end them. But first, I need to get him down this hallway.
I grip Christopher’s arm and steer him out of his room, my gun raised and ready. The hallway is deserted, the sounds of fighting muted and distant. I don’t trust it. Something about this feels off. I pause, listening intently, my senses on high alert.
That’s when I hear it - the faint scuff of a shoe on the carpet behind us. I whirl, shoving Christopher down and out of the way as a barrage of gunfire erupts. I return fire instantly, dropping the two gunmen who tried to ambush us. Christopher stares up at me wide-eyed from the floor, unharmed.
