Chapter 149

But as I feel my husband pressed long along the length of my body, I know that there’s only one real choice for me. That the idea of leaving him here, of not knowing whether he lives or dies…

God, no. I could never do it.

“I want to stay,” I say quietly, my eyes on Frankie.

He holds my gaze for a moment and then groans, turning away from me and burying his hands in his hair as he shakes his head like it’s a horrible, terrible thing.

I grimace a little at his reaction but look up into Christian’s face, seeking reassurance.

“It will be fine,” Christian says, nodding evenly to me. “I promise. You know that I’d never put you in a situation where I didn’t think you’d be safe, right? You know that.”

“I know,” I whisper, nodding to him. He smiles softly at me and then kisses me again. I wind my arms around his neck, putting all of my faith into him. When we break away, I turn back towards Frankie to see him in close, quiet conversation with Nico, who looks like he’s scolding him a little bit. But whatever they say is between them, because by the time Christian loosens his arms around me they’re done.

Frankie turns back towards us, his head hanging a little, his expression grim. But he doesn’t say anything – no further words of protest. Instead, I almost watch as he tucks himself away, becomes more completely the mob boss’s emotionless bodyguard. A man defined by his job, not his emotions.

“Send the coordinates,” Christian says to Nico, raising his chin at him. Nico instantly gets to work, taking his own phone out of his pocket and beginning to share our location. “In the meantime, let’s get organized.”

Unfortunately, getting organized takes about five minutes. And then it’s a great, great deal of time waiting around, tense, for Bonetti to arrive.

And when he does arrive, he’s not secretive about it.

The warehouse is tucked away in an industrial, back corner of the city that’s quiet at this time of night. Anyone who works in the area has long gone home, so there’s really no one to witness the parade of black cars that begin to make their way down the long road towards our location, their headlights flaring.

“Shit,” Nico murmurs, peering out the window and glancing anxiously at Christian. “He was…not kidding, when he said he was coming with firepower.”

“No guns on our side,” Christian murmurs, his arm warm around me as we, too, peer out the window. He glances at Frankie. “At least not ones they can see. That’s obviously an order you can ignore if things go sour. But…things won’t go sour.”

I frown and turn to study Frankie, because…is he armed now? He always seems to have a gun on him when he needs it, but there’s no holster by his side, and I’ve never seen him like…reach into his suit coat or anything. I frown, wondering, my eyes sweeping over him.

“Quit checking me out, Bambs,” he murmurs with a tiny smirk, keeping his eyes trained on the window.

I laugh, and hear Christian beside me laugh a little too. “Where do you keep your gun, Frankie?”

“Gun?” he asks, turning to me with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you assume I just have one?”

I scowl and swat at him, but he jumps away. “Careful! You’ll set it off.”

“Oh, you liar,” I mutter, turning back to the window as the cars begin to park in a neat line – five of them, all SUV’s, meaning…

“Twenty-five people?” Nico asks, turning to Christian.

“At least,” he says with a sigh. Then he turns away from the window, crossing the warehouse to where the five men are still tied to their chairs at the center. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

We move to stand behind the men, all eight of us facing the door. My eyes slip anxiously to the man in front of me, whose pantleg is absolutely covered in blood. His head hangs low, but…well, he’s still breathing. I turn my eyes away from him, not letting my pity get the better of me.

When the warehouse doors swing open, they do it with a bang and Bonetti enters, surrounded by his men. My mouth parts a little at the sight they make – one man in a gorgeous Armani suit flanked by two men basically in body armor with automatic weapons in their hands. Behind him more men flood in – some suited, clearly his colleagues – but most of them clearly there to send a message.

That even though Christian called this meeting, Bonetti’s the one in charge.

Anxious, I glance down at myself, doubting again Nico’s choice in what is essentially workout clothes. God, why didn’t I bring something to change into?

But Christian reaches out and subtly takes my hand, wrapping it in his own large one. He gives my fingers a squeeze and I exhale, my breath shakier than I’d want it to be. But I squeeze his hand back, wanting him to know that my faith persists. Because it does – it really does. I trust Christian with everything I have.

Bonetti continues forward across the warehouse towards us, his men fanning out on either side around him almost as if he coordinated this. He stops about ten feet from us, looking at his men with a smirk – almost like he’s disappointed in them for getting caught but honestly never should have expected anything better.

“Welcome,” Christian says, his voice booming out in the room over the sound of footsteps as everyone takes their place. “I’m glad you could come on such short notice, Bonetti.”

“I’m not sure I was given a choice,” Bonetti replies, his eyes focused on Christian for a moment before flicking to me. I go stiff, my hand gripping Christian’s even tighter. “After all, I was told it was a matter of life or death.”

“I assure you,” Christian says, cool, confident, and relaxed. “It’s well worth your time.”

“It seems,” Bonetti murmurs, his eyes not moving from mine, his lips curling up into a nasty little smile. “That…some congratulations are in order.” He’s quiet for a moment, looking me up and down. “In quite a different place than you were last time we met, aren’t you, young lady?”

I don’t say anything, just holding his gaze and raising my chin a little.

“Whatever information my father gave you,” Christian says, stepping a little in front of me and forcing Bonetti to move his eyes from me to him, “regarding Iris’s status in this world was clearly incorrect. I’d like to make it quite clear that my wife is off limits. Entirely. And that anyone who places a hand on her will soon be missing that hand, amongst other things.”

Bonetti chuckles lightly. “Yes, it seems I was misinformed,” he murmurs, nodding slowly and looking back at me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Romano. Though I admit, I’m a little disappointed in your new…status. We were just getting to know each other and having such fun.”

I go rigid at the truth in his eyes, at this true sadist before me.

God, Christ, what a creature.

“What?” Bonetti says, slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning forward towards me, laughing a little. “Nothing to say? No gracious thanks for my well-wishes? Your silence is such a contrast, since under my hands you sang like a canary –“

“Enough,” Christian bites out.

Bonetti simply shrugs as if it couldn’t possibly matter to him and takes a deep breath. “Your point regarding your wife is made, Cristian. Now, if we could get on to business?”

“A hit has been put out on your life,” Christian says, perhaps quicker than he would if Bonetti hadn’t gotten under his skin right now. My eyes flick between them and I honestly wonder if it would have been better if I wasn’t here – I’m clearly such a trigger point for Christian. Would he have been better able to handle it if I were back at the Penthouse?

Did Frankie know that?

“A hit?” Bonetti says, raising his eyebrows and taking the news easily. “Well, Cris – I’m not sure that’s news. It’s certainly not the first one. One amongst many, I’m sure.”

“This one’s serious,” Christian says, continuing to be sharp and precise in counterpoint to Bonetti’s smooth banality. “You’ll be dead within a week if you don’t consider my offer.”

“And how do you know this?” Bonetti asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Because I was the one assigned to kill you.”