Page 40 of Maximum Bet

Memories from last year at the theater at Il Palazzo have my chest tighten in fear.

Dominic, on the ground, bleeding out.

Me, staring down the barrel of an enemy’s gun.

Pulling the trigger of my own.

Watching Alexy Kozlova die.

I’m in the elevator before I hear Leo calling my name.

It’s too late.

I’m already gone.

I stumble into the first-floor staff hallway. To my right, Romano-Tariello men gather near a corner. They’re yelling to each other as they try to decipher orders from Lucas.

Not waiting to be caught, I turn to my left, following the same hallway Dominic did.

I go as fast as I can until my ankle twists, and my bad foot gives out.

Fucking heels.

I rip off my shoes, stand back up, and haul my skirt up my thighs. There’s no way in hell I’m letting a pair of Jimmy Choos stop me.

Dominic never closed the side entrance to the theater, so I slide through the doorway without a sound. I no longer hear chatter in my earpiece, so I rip it out. As soon as my hearing returns to normal, I listen for any sign of Dominic.

With bare feet, I do my best ballet walk, silent, meant to muffle the box on a pointe shoe, and take the short staircase up to the stage. My breath catches in my throat when I spot a sliver of light coming from backstage. Sneaking through the wings, I peek past a curtain and sigh in relief.

I’ve made it to Dominic on time.

Except he’s about to go exactly where he shouldn’t.

As he steps through the doorway, I run toward him, wrapping my hands around the metal knob as he pulls it closed.

He only fights for a second, not long enough for me to announce my arrival before the door swings wide to reveal Dominic with his gun aimed perfectly at my head. I freeze as his finger twitches on the trigger, and his brows dip. He blinks, and his finger straightens out before he drops his gun and groans.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Your earpiece went out,” I say, my heart pounding from almost getting shot by my fiancé. “The Russians came this way. If you go after them, it’ll be two on one.”

“For fucks sake, Cassandra.” He grabs my arm and pulls me back into the theater. “I’ve had worse odds against me before.”

“But . . .”

“I told you to stay upstairs,” he says through gritted teeth. In the dim light, the gold streaks in his eyes flash like flames.

I shiver underneath his scrutiny.

I misjudged the situation, misjudged him.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“Now I’ve got to keep you safe.” He rakes a hand through his hair, scanning the backstage area. “I need you to hide.”

“Where?” I look around. There are curtains and a backdrop, but the sets and props haven’t been delivered yet.

“Over here.” Dominic pulls me away from the door, but we only make it a few steps before the handle twists and a guttural voice mutters a Russian curse.