Theirs to Protect (Mafia Menage Trilogy 3)

Probably not broken. I can still run if I have to.

And I had to be able to run. I had to get Ashlyn out of—

I froze at the sight of the gun pressed to her head and the glittering tears that spilled down her cheeks. She mouthed my name, but I couldn’t hear it through the ringing in my ears. The other men’s agitated shouts were a distant rumble. The close-range gunshot had left me disoriented, deafened and bleeding.

My teeth bared in predatory rage when Domenico grabbed a syringe from his pocket with his free hand, keeping the gun at Ashlyn’s head with the other.

“Marco!” I barely discerned my name leaving her lips as the needle slid into her neck.

I lunged for Domenico again, rabid with terror for Ashlyn. Gian punched my wound, and stars popped across my vision. I lost track of my body for several seconds. After a while, the world came back into focus, and the sound turned on.

“Don’t fucking move again, or I’ll put a bullet in her brain,” Domenico snapped. “I don’t give a shit how much money Amato thinks he can get for her. I’ll pay it myself if it’ll shut you up.” He scrubbed at his ringing ears and scowled at Gian. “Give him something to slow the bleeding. If he dies before we get there, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

He pulled Ashlyn into his lap, holding her close and keeping the gun beside her pale face. She was unconscious in his arms, her eyes closed and her body limp. She looked so completely helpless, totally unable to defend herself. And I’d only made everything worse with my mindless attempts to punish her captors. My chest caved in, crushing my tattered heart.

“Not one more sound,” Domenico warned me. “Try not to die.”

Time slid by in a blur. Gian produced a small first aid kit, and I managed to make a crude bandage and tourniquet. I couldn’t allow myself to lose so much blood that I passed out, no matter what the risks. Ashlyn was totally vulnerable, and I had to stay sharp.

Eventually, we reached an isolated estate. The SUV pulled up to a mansion crafted of rough-hewn brown stones that matched the natural cliffs. Arranged over multiple staggered levels, the house seemed to be built into the cliff itself.

There were no other houses visible. There was only the mansion, the trees at our back, and the vast sea beyond the sharp cliffs. No neighbors to run to for help. No one to hear us scream.

Domenico hustled us out of the car. Pain sliced into my leg when I first tried to put weight on it, and my knee gave way. I barely caught myself on the side of the car, but I managed to maintain my balance.

The sight of Domenico’s arms around Ashlyn set my teeth on edge. I willed my body to cooperate, only expending necessary energy on walking wherever they took her. I didn’t have the strength to fight even one of the men after losing so much blood. She would be hurt if I made an idiotic move out of protective rage. The best way to protect her now was to stay conscious.

The mansion was long and narrow, truly built into the side of the cliff. My damaged leg was shaking badly, and it took all of my focus to keep putting one foot in front of the other. We walked through idyllic terraces and small gardens as we progressed farther along the cliffs edge. Finally, we turned left and moved inside, slipping into an arched passageway that was cut directly into the rock. It was dimly lit, almost dank after the bright Mediterranean sunshine.

A minute later, we stepped into a room of riotous colors. It was nearly blinding in contrast to the stone tunnel. I blinked, swaying slightly as the sudden assault on my eyes fucked with my already precarious balance. The walls of the room were a rich shade of magenta, warmed to an even brighter hue by complementary cherry-red glass chandeliers. A huge opening in the south-facing wall revealed the shockingly blue sea and sky, like a massive modern art painting in a garish pink frame.

Ciro Amato stood in the center of the headache-inducing room, along with another middle-aged, bald man I didn’t recognize. Ciro’s brown eyes slid past me, appraising Ashlyn. “Alive?”

“Drugged,” Domenico replied. “You said you didn’t want her face to get fucked up. De Luca was losing his shit while she was conscious, so I thought it would be more secure to cool down the entire situation.”

Ciro nodded and gestured to the red leather couch behind him. “Put her there. I’m going to have a talk with De Luca.” His dark eyes flashed at me, and he pointed to a rigid wooden dining chair to my left. “Sit.”