67. Chapter Sixty-Seven

I'm lying in bed nibbling on crackers because I can't stop throwing up when I hear a dull whomping sound. It gets louder and louder and sounds like it's coming from above the house. Thunder, maybe? It's a heavy rumbling sound, but too rhythmic for thunder. I look out the window, but I don't see anything.

I move out of the room and hear shouting from downstairs. I hurry that way, but skid to a stop when I hear gun shots. The crackers fall from my hands, and I force myself to swallow what's already in my mouth as everything in my stomach threatens to come back up.

Footsteps pound across the wooden floors. There's more shouting, banging, cracking, and someone screaming my name. I hurry into the first room I find, which is Enzo's office. Of course, the one room that has nowhere to hide!

I close the door behind me, lock it, and curl under Enzo's desk.

Why didn't I grab my cell phone before I got up? Does he know what's going on? What the hell is going on? Who is shooting and why? Why is someone screaming my name? Oh, this is bad. This is so bad. It's exactly what I feared.

I peek out from under the desk to glance at the monitors that show the security camera views, and my mouth drops open when I see a fucking helicopter in the front driveway. A helicopter! I slap a hand over my mouth to stop the scream when I see men laid out on the pavement, dark puddles around them.

This is not good.

This is really not good.

My breathing comes in quick sharp pants as I curl closer to the corner of the desk, praying to whatever gods are above that Enzo has this handled. I've never been more grateful for the men walking around this property than I am right now. I feel the need to vomit more than I ever have in my life, but I push it down.

Think, Jordan. Think.

Enzo has to have a gun around here somewhere, right? I mean, the man is in the damn mafia! Surely he has guns hidden everywhere in this house. I just have to find it.

I listen for a moment, and when I don't hear anything, I move out from under the desk and pull open drawers as quietly as I can. Nothing. I look around the small office, my heart thundering in my chest as I rake my hands through my hair. My gaze lands on the cabinets, so I rush over and pull them open, checking each shelf. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing! Just shelves with papers and folders and other office supplies.

I move to the narrow drawers below, and see nothing, so I start feeling around.

There has to be something—

Jackpot!

The cool metal and unmistakable shape of a gun brushes my fingers from above. I grip the handle and pull it down as quickly as I can. With trembling hands, I check if it's loaded. It is, and with a full clip. I flip the safety off and hope like hell I remember how to use this thing.

I don't know much about guns. I'm a terrible shot, but Dad made sure I at least knew how to check one and shoot if I needed to. He'd told me there were people who wanted his head for all the money he made at the clubs, but now I know that's a bunch of bullshit and it's because he was screwing over mafia guys left and right. I have a feeling if someone like this happened with my father, I'd already be dead. But I trust Enzo more than that. I know he won't let anyone hurt me.

Something heavy slams into the door. I whirl to face it, lifting the gun and aiming. A fool from a mile away could see how badly I'm shaking, so I take a deep breath and let it out. I do it again and my hands steady a bit. Another loud bang against the door has me jolting.

Calm down, Jordan!

Another deep breath. Another bang against the door. The frame splinters and cracks. I aim and focus. If someone comes in here to take me, I'm going to shoot them.

It's kicked in a second later, and I pull the trigger without looking, the power of the gun sending me a step back.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Oh my god!" I scream, when I realize the man I shot at is Enzo!

He runs toward me, grabbing the gun from my hand and holding it away from me.

"The first thing we're doing tomorrow is teaching you about gun safety. Fucking hell," he growls, grabbing me by the arm and tugging me to the door.

"I'm sorry," I say, my eyes stinging with tears. "What is going on?" He peeks his head into the hall and looks both ways. He yanks me out, and we run toward our bedroom. "Enzo, what is going on? Why is there a helicopter in the parking lot?"

He ignores me, and we keep going until we're in the room. He closes the door behind him, locking it, and ushers me inside the closet.

"I need you to stay in here and don't move until me, Antonio, or Rocco get you. Do you understand?"

I shake my head. "You're not leaving me."

"I have to."

Tears blur my vision. "What is going on?"

"Just trust me," he says, moving to his side of the closet, parting his shirts, and pushing on a false board that opens up to a small room. Jesus. His arm wraps around my waist, and he shoves me toward it.

"No! No, I'm not hiding in here. Tell me what is going on. You're not leaving me!" I fight him on this, not going into the room easily, but he overpowers me. When I catch sight of his eyes, I freeze. He's terrified.

