Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
The fight begins, and the guys circle each other for a few seconds before Irvin takes his first swing, missing Matteo’s face by an inch. Matteo retaliates by rushing Irvin and lands a few strategic hits. The fight goes on for several minutes, and when I ask Dominick how long each round is, he tells me that there are no rounds. They fight until one can’t fight anymore.
They’re both evenly matched, their punches and kicks landing, and when Matteo stumbles back, I worry Irvin is going to get the upper hand. But then it’s as if Matteo gets a second wind because he comes back harder, faster, more determined. Every punch is delivered in rapid-fire, and before we know it, Irvin is knocked out cold, and the ring announcer is congratulating Matteo on his win.
The crowd goes crazy, and I’m about to ask Dominick if we can go down and see Matteo when an alarm sounds, making me jump.
“Fire alarm,” Dominick says as everyone starts to push their way out of the warehouse. “Stay with me.”
He threads his fingers through mine, and I follow him out of the VIP area.
At first, I assume someone’s pulling a prank, but when the smoke starts to filter in, obscuring our vision, I know it’s not a mistake. Someone set the warehouse on fire.
Dominick, Lorenzo, and the guards get us out through a back exit. When the door opens and I suck in a breath of fresh air, I realize how bad the smoke was in there.
“Where’s Matteo?” I ask as Dominick flits between making calls and barking orders and texting.
“He can handle himself,” Lorenzo says.
“Fuck! The warehouse at the port is on fire as well,” Dominick hisses, glancing at Lorenzo. “Lorenzo, you drove here?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Daniil, I need you to take the women home.” He looks at Hillary. “Her too. I want the house on lockdown. I’ve already told Ricky to stay with Damien.”
Daniil nods, and then we’re rushed into the town car without Dominick. I want to tell him I love him, to stay safe, but it all happens too quickly, and before I can get a word out, we’re being whisked away.
The ride home is filled with tension. I wish I could be with Dominick, but I know I would only be a distraction. He’d be too worried about keeping me safe, and he wouldn’t be able to focus on dealing with whatever was going down.
The second we arrive at the house and step inside, I know something is off. I can feel it. For one, the house alarm didn’t go off, and it’s pitch-black, like the electricity is out.
Brielle must feel it, too, because she pauses at the doorway and glances at Hillary and me, putting her finger to her lips for us to remain quiet.
And then I hear it.
Damien’s cries.
Without thinking, I gasp loudly and take off toward the stairs.
Only Brielle stops me and shakes her head. “Whoever is up there is armed.”
My heart pounds in my chest.
This can’t be happening again.
Someone has my baby.
Daniil is outside.
Ricky should be protecting him. Where is he?
Brielle walks quietly over to Dominick’s office, and I follow while Hillary stays frozen in her spot near the door.
“Here,” Brielle says, handing me a gun. “It’s loaded. Don’t shoot unless you need to. We don’t want to risk hitting Damien.”
I nod in understanding and then follow her upstairs, gasping in fear and heartbreak when we find a body lying on the floor, bleeding out.
Ricky.
Whoever is in here shot and killed him.
“Enough,” a man says, forcing me to look away from Ricky to see where the voice is coming from.
I hear Damien’s muffled cries, telling me whoever has him has covered his mouth.
His room is empty, so Brielle and I follow the sounds that lead to the other wing of the house. There are two sets of stairs—one that stems from the living room and the other that leads toward the back of the house. If you’re planning to go to the backyard or pool, you can take the back stairs instead.
We both must realize this is what whoever took him is doing because we pick up our speed, racing down the steps. I can hear whoever has my son descending, his footsteps loud against the marble.
And then we see him. A man I don’t recognize is holding my son in his arms.
He reaches for the back door when Brielle yells, “Stop!”
I’m not sure why she made our presence known, but when the guy stops, I’m assuming it was just for that. To catch him off guard. He turns around, not even bothering to hide who he is, but I don’t know him.
“Anthony,” Brielle hisses, and my heart drops to my stomach.
It’s the asshole who raped her, who broke into my apartment and tried to steal my son.