Page 47 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
The drive is over an hour, and Adelina falls asleep. Her neck slumps at an award angle to the right. It’s not good for her to stretch the skin on her left shoulder, so I shift closer, allowing her to rest her head against me. I don’t want her to rip the stitches and bleed all over the car. The second I do, she presses closer to me until her breaths fan over my neck. Mostly, I’m uncomfortable, but there is a small, unidentified part of me that craves the intimacy. I don’t like to be touched. The only time I want anyone in close proximity is when I wish to end their life. Even my most predatory instincts know that she’s different.
She jolts awake when we stop, instantly flinching against the sudden movement. “Where are we?” Her eyes land on the small plane. “We’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we going now?”
“New York.”
“Seriously?” She drags a hand through her hair. “It feels like we’ve been halfway around the globe, and we’re no better off.”
She has no idea how much I hate to run. I’m a killer, a fighter. I don’t run. I don’t hide. But this isn’t about me; it’s about her. If I could find Enrique, this would be a different story. Like a cowardly puppet master, he hides, commanding Elite like his own personal army. It makes him dangerously powerful in a way that I’m not prepared for. I don’t know how to tell her that, though. I can’t admit that I don’t know how to fix this. It feels like a failure. Especially now. This has gone beyond killing him for her safety, or so I can be free of my contract. I promised her revenge.
For now, we have no choice. Una wants me in New York, and I have always believed that was the safest place for Adelina. I headed for Italy because in the back of my mind I always knew I would probably have to kill Enrique. Gabriella Ricci acts like she has it under control, but anyone can see she doesn’t. She’s a little girl, lost and trying to fill her father’s big shoes. Truthfully, I think Adelina would be better suited for the job, but she’s too wild. She’d never conform to the neat box the mafia would put her in. Neither does Nero, though, and that’s what makes him so good. People fear what they do not understand.
In another world, Adelina would sit on the Ricci throne. But in this one, the throne is burning, and I will keep her from the flames, even if Una doesn’t like it. We come as a package now it seems, and I can’t recall when I ever made that conscious decision.
“It will be over soon,” I tell Adelina because I don’t know what else to say.
“You could end it so easily—”
“Stop talking, malyshka.” I get out of the car, slamming the door. I don’t want to hear her make another speech about becoming a sacrificial lamb.
14
Adelina
When we pull up to the house, I do a double take. The place is enormous and old, so unlike the penthouse that Nero and Una occupy in the center of the city. And the security is much higher. There are guarded metal gates at the bottom of the drive, and as we get out of the car, I notice armed men on either side of the front door. Movement on the roof alerts me to more above us. It’s like a fortress.
“Come on.” Sasha leads me to the front door and walks inside.
More men, more guns. Getting in or out of here would surely be impossible. The house is not what I expected. The décor is dated with dark woods and grand chandeliers that hang everywhere. Gilded mirrors adorn the walls next to antique paintings. Beneath our feet, heavy rugs cover scarred and worn oak floorboards. And then it all changes. We step into the kitchen, and it’s like a different house. The entire back wall is glass, and it’s modern and bright.
Gio and another man lean against the bar, but they both stop talking when they see us.
“Sasha,” Gio greets him before his gaze slides to me. “Miss Ricci. This is Jackson.” He jerks his thumb towards the enormous man next to him.
Jackson is so broad that the holster he wears over his crisp white shirt struggles to contain his mass. Two guns sit on either side of his muscular chest, and combined with his stern expression, I decide I don’t want to cross him. A broad smile stretches his lips.
“You’ve been in the wars?” He nods to my shoulder.
“He shot me.” I point at Sasha.
The Russian rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest. “I shot an Elite…through you.”
Jackson glares at Sasha, and I have to laugh. Gio smirks.
