Cassio goes completely still.
I sit up, giving him space, but I don't let go of his hand. "When we got married, we were enemies. You thought I was a pawn, and I thought you were a monster. We fought each other because it was easier than fighting the reality of our situation."
"Noemi—"
"Let me finish," I say softly, squeezing his hand. "I don't want to fight you anymore, Cassio. I don't want to be the prisoner in the east wing, and I don't want to be the defiant bitch who challenges you just to prove a point. You took a bullet for me. You bled for me. I packed your chest with gauze and begged God to let you live."
I take a deep, shaky breath, laying my soul completely bare.
"I am your wife Cassio," I vow. "But if we are going to survive this war, we can't be at war with each other. I need a partner. I need my husband."
Cassio stares at me. His pitch-black eyes are wide, completely disarmed
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"A truce," he rasps, his voice trembling with terrifying reverence.
"A real one," I agree, a soft smile touching my lips. "No more secrets. No more locked doors between us. We fight the world together."
Cassio lifts my hand, pressing a long, desperate kiss to my palm. "You have my word, Noemi. On my life. On my blood. There is no Vellutini empire without you. We are a team."
The weight that has been crushing my chest for the last month finally, completely vanishes.
We were a joke to the rest of the syndicate, a fragile, doomed alliance waiting to shatter. They had no idea they forged a weapon that was going to burn them all to the ground.
I lean down to kiss him again, sealing the vow, when the sudden, deafening wail of a siren shatters the peace.
BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEP.
It isn't a normal security alarm. It is the high-pitched, bone-rattling klaxon of the estate’s absolute lockdown protocol.
Cassio’s eyes snap open, the tender lover vanishing in a millisecond, replaced instantly by the lethal Don. He tries to sit up, a sharp hiss of pain escaping his teeth as his torn chest protests.
"Cassio, don't move!" I panic, pressing my hands to his uninjured shoulder to keep him down.
"Get my gun," he orders, his voice a harsh, guttural bark. "In the nightstand. Now!"
I scramble off the bed, pulling the heavy drawer open. I grab the cold, heavy steel of the customized 1911 and a spare magazine, handing them to him just as the heavy oak doors of the bedroom burst open.
Matteo slides into the room, an assault rifle gripped tightly in his hands, his face is pale and slick with sweat. He kicks the door shut behind him and throws the heavy deadbolt.
"Boss," Matteo pants, his chest heaving. "They’re here."
"Who?" Cassio snarls, racking the slide of the 1911 with his left hand, his eyes burning with a homicidal rage.
"The Bratva," Matteo says grimly, gripping the rifle. "Volkov isn't playing games anymore. He didn't send a hit squad. He sent a small fucking army. They just breached the lower iron gates with C4."
Before I can even process the words, a massive, thunderous explosion shakes the very foundation of the estate. The floorboards vibrate beneath my bare feet. The sound of shattered glass and automatic gunfire erupts from the floors below us.
20
Cassio
The foundation of the estate shudders violently, the deafening roar of the explosion is followed instantly by the staccato, terrifying rhythm of automatic gunfire echoing from the ground floor.
My body reacts before my brain can even process the pain.
I throw my legs over the edge of the mattress. The sudden movement tears at the fresh sutures buried deep in my chest. A blinding, white-hot agony rips through my right shoulder, so intense my vision actually flickers black for a fraction of a second. A harsh, guttural groan tears its way out of my throat, but I bite it back, gripping the cold steel of the 1911 in my left hand so hard my knuckles turn white.