Chapter 4 Chapter Four
LILA
The red dot was a tiny, precise spark of death dancing right on his spine.
Matteo’s body was a heavy, warm shield pressed against me, his breath a low rumble in my ear. He was completely blind to it. If I stayed silent, if I waited two more seconds, the debt would be canceled. My father would be safe, Sofia would be safe, and I would be free. The bullet would go through him, paint the wall behind me, and this nightmare would end before it truly began.
Let him die. The thought screamed through my mind, loud and righteous.
But the bullet wouldn't stop with him. If the sniper was aiming for his heart, his massive body would absorb most of the force, but the momentum, the speed of the round, it would tear through the silk and hit me. Maybe not fatal, but I would be wounded. And if I wasn't, the moment he dropped, the guards would burst in, and they would see me standing over their dead Don. They wouldn't stop to ask questions.
My hands were still pinned above my head. His grip felt like iron.
In a split second, the decision wasn't about vengeance or freedom. It was about pure, animalistic self-preservation. I couldn't risk the scatter, the immediate retaliation, or the chance that his cartel would take their anger out on Sofia.
"Down!" I screamed, a strangled sound torn from my throat.
I twisted violently against the pin. It wasn't enough to break his hold, but it was enough to shift his weight. Matteo grunted, more annoyed than hurt, and his head snapped up just as the window shattered again.
CRACK-THWACK.
The sound was immense. It felt like a punch to the air. Glass rained down in glittering arcs, and the bullet slammed into the marble windowsill just where Matteo's back had been a millisecond before. A fist-sized chunk of stone exploded outward, hitting my cheek with sharp dust.
Matteo didn't need to be told twice. He was pure instinct. He shoved me hard, dropping us both behind the thick, velvet curtains that lined the wall. I landed on the hard floor, the wind knocked out of me. The red gown twisted around my legs, smothering me.
"Who the hell are you working for?" he roared, his voice low but vibrating with deadly rage. He was on one knee, his gun already in his hand, the same one he'd used downstairs, dark and matte against the red silk curtain.
"No one!" I gasped, scrambling to untangle myself. "I just didn't want the mess!"
Another shot rang out, closer this time. It pierced the glass of a large painting on the opposite wall, a portrait of a stiff-faced old man who must have been his father. The canvas ripped, and shrapnel zinged past our heads.
Matteo didn't look at the painting. He didn't even look at me. His eyes were focused on the broken window, calculating the angle, the distance, the threat.
He grabbed the red rope that had bound me earlier and looped it around my free wrist, tying me quickly to the massive, ornate foot of the bed. The knots were fast and brutal.
"Stay here. Don't move," he commanded. "If I come back and you're gone, I hunt your father first. Understand?"
I pulled at the rope. It was too thick, too secure. "You owe me!" I shouted. "I saved your goddamn life!"
He didn't acknowledge it. He didn't thank me. He didn't even frown. He simply turned, his silhouette massive against the ruined window, and disappeared through the main door, pulling it shut behind him. The sound of his heavy boots running down the hallway was swallowed by the booming shouts of his guards echoing from outside.
I lay on the marble floor, shaking, trying to breathe. The scent of gun oil, sea salt, and now ozone and burnt gunpowder filled the air. My head throbbed, my wrists were raw, and my cheek stung from the marble dust. I was still wearing the white veil. It felt ridiculous, a mocking symbol of the nightmare I had just agreed to.
I had saved the man who had kidnapped me, tied me up, and forced me into marriage. The man who held my family's lives in his scarred hands. I had chosen self-interest and Sofia's safety over the easy vengeance I wanted. The sheer absurdity of it made my blood run cold.
The silence that followed was worse than the gunfire. It was an absence of sound that meant either the threat was eliminated, or they were surrounding the villa.
My eyes scanned the room, looking for anything. The burner phone I had planned to steal was now my priority. I needed to let Enzo know what happened, or at least use it to gather intel.
The rope securing my wrist to the footboard was tight, but the footboard itself was part of a heavy, carved structure. I slid my body along the floor, inch by inch, until I reached the headboard area where I had woken up. The red silk ropes from were still dangling there, useless but present.
I reached out with my free hand, the one that wasn't tied to the bed, and felt along the edges of the nightstand. Nothing but dust and a heavy gold lamp that was bolted down.
I needed a tool.
My tied hand, however, was anchored to the foot of the bed. I started sawing the silk rope against the sharp, carved edge of the wooden footboard. The silk was strong, designed for luxury, not utility. It burned the skin of my wrist before it showed any sign of fraying.
I stopped, my breath coming in ragged gasps. This would take too long, and Matteo would be back soon.
Think, Lila, think. What does a dancer always have?
I remembered the hairpin I had stuck in my veil before the ceremony, a small, silver ornamental clasp that was supposed to keep the tulle in place. I twisted my neck, reaching up. My fingers brushed against the fabric, then felt the cold metal.
I pulled the pin free. It was flimsy, but better than nothing.