Chapter 3

3

A week later

Elsa

"Open up." I bang on the front door to the mansion. "Open the hell up."

I hear footsteps approaching, but it's not quickly enough. My heart hammers in my chest and adrenaline laces my blood.

"Help," I scream, "help me, please."

I raise my fist to bang on the door again, when it's flung open. I stumble forward and smash my face into what feels like a brick wall. A wall that emanates heat, which slams into my chest, pours over my shoulders, and pins me in place. My breasts swell, my thighs clench, and all of the pores on my skin pop. I know who it is, even before I raise my head and those golden-brown eyes meet mine. What the hell is he doing here?

"Help," I pant. "Help me, Seb."

His hands grip my upper arms. Then he glances past me, and his gaze widens. " Cazzo ," he swears. The next second, he hauls me inside the house, then throws me down on the floor. The open door is too far away to reach.

"Get down," he yells into the room, then lowers his head so his cheek is plastered to mine.

He covers my body with his,andthe breath whooshes out of my lungs. Shots ring out aboveus .

"What the—" my heart leapfrogs into my chest, and adrenaline spikes my blood.

My throat closes, my pulse rate ratchets up, and a trembling grips me. I lay there as the shots seem to go on and on. When they finally stop, silence descends. Something crashes to the floor inside the house and I flinch. He wraps his fingers around the nape of my neck and holds me in place. It should feel threatening, but instead, some of the panic abates. The heat from his body pours over me and sinks into my blood. Sweat beads my brow, and it's as if I have stepped into a sauna. His chest rises and falls, and I can feel every ridge, every cut of his sculpted muscles that dig into my back. His big body surrounds me; he's all around me. I should feel claustrophobic, but instead, I feel protected, and safe, and secure. Then his weight is gone.

Cool air flows over me. The sound of people moving, of footsteps approaching us, of voices raised in concern, pours over me. I try to move, but my body doesn't obey. Try to open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"You okay, Frozen?"

Huh? Did he just call me what I think he did? He grips my shoulder, turns me over, and once more, I am staring up into those golden eyes. It's the first thing I noticed about him, because they are startling. Bottomless orbs of power that can see right through to my insecurities. He's so goddam gorgeous with those thick eyelashes, sculpted cheekbones, and a nose hooked enough to lend him an air of arrogance. That pouty lower lip that hints at the sensualness that clothes him, that thin upper lip that warns me he could be mean. Cruel. He could cut me off at the knees with the charm that radiates from him, and surely, fills any room he enters. He'd chew me up, spit me out, and damn, if I wouldn't enjoy every bit of sensation he'd wring from me.

"John," I croak.

His gaze intensifies. "Who's John?"

"Who's Frozen?" I counter.

"Touché." His lips twitch. "Princess suits you better."

"Keanu Reeves played John Wick in the movie by the same name, and PS, you must have been sleeping under a rock if you haven't heard of it. Also, I hate Princess even more," I grumble.

"I'll call you whatever name I want," he announces.

"Definitely John Wick," I mutter under my breath. "No, actually, you're grumpier, and that's some feat, I can tell you."

"Eh?" He searches my features. "Are you hurt?" He runs his hands down my torso, my waist, over my hips, and something inside of me sparks to life.

"Stop touching me, you oaf." I slap his hands away. "I'm fine."

"Don't look fine." His forehead furrows. "And what the hell were you doing outside the door?"

"Getting shot at, what do you think?" I glower back at him.

"You could have been fucking killed," he growls.

"Not if I can help it. I like my life just fine, thank you very much."

I try to sit up, but he flattens his palm on my chest and pushes me back down.

"Hey, stop manhandling me," I protest.

"Not letting you move until you've been checked out by a medic."

"I said I'm fine," I huff.

"I'll believe it when a doctor tells me so."

"Elsa!" I glance up as my friend Theresa's face comes into view.

"Thank god." I raise my gaze skywards. "Please, can you tell this jerk that I'm fine and he can let me up?"

