Chapter 31

CLEO

T ime passed, and without a watch, I had no idea of how long.

Rocco came for me, his sneer a cruel reminder of my vulnerability in the hideous, frothy lace dress they’d procured.

I kept my hiking boots on, part in defiance and hoping to escape this incubus somehow.

‘Let’s fucking get this started.’ Rocco snarled and brandished a Glock, pushing me out of the cell with rough hands and herding me with rough pushes to one of their outer barns on the compound.

The air was cool, the breeze whipping my hair about, adding to my discomfort.

A storm was brewing, and heavy, gray clouds loomed ominously in the sky, sending a shiver of fear down my spine .

With a sudden, deafening crack of thunder, the rain poured down, catching us off guard.

Rocco rushed me toward the barn, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

I hadn’t expected the weather to turn like this, but somehow, the tempest was a sign of nature’s righteous wrath about the unsanctioned union.

The gale raged, battering the old shed with a fury that shook its foundations. The downpour pounded against the weathered wood, and the wind howled through the cracks.

Inside, the Contis had gone all out.

Wildflowers adorned the makeshift altar at the far end of the space, and makeshift lanterns hung from the beams.

I almost puked.

The guests, a small gathering of the Conti and Caputo capos, huddled together on wooden benches.

Their faces were closed off as they stared at me take my first steps down the aisle.

I wondered if they pitied me or, perhaps, didn’t care.

Rocco shifted, his boots scuffing against the floor.

I caught his eye briefly, a flicker of something passing between us. Was it hate? Pity? I couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter. I was too far gone.

As I walked, the storm outside appeared to grow louder, as if trying to force its way into the space.

The wind whipped through the cracks in the walls, lifting the edges of my veil and causing the flames in the lanterns to dance.

At the altar, Franco waited, his eyes never leaving me.

He wore a simple shirt, trousers, and a wedding jacket. The outfit emphasized his yellow ex-con skin, how worn and tired the man was, and how an insane evil lurked in his eyes.

My eyes flicked around, resting on a shotgun that had been placed on the front chair, Franco’s, I assumed.

I considered rushing for it and turning it on him.

Until his hand gripped my upper arm and yanked me to the altar.

I tried to free myself from Franco’s grip.

The old mofo held on for life’s sake, and I blinked back my rage as the officiant, a Catholic priest I did not recognize, cleared his throat.

‘We are gathered here today,’ he said, ‘to witness the joining of two souls.’

Franco’s leathery and weathered fist clutched mine with a grip that signaled more possession than affection.

His sons and the capos fixed bleary eyes on us, their faces a blur of indifference and silent judgment.

Please come soon, honey, I thought, my mind racing as the priest droned on about love and duty.

My voice was trapped in my throat, and my lips pressed together tight as I stared at the clergyman, refusing to give Franco even one iota of my attention.

I stared dead ahead, seeing nothing but my life, narrowed to a single, suffocating path.

Franco squeezed my hands, pulling me back to the present.

His smile was crooked, more of a grimace than anything else, and the yellowed teeth peeking through his mouth made me swallow hard.

He leaned closer, his breath sour and stale, as he whispered, ‘You’ll learn to love me, Cleo Michele. You’ll see.’

I wanted to pull away, to run far from this place, but my feet stayed glued to the spot. Instead, I glared at him. ‘In your freakin’ dreams.’

The priest cleared his throat, signaling it was time for the vows.

My heart pounded so intensely that I was sure everyone could hear it.

Franco’s voice was raspy as he spoke his lines, each word heavy with the finality of a trap closing in. When it was my turn, I faltered, the words sticking in my gullet.

‘Fuckin say it,’ Franco hissed, leaning into me, his claw-like hands digging sharp into me.

I glared up at him as a wave of nausea washed over me, churned by my storm-tossed soul.

Just then, a flash of lightning lit up the barn, casting everything in stark, brilliant relief.

The barn’s doors flew open, and the wind rushed in with a force that sent the flames in the lanterns flickering and the flowers on the altar swaying.

A shadow stepped into view.

Tall, muscled, a golden god of wrath, menacing, breathtaking.

Two lethal weapons were brandished in his hands, and a curl of scorn played on his lips.

My entire being jolted even as my soul lifted.

ALESSI O

‘One more word, or move from any of you jokers here, and I’ll rip all your fucking throats out,’ I growled, meaning every syllable.

The wedding party turned to face me, eyes widening and mouths gaping.