"Someone will be back for you. Remember what I said. Me. Antonio. Rocco. That's it," he growls.

"Enzo—"

He grips my face and kisses me hard. "Angel, I—"

There's a heavy bang on the door, and he whips his head away. "Stay quiet," he hisses before shoving me deeper and shutting the door. I'm in compete darkness.

The hangers slide across the bar and back into place.

Another bang. Cracking.

Heavy footsteps.

I urge my thundering heart to quiet down so I can hear, but the roar of my pulse is so damn loud.

"Where is she?" someone shouts. The voice is muffled, but it sounds familiar.

"Not here." That's Enzo. Definitely Enzo.

There's a gunshot, and I cover my mouth to mute the squealing. More shots go off. A few grunts. Thumps.

"You're going to regret working for that prick," Enzo growls.

Another gunshot.

Then it's quiet. It's so quiet—until it's not.

"I don't know!" someone barks. This is a different voice from before, but still familiar. Who is that? "We've searched the entire house. Yeah, we have him. I don't agree. Every single Bramante fucker needs to die. Tonight!"

I press my hand tighter over my mouth, tears streaming down my face. My chest aches and I swear I'm going to throw up.

"No, I don't care, Dad! This family has done nothing but cause us problems from the very beginning. They don't respect us. There is no use for them. Fuck them and fuck the treaty too!"

It hits me then. I know who that voice belongs to.

But it doesn't make sense.

Why would he be here? Why would he be mad at Enzo?

"Hold on," he says. "I think I found something."

The sharp clang of the metal hangers shoots up my spine. It's quiet for a few seconds before there's knocking on the wall in front of me. I slap a hand over my mouth and move as far back as I can.

"I'll call you back," he says.

There's a heavy click. Kight floods into the small room, blinding me. When my vision clears, I'm looking at the one person I never thought I'd see again.

"Well, well, well. There's my fiancée," Zachary coos. "I've been looking for you." He reaches in to pull me out, but I cower back. "None of that, Jordan. Come on now, kitten." Another wave of nausea hits me when I hear that nickname. I hated it. So much I forgot all about it until it came out of his stupid thin-lipped mouth. Ew.

How the hell did I ever kiss those lips and like it?

Zachary grabs my wrist and yanks me toward him, pulling me out of the room.

"Let me go!" I scream, wiggling my body to get out of his grip. He holds me tighter.

"You're coming with me," he growls through clenched teeth.

"Where is Enzo?" I ask, stomping on his foot. It hurts enough he yelps and lets me go. I dash away, but don't get far. He grabs my hair, yanking me back. The sharp pain travels from my neck to my back and I cry out, slamming against his chest.

"With my guys. Don't worry. He's being taken care of," he whispers in my ear.

"You better not hurt him!" I elbow him but miss.

"Too late."

My stomach drops.

"I'm not going with you," I shout. He spins me around and I spit right in his face.

"You little bitch." Both hands grip my arms, and he shakes me. "What the fuck happened to you? You used to be so fucking tame! This asshole fucked you all up." He hugs me to him, petting my head like you would a cat. My stomach rolls. I gag. I swear I'm going to throw up. "You'll do as I say if you want to keep breathing, kitten."

"No!" I scream, shoving off him. He backhands me so hard my vision goes black, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" He yanks me up because apparently I fell to the floor. My head spinning, cheek burning. "This mouth on you is embarrassing," he growls. "Act like a fucking lady."

"Fuck you!" I shout through a sob.

"Oh, trust me, kitten. I plan to."

I raise my hand to slap him again, but he gets to me first. Same spot, but this time harder. I think it knocks me out. When I come to, I'm on the floor and he's leaning over me. The nausea hits me out of nowhere, so bad I don't think I'll be able to keep it down. He yanks me up, and I remember my babies. I have to protect them. No matter what, I have to protect them. And that's why when he pulls me to him this time, I don't fight. I let him hug me.

But the nausea? It's unbearable. It comes up before I can move, and I throw up all over him.

"You disgusting bitch!" he screams, shoving me away from him and stepping back. I fall to the floor, tears falling from my face and I cry. I sit there and cry.

Zachary grumbles to himself as he gets his shirt off, leaving it somewhere on the floor. He yanks me up by my hair. When I'm on my feet, he grips my upper arm so hard there will be a bruise, and then he's dragging me out of the bedroom.

All I can do is hope Enzo is going to save me from whatever Zachary has planned, because if this proved anything, it's that I'm no match against him.