Page 84 of From Italy With Love

Wouldn’t question whether I’d gone too far, or crossed one too many lines, or become the very thing I’d once sworn to fight against.

Because my world only existed when I was with them. When I could hold Madigan in my arms and feel her heartbeat against my chest and know she was safe. When I could watch Henry sleep and see his chest rise and fall with each peaceful breath. When I could pretend that we were just a normal family living a normal life, with normal problems and normal concerns, not running from shadows and fighting invisible enemies.

Without them, I was nothing.

Just a hollow shell going through the motions, mimicking the actions of a functional human being. A machine programmed to destroy, to hunt, to kill. A weapon pointed at anyone who threatened what was mine, ready to discharge at the slightest provocation.

My phone buzzed.

Rurik: RUN! She knows!

I stared at the message, my eyes scanning the words over and over again, trying to make sense of what I was reading. My hands started trembling uncontrollably. That familiar cold weight in my stomach, the one I’d felt so many times before in moments of pure dread, suddenly bottomed out completely as the front door slammed open with a deafening crash that echoed through the entire penthouse. The wood splintered, and the hinges groaned under the force.

Several men rushed in like a tidal wave of violence and chaos, their heavy boots pounding against the hardwood floor as they pointed their guns directly at me, barrels aimed at my head and chest, their faces obscured by black masks. My cellphone slipped from my sweaty, shaking fingers and fell to the floor with a hollow clatter, the screen cracking as it hit the ground.

Time slowed down as I stood there, frozen, unable to move or speak, staring death directly in the face and knowing that fate was the cruelest of all evils.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I moved without thought.

My body reacted on pure instinct; muscle memory from years of intensive training kicked in even as my conscious mind struggled desperately to process what was happening. Adrenaline flooded my system instantly, crashing through my veins like a tidal wave, sharpening my senses to a razor’s edge even as everything around me seemed to move in slow motion. Time stretched and warped. I dove behind the couch, reaching for my gun with desperate urgency, my fingers stretching and straining toward where I knew it should be, where it always was, but I wasn’t fast enough.

Not nearly fast enough.

Something hard and unforgiving slammed into the back of my skull with brutal force, and the world tilted sideways in a nauseating lurch. Pain exploded through my head, white-hot and blinding, radiating outward in waves that made my vision blur and swim, and my ears ring with a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else. I hit the floor hard, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact, and the collision sent a fresh jolt of agony shooting down my arm, electric and searing. Stars danced across my vision. Before I could even attempt to recover, before I could catch my breath or orient myself or figure out which way was up, they were on me.

Hands everywhere. Grabbing. Pulling. Dragging.

Rough hands with iron grips, calloused and merciless, clawed at my clothes, my arms, my hair. I couldn’t see how many there were through the haze of pain and confusion. Three? Four? More? The darkness of the room made it impossible to tell. It didn’t matter anyway. There were too many. Far too many.

I fought.

God, I fought with everything I had.

I fought as if my life depended on it, because it did.

Because giving up wasn’t an option. I threw an elbow back blindly, putting every ounce of strength I had left into the strike, and felt it connect solidly with someone’s face. I heard the satisfying crunch of cartilage breaking, the wet snap of a nose giving way under the force of the blow. Someone grunted in pain, a choked, surprised sound that was almost animalistic, and their grip loosened for a second. For one precious second, I thought I might actually have a chance. A sliver of hope flared in my chest. But then there were more hands replacing the ones I’d dislodged, fresh attackers stepping in where the injured one fell back.

Too many. Way too many.

I couldn’t fight them all.

The realization hit me like another blow to the head.

A fist slammed into my kidney, and I gasped, the air rushing out of my lungs in a painful wheeze. The blow sent a deep, nauseating ache spreading through my lower back, radiating outward like shockwaves. My vision blurred for a moment as the pain overwhelmed my senses. Another blow caught me square in the ribs on my left side, and the impact reverberated through my entire torso. I heard something crack—a sickening, wet sound that seemed impossibly loud in my ears. Felt the sharp, stabbing pain that told me at least one rib was broken, maybe two. Each breath became an exercise in agony, a deliberate, calculated effort to draw air without moving my ribcage too much.

I tried to get my feet under me, tried to stand, tried to do anything but lie helpless on the cold floor, but someone kicked my legs out from under me with brutal efficiency, their boot connecting with the back of my knee, and I went down again. Hard. My knees hit first, then I pitched forward. My face hit the hardwood floor with a dull thud, and I tasted blood immediately. My own blood. Copper and salt flooded my mouth, warm and thick and revolting. I’d bitten through my lip. Or maybe it was my tongue. Maybe both. Everything hurt too much to tell the difference anymore.

My entire face throbbed with a pulsing, relentless pain.

“Stop fighting,” a voice said above me in heavily accented English. Russian. Definitely Russian. The words were clipped, impatient. “Makes it worse for you.”

I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

Because if I stopped fighting, if I gave in, if I just let them take me without resistance, then I’d failed. Then everything I’d been working toward for months—bringing Madigan home safely, protecting Henry from the people who wanted to use him, destroying the Society and everything they’d built—all of it was for nothing. All the sacrifices, all the sleepless nights, all the careful planning reduced to rubble at my feet.