I stood at the threshold of the makeshift barn chapel, my Sig in one hand and a 12 gauge in the other.

The wind whipped my hair around, adding to my diabolical appearance, given the shocked expressions.

I didn’t give a fuck, my finger resting on the trigger of my weapons, eyes trained on my woman.

That she was alive, standing, and unharmed weakened my knees.

I hissed in relief, sucking in air.

She slow-blinked as her body relaxed, gifting me with a slight, soft smile, which in itself was enough to energize the hell out of me.

I jerked my chin at her and gave her a subtle nod.

Pointing my gun in her direction and angling it to the ground in a clear message.

She obeyed, dropping to the floor.

I kicked off the festivities with a volley of gunfire.

My fellow capos materialized behind me and joined in.

Bullets pinged off the walls and surfaces, sending puffs of dust and debris.

Chaos reigned as the Contis and Caputos retaliated, weapons blazing. But we’d caught them off guard, and many succumbed before they could even draw their firearms.

Lorenzo and our capos blasted firepower in a blistering hail of ammunition.

Seeking my woman, I surged forward, squeezing rounds from my shotgun to clear my path.

One of the Caputo soldiers fell, clutching at his chest.

Others tried to flee.

‘Flank them on the left!’ Mauri growled over the din of battle, directing his men to move around the side of the barn. ‘Cut off their escape route!’

Projectiles whizzed overhead, shattering windows and splintering wood.

I ducked instinctively, the searing heat of a round passing close by my cheek. This was madness, an all-out war being fought for one woman.

But we had the advantage of preparation and surprise. The Contis and Caputos had underestimated us, and we’d caught them off guard.

The acrid stench of smoke and gunpowder filled my nostrils, making my eyes water.

‘Hold the line, boys!’ I rallied the crew, my voice booming across the vast space. ‘Let’s send these bastards straight to hell!’

I gritted my teeth, popping up to fire off another burst of rounds.

We were outnumbered but not outmatched. As minutes ticked on, the tide began to turn in our favor. The enemy’s ranks were thinning, their attack faltering in the face of our unwavering defense.

I was about to take to the walkway and go for Cleo when a figure stepped before me.

‘To get to my father and his bride, you must go through me,’ Rocco growled, standing at the center of the cobbled-up aisle.

We squared off, chests heaving, eyes locked.

‘Oh, I will, and I’ll flay you just as I did to your brothers. ’

He jolted. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Didn’t you wonder where they’ve been all night? I don’t think they’re coming back home, asshole.’

‘I thought -,’ he faltered. ‘I thought they were guarding you until Franco could get to you.’

I cocked a brow and shook my head to dissuade him of the fact.

With an inarticulate cry of rage, Rocco charged.

I sidestepped his clumsy attack and seized his arm, wrenching it behind his back.

I turned to the porch, heart pounding, and caught slices of action as Franco, the fucker, attempted to drag my woman away.

With a mighty roar, I jerked Rocco’s hand upwards.

The sickening pop of a dislocated shoulder echoed across the space. I stretched his hand out and crashed my boot onto it, snarling at the satisfying crunch of breaking bones and screaming man.

Wailing, Rocco collapsed to his knees as I released him.

I stood over his writhing form, chest heaving with exertion and unleashed fury. It would be so easy to un-alive him, to snuff out his miserable life like stepping on an insect.

But I was more human than that.

Better than them.

My issue was with his father.

I turned back on Rocco’s writhing, pathetic self and strode towards Cleo.

It was time to end this fucker and his perverted obsession once and for all.

I leaped over a few benches to get to her.

I needn’t have .

Somehow, Cleo had wrenched away from Franco and found a shotgun.

She stood a few steps from her kidnapper, breathing so hard that I tagged the jagged inhales from where I was.

Franco, too, had a second weapon in his hand, trained at me.

I’d already whipped out my Sig, and Franco froze, eyes darting between my woman and me.

‘You’re dead, Alessio,’ the Conti patriarch snarled, his finger tightening on the trigger. ‘You and that bitch of yours.’

‘Bitch? Hell, weren’t you about to wife her?’

‘I realize now she’s sloppy seconds,’ he hissed at me.

I huffed. ‘You never had a chance, for she is more regal, more valuable, more impossibly more beautiful for your filthy hands even to touch. You’re the scum of this earth, and I should have finished you that night long ago in Naples.’

My words enraged him, and he raised his gun.