"Umm..." She takes one look at his features and her eyebrows shoot up. "I think he's right."

"What?" I scowl at her, but she's too busy waving at another woman, who walks over to us. She's wearing a simple, dark-colored dress that hugs her curves, before dropping to below her knees. Her eyes are intelligent, and her auburn hair is pulled back from her face.

"I'm Dr. Aurora Sovrano. Is it okay if I check you out?"

I glance from her to Theresa, who nods vigorously. "You're safe with her," she assures me. "She's Christian's wife."

Christian is one of the Sovranos; I know that from what Theresa's told me about the brothers. In fact, she's spoken about the Sovranos in enough detail, I'm confident I could pick out each of them in a crowd.

I turn back to the doctor and nod at her.

She smiles, then glances over to the man who's behind her. "Can you get my medical bag, honey?"

"Sure, baby." The tall, broad-shouldered man, who looks very similar to Seb, and even more like Axel, spins around and disappears through a doorway. I know they're married, but somehow, the very cozy endearments of ‘baby' and ‘honey' still feel out of place in relation to one of the Sovranos.

Another man—the tallest and broadest in the room—walks over to us. "Everything okay here?" he asks.

"No," I say at the same time that asshat here growls, "I have it under control."

The man—who has to be Massimo, going off Theresa's description—smirks.

"I'm going to go check on the guards outside." He walks past us and out of the house.

Aurora sinks down next to me and reaches over to take my pulse.

By the time she lowers my arm, Christian has returned; he hands over her medical bag before stepping back. The doctor pulls out a small flashlight and shines it in my eyes. She checks my heart beat with a stethoscope, performs a few other tests, and pronounces that I am fine.

"You'll need to take care of that cut," she says as she points to my forehead.

For the first time, I become aware of the throbbing sensation above my eyebrow. I touch it and wince. When I glance at my fingers, they're bloodied.

Seb rises to his feet and holds out his hand. "Come on, let's get that cleaned up."

"Umm," I fold my arms across my chest, "no, thank you."

He merely stares down at his proffered palm, then back at my face.

"What?" I scowl. "I am not going anywhere with you."

"You do have to get that cleaned up," Aurora says in a reasonable tone.

I turn to her. "I'd rather you do it."

Aurora hesitates.

"I can do as good a job as you, Doc," Seb interjects.

Aurora begins to speak, but he holds up a hand. "I have training in first aid."

"You do?" I whip my head around to look at him. The scrape on my forehead protests, but I ignore it.

He tilts his head.

"Are you lying?" I scowl up at him.

"Would I lie to you?"

"Wouldn't you?" I retort.

He surveys my features. "One of us was always getting hurt growing up. It made sense to get some basic training so I could take care of wounds. Thanks to the good doctor here, that occasion has not arisen until now, but you'll be pleased to know, I'm going to make an exception in your case."

I scoff. "And if I decline?"

"Not giving you a choice. I'm not letting you go anywhere until I ensure your wound is bandaged by me personally," he explains reasonably. Damn him.

I glower. He holds my gaze. Those gorgeous, golden orbs of his bore into me. Damn it, he's not going to back off, is he? Well, too bad. I'm not going to simply fall in line with whatever he asks me to do.

I gasp as he bends down, wraps an arm around my back, the other under my knees, and straightens with me in his arms.

"What are you doing?" I hiss.

"You could have done this the easy way, but you left me no choice."

"Let go of me." I shove at his chest.

"Once I've seen to that cut on your forehead."

I notice Aurora glancing between us. "Don't make me regret this," she warns. She narrows her gaze on him. "You take good care of her, you hear me?"

"Oh, I intend to." He smirks.

Is there a hidden meaning to his words? I peer into his features, but the expression on his face seems sincere.

"Here," Aurora holds out her medical bag.

