Page 101 of Diary from an Inked Throne

Animals always sense evil.

Bruno let out a grunt, his knees buckling.

Something sprayed across me, but I reached for him without even thinking, startled by the shock on his face.

For half a second, I thought I was watching the fit, thirty-something man have a heart attack.

But then the noise came again.

And Viktor wasn’t as quiet as his brother. His shout of pain echoed across the empty driveway.

With horror, I realized that the mist of spray I’d caught was blood.

Bruno clutched his side and slid to the ground. With his free hand he pulled a gun, wildly firing three rounds into the air, shooting at something that couldn’t be seen.

“Bruno!” I couldn’t get out of the car. His body blocked me, like he was trying to protect me, and guilt rushed in that just moments earlier I’d been so sure this man was taking me somewhere to kill me.

How wrong I’d been.

Beyond him, Viktor didn’t move, his blood staining the grass beneath him.

I grabbed for Bruno, trying to drag him into the car, but it was a losing battle. The man was a dead weight, his eyes fluttering as he fought to stay conscious.

His gun went limp in his hand.

I reached for it too late.

Someone else snatched it and tossed it aside. He caught Bruno by the back of his collar and dragged him across the driveway, leaving him for dead on the bloodstained concrete.

I screamed, trying to get to Bruno, battling with a seat belt I couldn’t get undone because my fingers shook so violently. My brain whispered it was too late to do anything but save myself.

Their killer ducked his head to peer into the car at me, a gun with a silencer clutched in one hand. “Ah, lass. It’s good to see your sweet face again. Have ye missed me?”

MacGregor’s Scottish accent was easily recognizable, but I was barely aware of the words he spoke. My brain even managed to black out the two men who had just been shot right in front of me.

All I could focus on was the baby in MacGregor’s other arm, his eyes closed in sleep, his rosebud mouth free of the stress and tension of the scene playing out around him.

MacGregor smiled at me. “A mother always recognizes her child, doesn’t she?”

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just acted on impulse.

That impulse didn’t remind me that the man holding my son was a cold-blooded killer, thick in the Mafia underworld.

All I could do was reach for my baby, tears rolling down my face.

All I could whisper was, “Please.”

MacGregor nodded at me. “Aye, lass. Here he is. Safe and well. He’s a bonny lad. We’ve been having a wonderful time since Uncle Enzo met an untimely end.”

I didn’t care about any of it. About what he’d done to Enzo. About what had happened before or after. I’d go to Hell, but I couldn’t even think to try to get help for Viktor or Bruno.

My entire body trembled. “Please give him to me.”

MacGregor put the baby in my arms.

It took a moment for his warmth to soak through my blood-spattered clothes. But when it did, God, it was the best thing I’d ever felt. He was heavier than he’d been, his cheeks rounded, a little crusted milk at the corner of his perfect lips.

But I would have known that baby anywhere. It didn’t matter I’d only seen him for minutes after his birth, and he looked different now at almost two months old.