I braced myself for the blast, my Sig rising to meet his.

But before either of us could fire, there was a loud explosion.

The shot was so forceful and delivered over a compact range that it punched a hole through Franco.

Lifting him into the air, vaulting him over the altar, where he crumpled to the ground.

Cleo rose from the ground, a shotgun smoking in her hands as she met my gaze across the makeshift chapel.

‘Mia sola,’ I growled, rushing to her.

‘I told you I had your back,’ she muttered as I pulled her up, my lips and arms all over her. ‘And that his ass was mine.’

‘Fuckin’ right you did,’ I said, pulling her tight to me. ‘Fuckin’ hell you did.’

She was shaking like a leaf, the rifle still clutched in her white-knuckled grip.

‘Cleo, mia stella,’ I murmured. ‘It’s over. You can put the gun down now.’

She gazed at me with wild, unfocused eyes. For a terrifying second, I thought she might turn the weapon on me. But then she blinked, and her gaze cleared.

‘Is he is he dead?’ she whispered.

I glanced over at Franco’s prone form. ‘Si, e morto. Very much so.’

Cleo let out a shuddering breath and lowered the shotgun. I prised it from her hands, then gathered her into my arms.

‘You’re safe now,’ I murmured into her tresses. ‘I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.’

‘Never leave me, baby,’ she breathed.

‘Never.’

‘Never, Alessio, never.’

She clung to me, her face buried in my chest as silent sobs wracked her body. I held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on her back.

‘I’m sorry,’ she choked out. ‘I never meant for any of this to happen.’

‘Shh,’ I hushed her. ‘You have nothing to apologize for. That bastard got what he deserved.’

Just then, a roar came from behind me.

I swiveled and caught sight of Rocco, making a desperate charge toward us, a weapon in his still-working hand, his other flopping like a string by his side.

If ever there was a fine line between wise-ass and jackass, Rocco has sprinted past it. Bounding over dumb-ass, twisting past stupid-ass, headed for the finish line of dead-ass.

His eyes were wild, his face contorted in a snarl of rage and desperation. He realized the battle was lost, but his pride wouldn’t let him retreat.

I pushed my woman behind me and raised my Sig, taking careful aim.

Time slowed as my finger tightened on the trigger.

The world narrowed to me, Rocco, and the space between us.

The gun kicked against my forearm as I fired, the burst of bullets finding their mark. Rocco jerked and spun, his body dancing a macabre puppet dance as the rounds tore through him.

He crumpled to the ground, his once-fierce eyes now vacant and lifeless.

The sight sapped the remaining fight from the remainder of the Conti capos.

They broke and ran, scattering like cockroaches exposed to sudden light.

We had won, but the victory was bitter in my mouth.

Cleo’s trembling hands came around me from behind as she buried her face in my spine.

I turned, dropped my weapons, and circled her waist and her nape, tucking her into me as the shock ebbed out of her.

While she calmed, I surveyed the barn, taking in the destruction and death.

So much blood spilled, so many lives lost. And for what? Hubris? Pride? Power? Control? It seemed so meaningless in the face of such carnage.

My woman shifted, and I glanced down at her, one eyebrow arched. ‘You still with me, carissima?’

‘Always,’ she murmured.

I wanted to freeze this moment, imperfect and chaotic as it was. Because despite the pain, the danger, and the uncertainty that lay ahead - there was nowhere else I’d ever be than by her side.

One day, she’d understand the depth of my feelings, the truth that had driven me all these years. One I’d carved into my soul, buried and only resurrected in recent days: It had always been her. It would always be her.

My north star. My reason. My home.

It was what I’d braced for. Even without full awareness of the fact, I’d always held out for her.

‘Tu sei il mio destino,’ I whispered, my lips turning up.

I reached out, my bloodied fingers brushing against her cheek in a promise, a vow.

‘Sempre,’ she murmured, her love for me and our unyielding connection softened her face.

‘Famiglia!’

Lorenzo’s growl had my attention.

‘Che cosa?’ I muttered.

Lorenzo raised a finger to his mouth, signaling he wanted silence.

In an instant, we all obeyed.

Mauri and I exchanged glances as we caught on to what Lorenzo had picked up.

We swung our eyes back to our leader.

He pressed his lips together, lifted a forefinger, and cocked it, striding forward.

We followed and stepped out in the early morning to the growing decibels of an unfamiliar yet steadily advancing whir.