"We're better equipped than whatever you're carrying in there, I assure you," Seb throws the words over his shoulder as he marches toward the inner part of the house. He passes the rest of his brothers, who are deep in conversation—presumably plotting the end of whoever was crazy enough to shoot at the house of the grandmother of the Don of the Cosa Nostra . OMG, someone was shooting at me. Someone was trying to kill me, and if Seb hadn't pushed me out of the way, they might have succeeded.

A trembling grips me and my teeth begin to chatter. I try to squeeze my lips together, try to curl into myself, to bury myself in his shirt, but nothing makes it better.

"Shh..." He holds me closer to his chest. "It's okay, you're safe now."

For some reason, I believe him. And it's nothing to do with the fact that his chest is broad, and the heat from his body is furnace-level hot, or that he smells soooo good. I draw in a huge lungful of Seb and my head spins. Nothing can hurt me as long as he has his arms around me. Why do I feel so safe in the embrace of one of the Mafioso who rule this city? Or is it precisely because I know what he does for a living that I'm confident he wouldn't hesitate to hurt anyone who'd dare come after me? OMG, he really is John Wick come to life, isn't he?

"Who…who was that, who shot at me?" I ask, mainly because I want to stop the line of thought buzzing through my mind.

"Whoever it was, he doesn't have much longer left to live," he answers in a grim voice.

I swallow. A shiver runs down my spine. The menace in his voice is a reminder of how his way of life is so different from mine. The confidence with which he speaks is also a turn on. I shouldn't find the violence inherent in him so appealing, but my elevated breathing, the way my pulse flutters as he tucks my head under his chin, the moisture that laces the flesh between my legs—all of it, insists otherwise.

He shoulders his way inside a bathroom and comes to a stop in front of the sink. I try to pull away from him but he only tightens his grasp around me.

"Hush," he says in a voice that brooks no argument, "calm down first."

We stay that way for a few seconds, during which time I allow myself to relax in his embrace. Allow myself to rub my cheek against his shirt, to draw his musky, edgy scent into my lungs, and close my eyes and pretend it's okay that a well-known Mafioso is comforting me after someone shot at me. Jesus, I was shot at.

"Feeling better?" his voice rumbles against my cheek.

I nod, and he lowers me onto the counter.

He peers into my face, then swears. "You're still bleeding."

He grabs a fresh cloth, wets it under the tap, and presses it to my wound.

I wince and his jaw hardens further. He takes my hand and presses it against the washcloth. "Hold it there," he orders as he moves away. Every time he speaks, authority drips from him. It must be nice to know that whatever he says, us mere mortals will obey.

He reaches up and grabs a first-aid kit from the shelf above the sink, then shakes out cotton balls and a bottle of antiseptic. He moves to stand between my legs, and when I lower the washcloth, he presses the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball to the wound.

I hiss out a breath.

A pulse tics to life in his jaw and his features seem to grow stormier. His actions, however, grow gentler. He dabs at the blood, tosses away the bloodied cotton ball, repeats his action with the next, and with the next. When he's finally satisfied, he places a bandage on the cut.

"There." He surveys his handiwork. "Does it hurt?"

"No," I say truthfully, "it's just a surface cut."

"On your face." He scowls. "They hurt your face."

"Technically, I think I hurt it when you pushed me down and threw yourself on top of me and?—"

He glares at me, and I forget my train of thought. My stomach twists. Bam-Bam-Bam, my heart collides with my ribcage. Wariness trickles down my spine. I lean back from him, trying to put distance between us. To my surprise, he steps back and I slide down to place my feet on the floor and straighten. Unfortunately, that also means my breasts brush his chest. Heat sluices through my veins and my breath catches.

Every muscle in his body seems to tense. The tendons of his throat move as he swallows. Is he as affected by my proximity as I am by his?

"How do you feel?" he growls.

"I am fine, really." I peer into his features. "You, however, seem agitated."

His lips firm and he wraps his fingers around my wrist. Goosebumps pop on my skin. Little frissons of sensations arrow out from the point of contact. "Wh-what are you doing?" I croak.

"Accompanying you back to the others."

