Chapter 17 - The Aftermath
|
Before Andrew could even process the words, the shadows of the parking garage came alive.
Four of Lorenzo’s elite snipers had been positioned in the dark corners of the VIP lot the entire night.
Thwip. Thwip.
Two suppressed shots echoed quietly in the concrete cavern. The two hired thugs flanking Andrew dropped instantly to the floor, shot cleanly through the shoulders, their weapons clattering away uselessly.
Andrew shrieked in terror, dropping his gun and throwing his hands over his head, collapsing to his knees on the filthy concrete.
"Please! Don't kill me!" Andrew sobbed hysterically, curling into a pathetic ball.
Lorenzo didn't even draw his weapon. He looked down at the weeping, broken man with absolute disgust.
"Marco," Lorenzo said coldly. "Bind his hands. Throw him in the trunk. The federal authorities are looking for him regarding his bail violation. Drop him on the steps of the FBI field office."
"Yes, Boss," Marco grunted, hauling the sobbing Andrew up by his collar and dragging him toward the secondary security vehicle.
Lorenzo turned back to Emma. The cold, ruthless mafia boss vanished the second his eyes met hers. He reached out, his large hands gently gripping her arms, scanning her face for any sign of trauma.
"Are you hurt?" Lorenzo demanded, his voice thick with a sudden, raw panic.
"No," Emma breathed out, the adrenaline crash finally hitting her. Her knees felt weak. "I'm okay. You stepped in front of the gun."
"I will always step in front of the gun for you," Lorenzo vowed fiercely, pulling her tightly against his chest, burying his face in her hair. "I promised I would protect you. I do not break my promises."
Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing left in the world. The violence of his world was terrifying, but the absolute, unwavering safety she felt in his arms was undeniable.
"Take me home, Lorenzo," Emma whispered against his neck.
May you like
Lorenzo pulled back slightly, his dark eyes burning with a fierce, possessive fire. He scooped her up effortlessly into his arms, ignoring her expensive silk dress, and carried her to the armored SUV.
"We are going home," he promised.
