Page 3 of Venomous Throne

Pushing into the employee bathroom, I went to wash my hands.

I thought I was alone.

There was a flicker of movement, a tiny, imperceptible shift. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up in response. Before I could turn, a shape jumped from the furthest stall. A powerful arm snaked around my throat. My head snapped back against a solid chest as the pressure on my windpipe intensified.

“I’ve got you, bitch,” a gravelly voice whispered in my ear.

I recognized him instantly—Dominic, a loyal Moretti soldier.

The bathroom’s fluorescent lights sharpened overhead as he tightened his grip. My lungs burned for air. I clawed at his forearm, my nails scraping uselessly against his leather jacket. My vision started to darken at the edges.

“We’re tired of your interference in the business,” Dominic continued, his hot breath sticky on my neck. “The Moretti Famiglia isn’t yours, Black Widow. None of it.”

The Black Widow….

That name whispered through the underworld. They thoughtIwas the one behind the boss’s death. That I was clever enough to slip something into the bottle of Chianti Vincent drank during his last supper.

I wish it had been me!

But I hadn’t been brave enough to end my miserable marriage. I was too scared of what life would look like without my husband’s shroud of protection.

So far, it was a bloody fight.

Survival instinct kicked in. I went limp for a split second.

Dominic loosened his hold, letting me sag against his grip. My arm was almost long enough to take the pistol from my thigh holster. Praying that the saints surrounded me with a blanket of protection, I lunged for my gun while lifting my leg, tucking it high for easier access.

Dominic cursed.

But it was too late for him to move my body. The poor bastard. He didn’t realize until I reached back and aimed the pistol at his head that he was screwed.

The gun roared between my fingers.

Dominic dropped, taking me down with him.

The gunshot summoned help. Franky burst into the bathroom. The unofficial bodyguard looked between the dead body and me as I scrambled away. He just stood there, staring at the scene.

“That’s the second time this week, signora,” he muttered.

I dropped my head back against the tiled wall. Thirty seconds. That was all I would allow myself, my only moment of weakness.

“I know you’re not going to want to hear this,” Franky began, his accent thickening as he spoke. “But I think you should post men around your home.”

I felt bad for him. Truly. Franky only wanted to help, and his loyalty was priceless. But my reluctance to have full-time bodyguards had nothing to do with pride or a false sense of security.

No, it was far deeper than that. If I admitted I needed bodyguards, that would mean my freedom was coming at such a high price. I was twenty-six years old, and for the first time I had no husband. The house was blissfully empty. Even the ghosts couldn’t haunt the shadows. They merely watched as I went about my life, ignoring them. It might be a bloody fight now that Vincent’s protection was ripped away, but it was proving to be a rewarding experience.

“We’ll see,” was all I said. “Now, can you clean up this mess? Or do I need to call one of the guys for backup?”

“Oh, I can clean it,” Franky grumped. “But the problem is the dealership is fully staffed today, and there are lots of customers milling about.”

I rose, grateful that my legs weren’t shaking. “He called me the Black Widow. This rumor is getting out of hand.”

Franky’s eyes simmered. “You want me to talk to Marco?”

My darling teddy bear. Franky was a fierce soldier, whose loyalty I was blessed to have earned early in my marriage. With his support came the love and devotion of other Made Men. But not all of them felt that way about me.

“No, that will only add fuel to the fire,” I wheezed, rubbing my throat. “We’ll ride the storm.”