Chapter 8 8.
“Wow! I must commend you, what a show.” the man with the voice continued.
The man stepping through the shattered ruins of the club doors looked fearless. He wore a long, slate-grey coat draped over his shoulders and a suit that cost more than a small villa. He was about the same age with Salvatore, with hair so blonde it was almost white and a face that was beautiful in a way that felt so wrong.
However, he walked past the bodies of the mercenaries with a casual, rhythmic stride, his eyes fixed on Elena. Behind him, dozens of men in tactical gear poured in with their rifles raised. Luciano and Salvatore’s men shifted, creating a defence but the numbers were clearly against them.
The stranger stopped ten feet away. He pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket, tapped one out, and lit it. The smell of sweet, Russian tobacco began to drift through the room.
"It really is a beautiful tragedy," the man said. His Italian was perfect, but the vowels were slightly clipped with the coldness of Moscow. "The young lion fighting for a prize that was already sold to the Bear."
Salvatore’s finger stayed against the trigger. "You’re a long way from home, Volkov. Does your father know you’re out playing in the rain?"
The man smiled, showing teeth that were a bit too white. "Dmitry Volkov doesn't play, Salvatore. And he doesn't like it when people steal his gifts.” He said referring to himself.
“I am here for my fiancée. Give her to me, and perhaps I will let you walk out of here with enough dignity to keep your name."
Elena felt Salvatore’s grip on her arm tighten. It wasn't a painful grip but possessive one. She looked at Dmitry, the man her father had sold her to. He looked at her like she was a his own for taking with no love there. Not even lust. Just the cold hunger of ownership.
"She’s not your fiancée," Salvatore said, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "She’s mine now and ‘everything about her’ he stressed the word, concerns and belongs to me."
Dmitry sighed, shaking his head as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Contracts signed at gunpoint aren't legal, Salvatore. But blood... blood is always binding."
He looked past Salvatore toward the desk. "Isn't that right, Michael?"
Michael Moretti stood in the corner with his face sweating with terror. He looked at the dozen red laser dots dancing across his chest, then at Dmitry.
"The deal stands!" Michael shouted, his voice cracking. "Take her! I have the original documents! Salvatore forced me to sign that trash!"
Elena felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She looked at her father who had just watched his daughter be dragged through a war zone and yet, he dared point a finger at her.
"There is a panic room behind the mahogany paneling," Michael yelled to the Russians, his eyes wide with desperate survival. "It has an independent air supply! Just don't shoot! I’m giving you the girl!"
With a very fast reflex, Michael slammed his hand against a hidden button on the wall. A massive, reinforced steel door slid out from the cabinetry quickly sealing the back of the office. And before Elena could mutter even a scream, her father vanished behind the metal, leaving her and Salvatore standing in the middle of a shooting gallery.
"Coward!" Salvatore roared.
Dmitry’s smile vanished. He flicked his cigarette onto the floor and crushed it with his heel. "Kill the men and bring me the girl. Try not to ruin her face—I have a wedding to attend."
"Down!" Salvatore screamed.
And within split seconds the whole area turned into a nightmare of sound. The Russians opened fire, the thud-thud-thud of heavy caliber rounds chewing through the velvet pillars and shattering the remaining glass.
Salvatore threw himself on top of Elena, his massive frame acting as a shield. They lay motionless at the floor behind one of the desks. Elena felt the heat of the bullets passing inches over her head, the wood of the desk splintering and showering them in toothpicks.
"Luciano! Suppression!" Salvatore yelled.
Salvatore’s men returned fire, the office erupting into a crossfire that made Elena’s ears ring until she thought they would bleed. She pressed her face into Salvatore’s chest, her eyes squeezed shut. She could hear his heartbeat sound steady.
"Look at me," Salvatore commanded, his voice raw.
Elena slowly opened her eyes. His face was inches from hers and he had sustained a fresh cut on his forehead, but his eyes were like blue fire.
"I’m going to get you out of here, I promise."
"They're going to kill us," she sobbed, the now strong smell of blood making her head spin.
"No one kills what belongs to me," he growled.
