Kidnapping the Assassin: The Mafia Don’s Fatal Mistake

The Skyward Tomb

Chapter 22

**[Elara]**

The confined space of the hospital room amplified the gunfire until it physically vibrated against my teeth. 

Cassian didn’t spray and pray. Even firing one-handed, the weapon bucked with controlled, lethal bursts. The assassin holding the knife to my throat jerked violently as three hollow-point rounds punched through his chest armor. His grip vanished. His dead weight collapsed backward, dragging me down with him. 

I scrambled out from under the corpse, my hands slick with his blood, grabbing for my fallen sidearm. 

The Arbiter scrambled behind the overturned medical cart, firing blindly over the edge. A bullet grazed the ceramic plating of Cassian’s tactical vest, spinning him slightly. 

Cassian didn't take cover. He didn't flinch. 

He dropped the empty submachine gun, letting it hang by its tactical sling, and drew the Sig Sauer from his hip in a fluid, continuous motion. He closed the distance in two massive strides, vaulting directly over the hospital bed. 

The Arbiter shrieked, raising his weapon, but Cassian’s boot came down squarely on the man’s forearm. Bone splintered loudly. 

Cassian pressed the barrel of his pistol against the Arbiter’s perfectly styled hair and pulled the trigger. 

The ringing in my ears faded into a thick, suffocating silence. 

The room was completely destroyed. The smell of exhaust fumes from the wrecked Ducati mixed horribly with the sharp stench of copper and ruptured oxygen lines. 

Cassian stood over the bodies, his chest heaving, his dark eyes sweeping the room for any remaining threats. Then, his gaze snapped to me. 

I was kneeling on the linoleum, clutching my gun, staring at him in fractured disbelief. 

He had come for me. He had broken out of an iron cage, stolen a motorcycle, and driven it up four flights of hospital stairs just to put himself between me and a bullet. 

My eyes dropped to his right hand. 

It hung uselessly at his side. The knuckles were raw meat. The thumb joint was grotesquely swollen, hanging at an unnatural angle. I knew exactly what that injury felt like. I knew exactly what it took to inflict it upon yourself. 

"You broke your own bones," I whispered, the words scratching at my raw throat. 

Cassian looked down at his mangled hand, then back up at my face. The blank, empty stare of the mercenary was gone. The raw, violent protectiveness radiating from him was so intense it made the air feel thin. 

"You taught me the fast way," he rasped, his voice rough. He took a step toward me, holstering his weapon. He reached out with his good hand, his fingers brushing my neck where the assassin’s knife had drawn a thin line of blood. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, entirely paralyzed by his touch. "Your memories... Cassian, do you remember?"

His jaw tightened. A flash of agonizing frustration crossed his features. "No. I don't remember the empire. I don't remember the wedding. I just remember..." He swallowed hard, his thumb tracing my jawline. "I remember the way you look at me. And I know I would rather rip my own hand off than let you walk into a grave alone."

A sudden, violent tremor rocked the ceiling panels above us. 

*Thwump-thwump-thwump.* 

The heavy, rhythmic beat of military-grade helicopter blades cutting through the storm. 

The tender moment shattered. Reality came crashing back in a tidal wave of panic. 

"Lily," I gasped, tearing my gaze away from him. 

I bolted out of the room. Matteo was slumped against the hallway wall, clutching a bleeding shoulder, but he was alive. He nodded weakly toward the red exit sign at the end of the corridor. 

"Roof access," Matteo coughed. "They took her up."

I didn't stop to check his wounds. I sprinted down the hallway, Cassian’s heavy boots pounding the linoleum right behind me. We hit the metal stairwell door, taking the steps three at a time. My lungs burned, but the adrenaline masked the exhaustion. 

The High Table didn't want my sister. They wanted leverage. They wanted a leash to put around the Viper’s neck so they could control the Rossi empire through me. 

I kicked the heavy roof access door. It was deadbolted from the outside. 

Cassian didn't wait for me to shoot the lock. He slammed his entire body weight against the steel door. The hinges shrieked, the metal buckling outward. He hit it a second time, tearing the frame out of the concrete wall. 

We burst out into the freezing alpine storm. 

The rain was a blinding sheet of water. The wind from the helicopter's rotors was deafening, forcing me to shield my eyes. 

A massive, black transport chopper hovered ten feet above the helipad. It was already lifting off, the side door wide open. 

Standing in the doorway was a High Table commander, wearing full tactical gear and a headset. 

And in his arms, dangling precariously over the open drop, was Lily. 

She looked so incredibly small. Her pale, frail body was wrapped in a hospital blanket. A portable oxygen tank was strapped to her chest, the tubes keeping her alive amidst the violent downwash of the rotors. 

I raised my rifle, but my hands were shaking. I couldn't take the shot. If I missed by an inch, I would hit the oxygen tank. It would tear her to pieces. 

"Put her down!" I screamed, my voice entirely lost to the roar of the engines. 

The commander looked down at us. He pressed a button on his headset, speaking to the pilot. The chopper tilted, gaining altitude, moving away from the edge of the hospital roof toward the black abyss of the lake. 

The commander looked directly into my eyes. He smiled, a cold, utterly emotionless expression. 

Then, he released his grip. 

He didn't throw her. He simply let go of the blanket. 

My sister plummeted out of the helicopter, falling through the storm toward the crushing concrete of the helipad below.