Chapter 193 193

Chapter 193 193
Alexis

I barely have time to register the sound of gunfire before Gabriel starts marching me toward the door at the side of the room. I crane my neck and watch as Dom and Antonio barricade the grand double doors.

“Follow Gabriel!” Dom yells to the wives. “He’ll take you to a safe room.”

“Fuck that,” Sheila calls back. “Get me a gun.”

Antonio grins at her, but I tear my eyes away from the touching scene to look up at Gabriel just as we reach the doors.

“I want to fight too,” I tell him.

Gabriel looks down, mouth curved slightly. “I bet you do, Tiger.” He pushes through the door and heads down a hardwood-lined hallway lit by golden sconces. “I might be more inclined to let you if you’d had any training and if you weren’t pregnant. But you haven’t, and you are, so you’re going to stay in the safe room until I come to get you. Understand?”

Begrudgingly, I have to admit he has a point, though I hate the idea of all of the other mob women getting to help fend off whoever is attacking us while I wait in a closet somewhere, twiddling my thumbs. “I understand.”

He pulls me into an elegant bedroom and strides through to the closet door at the far end. When he opens it, I see a hidden steel door at the back of it. He punches a four-digit code into the keypad—1823—and the lock on the door releases. Gabriel presses a chaste kiss to my lips and then nudges me toward the door.

I enter and turn to tell Gabriel to be safe, but he has already closed the door. It locks with a heavy click.

The room is small but comfortable, with a sofa and a mini-fridge stocked with water and some sandwiches. I suppose Gabriel must have had it specially stocked for tonight, just in case. But I doubt he really expected to use it. It’s quiet back here. Too quiet.

My mind whirs. I hate feeling this useless, and there must be something I can do from back here.

Shit.

Harry and Clara are back at the mansion. Has Gabriel had time to warn the guards there of this attack? I need to make sure they’re okay.

I go to grab my phone and realize with a frustrated groan that I left it in on the table by the side door we slipped out of. Gabriel told me to stay, but Clara and Harry could be in danger. I need to warn them. Plus, Gabriel will be too busy to notice if I slip out for a second, right?

I don’t know why I’m even trying to justify my actions. I’m leaving this room, come hell or high water. I punch the code into the keypad and step into the dark closet. I hear a solitary gunshot somewhere in the apartment, but otherwise, I can’t hear anything at all.

I slide open the closet door cautiously, as if someone might be waiting to leap out at me, but the room is empty. I slide out of my heels and tiptoe to the door, cracking it open enough to peek down the hall. It looks clear.

I creep out and close the door behind me, then tiptoe toward the ballroom. I can hear the unmistakable sound of violence from somewhere up ahead—screams, gunshots, glass shattering. The walls seem to shake with the force of it. My heart is doing its best to climb out of my throat, but I force myself to stay calm. I am no good to Harry and Clara if I let my fear take over.

I start to approach the ballroom door. Something slams against the wall next to me from the other side, and I grit my teeth.

Game plan: get in, get the phone, run like hell, and hope nobody notices.

I try not to linger on the various catches with this plan—particularly the fact that I’m in a stunning gown, which is dramatically backless, with an eye-catching diamond necklace—because it doesn’t matter. The plan could suck, but I don’t have another one, and I won’t sit in safety while the people I love suffer if there’s something I might be able to do to help.

Before I can reach the ballroom, a door opens ahead of me and a red-faced man in a black turtleneck steps out, gun drawn. He must have been sent to clear the rest of the rooms, but I can tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t expecting to meet an elegantly dressed woman in the hallway.

The man roars and leaps at me, knocking me to the ground. He straddles my legs and extends his arm to aim the gun at my face, but I grab both of his arms and wrestle them away. I won’t be able to hold him for long, so I do the only other thing I can think to do—I bring my leg up quickly and knee him in the balls.

The man wheezes and grows even redder in the face. “You bitch!”

His hold has loosened, but only slightly. I try to use it to my advantage and grapple him onto his back, but he flattens his body low over mine, immobilizing me with his weight.

“You’re Gabriel’s girl, aren’t you?” he hisses, spittle spraying onto my cheek. “The pregnant one?”

He drops the hand holding the gun between us, and I feel the cold muzzle of it against my stomach.

He digs the gun into my flesh, and I yelp with pain. “I’m not supposed to kill you,” he says, “but nobody said anything about your baby.”

I can taste the panic on my tongue, sweet and sickly, like overripe strawberries. I don’t think. I don’t plan. My instincts take over.

In one movement, I twist my hips so the gun is no longer over my belly, cover the hand holding the gun with mine, and sink my teeth into Turtleneck’s ear. He yells out. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and my stomach turns over in disgust, but I don’t let that distract me. This man was going to kill my baby. He deserves to die.

My fingers close over the gun, and I roll back, destabilizing him enough that I can throw him off me. He falls onto his back with one hand cradling his bloody ear, and I shuffle back on my butt like a crab.

“You fucking bitch!” he cries, and starts to get up.

I don’t give him the chance. I aim. I fire.

Turtleneck falls back onto the floor, blood pooling around his torso from the two gunshot wounds in his belly. There is an expression of genuine surprise on his face. That irks me.

“Did you think you could lay hands on the Bellucci Mafia queen and get away with it?” I ask.

He sputters but doesn’t answer, then stares up at the ceiling, eyes growing distant.

The hand holding the gun shakes, and I let it fall to my side. My heart is racing. This man is bleeding out on Gabriel’s parquet floor, and it is my fault. But he deserved it. He was going to hurt me, maybe even kill my baby.

My hand goes to my belly. I shake my head in disgust. “Any man who would try to kill an unborn baby deserves to die. You’re lucky that it will be so quick.”

I hate the thought of touching him, but somebody probably heard that gunshot, and I don’t think I’m going to make it to the ballroom. This guy probably has a cell phone on him, which will do just fine. After being kidnapped by Andrew Walsh, I made sure to memorize a list of important phone numbers in case I was ever separated from my cell phone.

I lean over and rifle through the man’s pockets, coming up victorious with a black iPhone. I quickly unlock it using his face and dash around the corner just as I hear footsteps approaching. I don’t know the layout of the penthouse well and have no idea where I am. I just need to get somewhere hidden to make the call, but there don’t seem to be any rooms leading off this corridor.

Too late, I start to recognize where I am. I’m nearing the main double doors for the ballroom, the ones that the Italians were barricading just as Gabriel pulled me out.