He rose up just enough to fire three rhythmic shots over the desk, his body never leaving the space between Elena and the Russian shooters. A bullet flew past him and immediately Elena pulled him down.
Salvatore reached for her chin slightly pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss.
“Um…thanks.” Elena muttered while using one of her fingers to touch her lower lips.
“Gosh, why did I even say that?”
Salvatore turned away from her face while grabbing her hand.
"Luciano! The service entrance! Go!"
Luciano threw a flashbang toward the center of the room which was followed by a blinding white light that swallowed the office. Soon after a roar that shook the floorboards.
"Now!" Salvatore grabbed Elena, hauling her to her feet.
He kept his arm wrapped around her waist, half-carrying her as they sprinted through the smoke. Bullets whistled past them, thudding into the walls. Salvatore spun her behind him as they reached the hallway, using his own back to cover her as they retreated.
They burst through the service door into the rain-slicked alleyway. The air was cold, hitting Elena’s lungs like a shock of ice water.
A black SUV skidded to a halt at the end of the alley, the tires screaming. Luciano was in the driver's seat, his face grim.
"Get in! Get in!" Luciano shouted, leaning out the window and firing a submachine gun back toward the club to keep the Russians pinned inside.
Salvatore shoved Elena into the back seat, diving in after her just as a hail of bullets peppered the door. The glass didn't shatter because it was armored but the impact sent enough shiver down their spines that'll last the whole day.
"Go!" Salvatore roared.
Luciano floored it. The SUV lurched forward, throwing Elena against the seat. She looked out the back window and saw Dmitry Volkov walking out into the rain. He wasn't running or shouting. He just stood there, watching them go, his blonde hair plastered to his forehead with a look of calm but terrifying patience on his face.
As the club faded into the distance, the adrenaline began to drain out of Elena, replaced by a cold, numbing horror. She looked at Salvatore who was leaning back against the leather, his breathing heavy and his shirt stained with blood.
"You're hit," she whispered, reaching out with a trembling hand.
He looked down at his side, where a dark crimson stain was spreading across his ribs. He didn't seem to feel it. He just looked at Elena, his eyes scanning her face, her arms and then her legs.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice gravelly.
"I... I don't think so," she stammered. "But my father... he locked the door and just... he left me there."
“He doesn't care…I've always known he didn't.” Tears trickled down her cheek.
Salvatore reached out. His hand was shaky, covered in the dust of the explosion, but he brushed a stray mahogany curl behind her ear.
"He’s a dead man, Elena," Salvatore said, and for the first time, his voice didn't sound like a threat. It sounded like a promise. "He sold you to a ghost because the Russians don't want a wife; they want a hostage to break the Romano line. Your father knew that. He didn't care."
“She doesn't remember me because she was just a toddler then. But maybe it's better I keep it that way.” Salvatore's mind poundered.
Elena leaned her head against the window, watching the lights of Florence fly past. The city she grew loving, the city she had spent her life protecting with her words which now felt like a graveyard.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
Salvatore looked at her, his gaze heavy and dark. "To the only place left where the law doesn't reach and the Russians can't find. We're going to the fortress and from tonight on, the world thinks you're dead, Elena. It's safer that way."
"I can't just disappear," she argued, a flash of her old spirit returning. "Lucia... she's out there. She's looking for me. The news—"
"The news is whatever I say it is," Salvatore cut her off. He leaned closer, his heat radiating off him in the cramped space. "Your friend is safe for now. But if you step back into that light, Dmitry will find you. And next time, I might not be there to take the bullets."
Elena looked at his wound, then back at his eyes. She realized then that he was actually a very handsome man.
As she made an effort to lie on his shoulder, Salvatore collapsed and became still.
“Salvatore!!!,” Elena screamed, hot tears now clouded in her eyes.
“Luciano please make for the nearest hospital…please he's loosing breath.” Elena said frantically felling his pulse.
“You'll be spotted the very minute we enter a hospital, look at the billboards all flagging your face, your name boldly imprinted.” Luciano said.
“I don't care about the fucking Billboard or the police, get him to the hospital now… or I'll take the wheels.”