Page 29 of Betrayal of the Mafia Rebel
My brain tries to run the odds. It is what I do. I spent my whole life inside the Bellanti compound, surviving by analyzing every micro-expression and tracking every shifting allegiance. The math says I should be terrified of him. The math says he's volatile, unpredictable, a Costa with every reason to hate my bloodline.
The math is garbage.
He shifts his stance, angling his body to block the worst of the biting wind from hitting me. He does it automatically. He doesn't even look down. His right hand hovers just above the small of my back, not touching, drawing a line nothing alive would cross.
A set of headlights cuts through the darkness on the street above us. The tires screech against the pavement at the top of the embankment, stopping abruptly at the edge of the riverwalk above us.
Fabio's stance widens. His hand drops to his waist, his fingers curling around the grip of his weapon.
A blacked-out, armored SUV idles on the concrete above us. The driver's-side door opens.
Dante Costa steps out.
I know the faces of the enemy. I have studied their files in the Bellanti archives. Dante is the enforcer, the quiet, terrifying Guard who survived his own crucible. He wears a dark sweater under a tactical jacket, his posture loose but coiled, ready to detonate.
Dante doesn't look at the river or the muddy embankment. He looks directly at Fabio.
Then his eyes slide to me.
I lift my chin. My lips are probably blue. My wet clothes are plastered to my skin beneath Fabio's jacket. I look like a drowned rat. I refuse to cower. I square my shoulders and stare right back at the Costa enforcer. He thinks he can intimidate me with a dead-eyed stare? Please. I sat at dinner tables with men who ordered hits between courses. One more mafia enforcer doesn't scare me.
Not anymore.
Dante raises a single eyebrow. He looks back to Fabio.
"Get in the car," Dante says. His voice is a low rumble, devoid of judgment or surprise.
Fabio doesn't answer. He simply moves. His hand settles firmly at my hip, steering me up the muddy incline. His grip is iron-solid. He hauls me up the slippery bank with zero effort, taking the brunt of my weight so I don't slip in the sludge.
We reach the pavement. The wind howls louder up here, but the heat radiating from the open SUV door is a physical wall of relief.
Fabio guides me to the back door. He shoves it open.
"Get in," he orders. His voice is broken glass and razor blades.
I don't argue. I scramble into the back seat. The leather is warm. The heater is blasting. I sink into the seat, pulling my knees toward my chest, desperately trying to hoard the hot air against my freezing limbs.
Dante gets into the driver's seat. He leaves the vehicle in park while the second team holds the riverwalk above us
I expect Fabio to get in the passenger seat. They are brothers. They have tactical debriefs to do. They need to discuss the bodiesleft cooling in the speakeasy and the flooded drainage pipe behind it. They need to discuss the war.
Fabio doesn't walk around the front. He climbs right into the back seat next to me.
The armored cabin suddenly feels half the size it was. The cabin contracts around the shape of him. He slams the armored door shut, sealing us inside the quiet, insulated cabin. He ignores Dante. He turns his body toward me.
His large, rough hands reach out. He grips my frozen fingers, rubbing them aggressively between his warm palms.
"Are you hit?" he demands.
"No." My teeth chatter around the syllable. "I'm just cold."
"You're shaking."
"Because it's thirty degrees outside and I just crawled through a flooded drainage pipe," I snap back. The bite is a defense mechanism. I can't help it. It's the only way I keep from breaking apart in the back of his car.
Fabio doesn't care about my bite. He glares at my wet hair. He reaches up, his fingers threading through the soaked strands, checking my scalp for injuries. His touch is rough, frantic. He's running a physical inventory of my body, as if he needs proof I'm still intact.
Dante watches us through the rearview mirror. His dark eyes flick between whatever he sees in his brother and my shivering form.
