Kidnapping the Assassin: The Mafia Don’s Fatal Mistake

Blood and Bone

Chapter 4

[Elara]

Cassian lowered his gun.

The look on his face in the harsh glare of the phone’s flashlight was something I would remember for a very long time. It wasn't fear. It was the complete, catastrophic shattering of his worldview. His uncle. His own blood.

I knew the feeling. Betrayal always tasted like copper and ash.

"We need to move," I said, breaking his trance. "A breach team is never just three guys. They'll have a perimeter guard and a clean-up crew sweeping the upper floors."

"My armory is on the second floor," Cassian said, his voice terrifyingly calm now. The Don was back. The emotional shock had been packed away into a dark box, replaced by pure, calculating violence.

"We're not going to the second floor. We're going to the garage," I said, gesturing to the heavy steel door that led out of the basement into the subterranean parking level. "But before we do that..."

I held out my right hand.

The joint was swollen, the skin turning a nasty shade of bruised purple. The pain was a constant, blinding throb, but I pushed it to the back of my mind.

"I need my hand," I said flatly. "Pop it back in."

Cassian stared at my mangled thumb, then up at my face. "You want me to relocate your joint. Right here. Right now."

"Unless you have a sudden desire to carry me out of here, yes."

He holstered his gun and took a step closer. He set his phone down on a crate so the flashlight illuminated us both.

"This is going to hurt," he warned, his massive hands gently taking my right arm. His touch was shockingly gentle for a man who had been ready to torture me twenty minutes ago.

"I'm aware of basic human anatomy, Rossi. Just do it."

Cassian stepped into my space. He was so tall I had to tilt my head back to look at him. He placed his left hand firmly behind my elbow to brace my arm, and wrapped his right hand around the base of my thumb.

His thumb stroked over my bruised knuckles. A deeply intimate, completely unnecessary gesture.

My breath hitched. Not from the pain, but from the sudden, overwhelming heat of his body pressing against mine.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

I dragged my eyes up to meet his. The obsidian depths of his gaze were intense, locked onto mine with a fierce, magnetic pull.

"Don't bite your tongue," he whispered.

Before I could brace myself, he pulled firmly and twisted.

CRACK.

A blinding white flash exploded behind my eyes. I gasped, my knees buckling involuntarily.

Cassian caught me. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard chest to keep me from hitting the floor. I buried my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of bergamot and gunpowder, riding out the sickening wave of nausea.

"Got you," he murmured, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. His hand slowly stroked down my spine, steadying me.

For five seconds, I allowed myself to be held. I allowed myself to feel the strange, terrifying safety of his arms. Then, the weakness passed.

I pushed him away, stepping back and flexing my hand. It screamed in protest, but the joint was back in place. I could hold a gun.

"Thank you," I said, my voice completely devoid of the vulnerability I had just shown.

Cassian watched me, his jaw tight. "You don't have to pretend you're a machine around me, Elara."

"I'm not pretending," I lied. I turned toward the garage door. "Let's go. Your uncle is waiting."

We moved in silence. Cassian opened the heavy steel door, leading us into the cavernous, dimly lit underground garage. It housed a collection of vintage sports cars and armored SUVs.

"The black Mercedes," Cassian whispered, pointing toward the far corner. "It's bulletproof. Keys are in the ignition."

We crept between the cars, keeping low. We were ten feet away from the Mercedes when the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

A shadow detached itself from the concrete pillar behind the car.

"Rossi!" a voice barked.

I saw the flash of the muzzle before I heard the shot.

Cassian didn't dive for cover. He dove toward me.

He slammed into my side, throwing his body over mine as we crashed onto the hard concrete. A deafening roar echoed through the garage. I heard a wet thud, and Cassian grunted, his heavy body going suddenly rigid above me.

The shooter racked a shotgun, the metallic clack-clack echoing in the garage. He was walking toward us to finish the job.

Cassian rolled off me, clutching his shoulder. Blood was already soaking through his expensive suit jacket. His gun had skittered across the floor, stopping inches from my hand.

I looked at the gun.

Then I looked at the dark exit ramp leading to freedom.

I could grab the gun, shoot the attacker, and run. I could disappear into the night. Cassian Rossi would bleed out on the floor, his syndicate would collapse into civil war, and nobody would ever look for the Viper again.

Cassian looked at me. He saw the calculation in my eyes. He knew exactly what choice I had. He didn't beg. He just stared at me, his dark eyes filled with a quiet, devastating acceptance.

He saved me, a small, traitorous voice whispered in my head. He took a bullet meant for you.

He also threatened your sister, the monster inside me argued.

The shooter's boots stopped at the edge of the Mercedes. He rounded the hood, aiming the shotgun down at Cassian's head.

I made my choice.

I grabbed Cassian's Beretta, rolled onto my back, and fired two rounds directly into the center of the shooter's chest.

The man flew backward, dead before he hit the ground.

I slowly sat up, blowing a stray lock of hair out of my face. I looked over at Cassian. He was staring at me, clutching his bleeding shoulder, an unreadable expression on his face.

I stood up, walked over to him, and extended my uninjured hand.

"Looks like we're partners, Don Rossi," I said softly.

Cassian looked at my hand, then up at my eyes. A slow, dark smirk curved his lips, despite the blood loss.

He took my hand.

"Partners, Viper. Until death do us part."