Page 36 of The New Godfather

His hand shoots out fast — too fast to evade— and grabs my upper arm. His fingers dig in hard, viciously tight, squeezing until the pain flares hot and sharp up my arm. I know he’s going to leave bruises. The kind that blooms into deep purple and lingers for days.

I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, the sting radiating outward, but I don’t cry out. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. I don’t think about my next action. I just react. My knee comes up hard and fast, and slams straight into his groin with every bit of strength I have.

The impact is so strong it makes my body jerk. Mario doubles over instantly with a strangled, guttural grunt. His face is twisted in agony: eyes bulging, mouth opening in a silent gasp as both hands fly down to clutch himself. The color drains from his face, then floods back red and furious.

For one heartbeat I stand there, breathing hard, staring at him with a wild satisfaction as he hunches forward, wheezing.

Then I run.

I don’t look back. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, loud in my ears, adrenaline flooding hot through my veins. My feet pound against the gravel as I sprint toward the waiting black SUV. The bodyguard is already moving, stepping forward protectively, but I don’t slow down.

“Quick. Drive,” I gasp breathlessly the second I reach the car. I yank the back door open and throw myself inside. “Now. Back to the apartment. You can come back later to pick up my things. I already told the maids what to pack.”

Ricci’s driver is experienced. He understands an emergency when he sees one. No questions, no hesitation. The engine roars to life and the car peels away from the estate. Through the rear window I catch a glimpse of Mario stumbling out of the house, red-faced and furious, both hands still clutched between his legs as he searches wildly for me.

I sink back against the cool leather seat, chest heaving. My arm throbs where his fingers dug in. I press my hand over the spot. I can already feel the tender bruise forming beneath my sleeve.

Tears roll down my cheeks before I can stop them — hot, silent, sliding fast over my skin. They’re not from pain. They’re from relief. Sheer, overwhelming relief. I have just escaped hell. Real, suffocating, soul-crushing hell. And I couldn’t be more grateful to Ricci for giving me the way out.

I wipe at the tears angrily with the back of my hand, but more fall anyway.

Suddenly I miss him. Deeply. The feeling hits me so hard it steals away my breath. I want to see him right now. I want to feel those careful, gentle hands on me again. I want to hear his low, steady voice saying my name like I matter. For the first time in my life, I matter to someone. I don’t know when I will see him again, and the thought makes my chest ache with longing.

The car gets out of the gates without any trouble and speeds toward the city. The estate shrinks in the distance behind us. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the smooth motion of the SUV rock me, carrying me back to the only place that feels like it might become home.

Back to him.

Chapter Thirty-Three

RICCI

The warehouse on the far edge of the industrial district feels like it always does — cold concrete, dim overhead lights buzzing faintly, the air thick with rust and old diesel. Maps and ledgers are spread across the long metal table in front of me, and the men stand in a loose half-circle, waiting for direction. Salvatore is dead, and there’s a lot to do. I’m well equipped to handle it all. I’ve been running the numbers and pulling the strings in the shadows for years. This is what I do.

Now I have to build the new structure from the ground up, making sure every route, every drop point, every hand-off fits together solid and tight. No loose ends. No room for the other families to smell weakness and start circling. I point at the map and reroute a shipment here, shift a different crew there. But even as the words leave my mouth, my mind suddenly shifts to her.

I can’t believe I’m thinking about her right now.

Viola. Alone in the penthouse. Is she okay?

I end the meeting abruptly, pull out my phone, and dial her driver/guard myself.

“Boss.”

“How did it go?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “I took her to Salvatore’s, but she didn’t pick up any of her stuff. She wanted me to go back later and get it.”

I frown. “Why?”

“I’m not sure, boss, but she was in a hurry to leave.”

My jaw tightens with fury. “Why the fuck did you take your eyes off her?”

“Boss, I stayed outside like she wanted. She told me to wait in the car.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, the pressure building behind my eyes. “What about Mario? Was he there?”

The guard’s voice drops, like he already knows the words are going to land wrong. “Yeah.”