Chapter 4 - The Line of Fire
Chaos detonated within the polished confines of the Drake's dining room.
Adrian moved with speed that defied human anatomy. In the same breath that Tonio's weapon cleared leather, Adrian’s left hand flipped the heavy mahogany table onto its side, sending porcelain dishes, crystal stemware, and silver cutlery crashing across the hardwood floor in a deafening cacophony.
With his right arm, Adrian seized Grace by the waist and threw her down behind the reinforced oak tabletop, covering her body entirely with his own.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Three muffled rounds tore into the wood above their heads, sending jagged splinters flying into the air.
"Down! Stay down!" Adrian snarled against her cheek.
Across the room, Adrian’s men opened fire. The deafening roar of unsuppressed nine-millimeter rounds tore through the chamber. Glass from the towering windows shattered outward onto Michigan Avenue. Grace pressed her hands over her ears, curling into a ball, but Adrian was already reaching for his sidearm. He drew a custom matte-black Kimber 1911 from his shoulder holster, pivoted on his knee, and fired two rapid shots over the rim of the table.
A heavy thump echoed across the room. Tonio hit the floor, dead before he touched the shattered porcelain.
Enzo shrieked, scrambling on his hands and knees toward the service exit, shielded by two surviving Italian guards who fired blindly behind them as they retreated down the back hallway.
Silence crashed over the room, thick with the acrid stench of cordite, blood, and spilled wine.
Adrian hovered over Grace, his chest heaving. His dark hair was disheveled, a single thin cut along his cheekbone weeping a crimson line. His eyes were wide, feral with an adrenaline she had never seen before.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his hands frantically checking her shoulders, her ribs, her waist. His touch was fierce, bordering on unhinged. "Graziella! Did they hit you?"
"I'm—I'm fine," she gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the blood on his face. "Adrian, your cheek—"
"I don't give a damn about my cheek," he growled, pulling her abruptly against his chest. He buried his face into the curve of her neck for three ragged breaths, holding her so tightly she could barely draw oxygen. It wasn't the grip of a captor; it was the desperate clutch of a man who had just seen his entire world almost vaporized in front of him. "You gave me the warning. You saved Leo."
He pulled away, his face hardening back into cold granite as he pulled out his phone, barking orders in rapid-fire Italian into the receiver to lockdown Pier 42 and hunt down Enzo's vehicle before it reached O'Hare.
Grace scrambled to her feet, her gaze sweeping toward the corner. "Isabella!"
Isabella Moretti sat calmly against the back wall, protected by two towering bodyguards with assault rifles drawn. The older woman hadn't flinched. She looked at Grace, her silver hair perfectly in place, and slowly signed: You kept your head. You saved my sons.
"We're leaving," Adrian said, catching Grace’s elbow and pulling her toward the secure freight elevator. "The hotel is compromised. Enzo saw your face. He knows you're alive, and he knows you're with me. By dawn, every bounty hunter between New York and Sicily will be on a flight to Chicago."
"Then let me go," Grace pleaded as the elevator doors closed, plunging them into the dim descent. "If I run now, they'll follow me away from you! They'll think I used you!"
Adrian stepped close, boxing her into the corner of the elevator cab. His eyes burned into hers with terrifying ownership.
"You think I'm letting you run?" he said, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "You stood in front of Camorra guns and saved my blood, Graziella. You belong to the Moretti house now. You stay by my side, sleep in my bed, and wear my ring. Because out there, you're prey. But in here? You're a queen."
The elevator doors chimed open to the underground garage, where an armored convoy waited with engines purring. But before they could take two steps toward the lead SUV, the garage lights cut out completely, plunging them into pitch blackness.
May you like
From the darkness came the rhythmic clapping of gloved hands.
"A touching speech, Adrian," a voice purred from the shadows, dripping with toxic Neapolitan swagger. "Too bad she was promised to my bed first."
