Chapter 10 - Blood and Silk
The VIP terrace was relatively empty, offering a stunning view of Central Park beneath the moonlight. I leaned against the stone balustrade, taking a deep, shuddering breath of the cool night air.
"You did perfectly," Alessandro said, stepping up behind me. He didn't touch me, but the heat of his body was a comforting blanket.
"She hates me," I whispered. "She looked like she wanted to kill me."
"She is powerless," Alessandro assured me. "Her father is ruined. Her brother is gone. They are ghosts."
"Are you sure?"
A voice, thick with malice and desperation, echoed from the shadows of the terrace.
Alessandro spun around, pulling me behind him in one fluid, protective motion.
Stepping out from behind a massive stone urn was a man in a waiter’s uniform. He was bleeding from a head wound, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He held a silver tray in his left hand. In his right, he held a snub-nosed revolver.
It was Lorenzo Cole.
"You thought a few of your goons in a basement could finish me, Moretti?" Lorenzo spat, blood dripping down his chin. "I paid off the driver. I knew you'd be here. You took my empire. I'm taking yours."
He raised the gun, pointing it directly at Alessandro’s chest.
"Lorenzo," Alessandro said, his voice terrifyingly steady. "Put the gun down. You pull that trigger, and my men will tear you apart before you reach the stairs."
"I don't care about the stairs!" Lorenzo screamed, a mad, hysterical laugh bubbling from his throat. "I’m dead anyway! But I’m taking you with me!"
Lorenzo’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Time seemed to slow down. I didn't think. I reacted with the same feral instinct that had driven me to protect Emma in the kitchen.
I grabbed the heavy silver ice bucket resting on the balustrade next to me and hurled it with all my might at Lorenzo’s head.
The heavy silver crashed into his shoulder just as the gun went off.
BANG.
The bullet missed Alessandro by inches, shattering the stone balustrade where I had been standing a second before.
Before Lorenzo could recover and aim again, Alessandro moved. He didn't draw a weapon. He became the weapon.
Alessandro crossed the distance in a blur of black tuxedo. He grabbed the wrist holding the gun and twisted it violently. A sickening snap echoed over the terrace. Lorenzo screamed, dropping the weapon.
Alessandro delivered a brutal, crushing blow to Lorenzo’s windpipe, sending the man collapsing to the stone floor, choking on his own blood.
The terrace doors burst open. Dante and six enforcers flooded out, guns drawn, swarming the fallen mobster.
"Get him out of my sight," Alessandro roared. "Take him to the river."
The enforcers dragged a gurgling Lorenzo away, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they had arrived.
The terrace was dead silent again. The distant sound of the gala orchestra drifted through the air, a surreal contrast to the violence that had just occurred.
I stood frozen against the stone railing, staring at the bullet hole in the stone. My red silk dress was untouched. I was untouched. But my soul felt entirely different.
Alessandro slowly turned around. His chest heaved. His tuxedo was slightly rumpled, his knuckles bruised. He stared at me, his eyes wide, feral, and stripped of all control.
"You threw an ice bucket," he breathed, almost in disbelief. "At an armed man."
"He was going to shoot you," I said, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "I couldn't let him shoot you."
Alessandro closed the distance between us in two strides. He didn't ask for permission. He grabbed the lapels of my designer dress, pulled me flush against his hard chest, and crushed his mouth to mine.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was explosive. Desperate. Fueled by adrenaline, violence, and days of unbearable tension. His lips devoured mine, demanding and fierce, claiming me with a possessive heat that set my entire body on fire.
I didn't pull away. I kissed him back just as fiercely, tangling my hands in his dark hair, pulling him closer, anchoring myself to the only man who made this terrifying world feel safe.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathless. His forehead rested against mine, his large hands gripping my waist tightly, as if he was afraid I would vanish into the night air.
"You are going to be the death of me, Elena," he whispered roughly, his dark eyes burning into my soul.
"Or I'm going to save your life," I replied, my voice steady despite the rapid beating of my heart.
May you like
A slow, breathtaking smile broke across his face. The Reaper of New York, smiling down at his former maid.
"My beautiful, terrifying queen," he murmured, kissing me again, softer this time. "Let's go home."
