Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
The exchange between Gio and Ethan was tense, the words harsh and angry and spat at each other. Then an order came from his boss that had Ethan tightening his grip on his gun, and a look of dread glanced through his eyes.
“All of you,” he said, unease coating his voice, “together.”
The breath I’d been holding left me in a sharp, painful burst.
Vitale would never know what happened, because there’d be no witnesses. We were going to die right now, right here. My eyes went wide and unblinking. Was Ethan really going to let this happen?
Oh, my God.
Was he going to be the one to do it?
My knees trembled, but my body locked up with anger and disbelief. I’d watched him take a life and heard him confess to killing another, and there was a ruthless edge to him. How could I be so dumb and ignore the clear signs smacking me in the face? I’d flirted with fire, yet was still shocked that he was about to burn me.
Maybe I deserved to die for being so goddamn stupid.
His gun was drawn but down, and he spoke in hurried tones to Gio. Stuart cried quietly as he stood beside me, short, choked gasps that made his shoulders lurch. His arms banded around him, trying to hold it back and failing. Rory mumbled something like a plea, but his words were too crowded with emotion to understand.
Not me. Hot, thick rage bubbled up inside, making me disregard the gun Gio had turned toward my crew. It was so fucking unfair. We shouldn’t have to pay for his horrible choice.
“How is he planning to get back if he kills us?” I demanded.
“I’m trying to convince him to let you and the attendant go,” Ethan said.
“Will he do that?”
“I can be persuasive.” He sounded confident.
I had enough survivor guilt to live with. “I’m the captain. Let my crew go. I’ll fly him back to Rome.”
Ethan’s expression was dark and terrifying, like he was furious at the idea. “Not an option.”
“Look at me,” I commanded. It didn’t matter what my crew thought about it, there wasn’t time to be polite. “I’m the only one holding it together.”
“Be quiet!” he snapped. His head appeared so heavy with thoughts, it sagged under the weight.
It wasn’t as if I had a death wish, but my concern for the men on either side of me was greater. And I hoped deep down that Ethan wouldn’t let Gio harm me, so I had to remove the rest of my crew from the equation.
My words came out steady, even while I began to fracture inside. “Signore,” I said, pointing to Gio and then myself. “Roma.”
“No,” Ethan gasped. “Wait—”
But Gio nodded with pleased agreement, and shockingly, lowered his gun.
Every muscle in Ethan’s body appeared to be clenched, and his intense eyes clouded with distrust. I hadn’t expected it to be that easy either. Letting my crew go was a huge risk. There was discussion between the armed men, but Ethan didn’t relax his alert posture.
“Okay,” I whispered hurriedly to my crew, “nothing happened here, but don’t go back to Italy.”
“Ever,” Ethan added.
Both men nodded quickly.
Ethan’s focus turned to the murderer, and he asked something pointed, making Gio glance at Renzo’s body. The conversation was brief, and probably about what to do with it.
Ethan moved to holster his gun, bent down, and grasped one of the dead man’s wrists. His expression was fixed as he yanked the body along, dragging it toward the cargo hold, smearing blood on the ground as it went. I watched with disbelief and—
A gunshot cracked.
It was so abrupt and unexpected, I was still flinching from the first when the second rang out, almost on top of the other. Stuart collapsed backward, and Rory folded sideways, falling into me and knocking me down. He was wet with blood.
I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. When we hit the pavement, the heavy body rolled off me, and I scrambled backward on my knees, my mind blank with hysteria.
“No, fuck!” Ethan yelled, and in the chaos, he was all I could make out.
He’d dropped his grip on Renzo, leveled his gun at Gio, and used his other hand to brace the weapon. His bicep and forearm flexed and strained, like it was taking every ounce of strength in him not to pull the trigger.
Why didn’t he? He’d confessed he’d already killed one Abramo.
But the gun in Gio’s hand, the one he’d just used to murder my crew, was now pointed at me. My heart jerked to a stop, turning me into a statue.
Ethan’s Italian was urgent and commanding. No, wait. Not commanding, it was . . . was it pleading?
“Roma,” Gio ordered, flicking the barrel of his gun toward the plane and then back to me.
My gaze shifted to Ethan. For what? To save me? He’d been so sure he could convince Gio, but my crew was dead. Dead.