Before I can protest, he's turned and pushed open the doorway of the bathroom. He drags me along, and I could protest, but weariness grips me and I allow him to tug me along. We reach the living room, where the group of men I'd seen earlier are talking in low voices.

The doctor sees us and rushes forward. She surveys my forehead and nods, "Good job."

Seb grunts.

"Do you need a painkiller?" she asks.

"No," I say at the very same time that Seb snaps, "Yes."

She glances between us, then pulls out a pad from her handbag, writes out a prescription and hands it over to me. Before I can reach for it, jerkface here has snatched it from her and pocketed it.

"Hey," I scowl, "that's my prescription."

He ignores me and nods in the doctor's direction, "Thanks, I'll take care of it."

"I'm sure you will." The doctor turns to me. "You take care, and if you need anything, make sure you call me. Seb has my number." She smiles again, then pats me on the shoulder. She turns to leave, and Theresa runs over and hugs me.

"Oh, my god, you gave me a scare. Are you okay?"

"I am." I squeeze her shoulders. "Sorry I barged in on your dinner like this. I didn't know where else to go when I realized that I was being followed."

"You were followed?" Seb snaps from behind me.

I draw in a breath. I will not lose my temper. I will stay calm.

"What's it to you?" I shoot him a sideways glance. "And in case you haven't noticed, I'm speaking to my friend."

"Axel's calling you." He nods over Theresa's shoulder. I follow his gaze to find that, sure enough, her new husband is trying to get her attention. They were married a few days ago.

"You sure you're okay?" She peers into my face. "If you want me to stay with you?—"

I shake my head, "No, go. I don't want to keep you."

"I can stay, really," she insists.

"I'll be fine." I kiss her cheek. "Go, be with your new husband."

"You sure?" she whispers.

"I'm sure." I step back.

Her features break into a smile, and she turns and almost skips across the floor to where Axel waits for her. The two of them lock lips in a kiss that seems to go on and on.

"Pussy-whipped motherfucker," Seb snorts.

"What do you mean?" I turn on him. "They're in love."

"Like I said, pussy-whipped," he says with a smirk.

"Why do men have to be so macho when it comes to admitting that two people can be in love?"

"Because love is an illusion?" His lips thin. "It's one way that women and men con each other into believing that they have feelings, when really, all they want to do is jump each other."

"You don't believe that, do you? If that were true, how do you explain Theresa and Axel, who are not only in love, but married?"

"They got lucky, I guess?" He raises a shoulder. "Doesn't mean most people do."

"What do you have against falling in love?"

"It's not for me," he says in a tone that brooks no argument.

"With that grumpy attitude of yours, I'd be surprised if anyone were rushing to fall in love with you, anyway" I mutter under my breath.

"I heard you." His grin widens. "You're feisty, aren't you?"

"Hate that word." I toss my hair over my shoulder. "Also, I think I should be getting along."

Massimo returns, followed by Luca. "Seems whoever shot at us also knocked out the guards."

"Hmm..." Seb glances from him to me. "They didn't try to stop you when you ran toward the house, did they?"

"Truthfully, I was too busy trying to save my life to have noticed anyone, but no, no one stopped me."

"Strange," Luca murmurs, "so they were already knocked out when she came to the house."

Seb stiffens. "What are you implying Luca?" he asks.

"Just stating a fact, is all." Luca tilts his head. "Better not let your emotions get the better of you."

"You done?" Seb says in a hard voice. The tension between the two stretches. Anger leaps off of Seb's big body, but his face doesn't change expression.

The two men glare at each other, then Luca jerks his chin. "I'd watch your back if I were you." He walks past us, and Seb's shoulders relax a little.

"What was that? What was he talking about?" I ask.

"Nothing you need to concern your pretty little head about."

I firm my lips. "You're a sadistic asshat, you know that?"

He raises a shoulder. "I'll drop you at home."

"I can see myself home, thank you very much."

"You're not going anywhere without me." He closes the distance between us.

Suddenly, someone screams behind us.