DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE Devil’s Lily: Chapter 37
As we turn into the industrial area, my car jerks to a sudden stop. “What the hell is this?” I snap, blood pressure spiking at the unexpected roadblock.
Dante doesn’t answer. He’s already out of the vehicle, snapping a quick photo before sliding back in. My men, fully armed, pour out of their cars and advance towards the front to check out the threat.
I accept Dante’s phone and frown at the dirty vehicle that’s now sandwiched between my cars. It looks familiar and—my heart damn near stops. “That’s Emily’s car.” The picture of the vehicle and its plates that Michael had sent are burned into my memory.
Dante curses, his gun materializing in his hand as he throws the door open and jumps out again. I follow suit, my own weapon heavy in my hand. Each step tightens the knot in my gut until the scene unfolds into clear view.
The car door slides open, and out she comes—a tangle of red curls and shaky legs. Her hands shoot up, palms out, as she stumbles away from the car and my men. The world tilts and a roar fills my ears, drowning out everything else. Elira.
“Drop your fucking weapons!” My voice tears through the night like thunder, and thank Christ, Perro’s already in the thick of it all, orchestrating the stand-down.
As I start to stride towards my wife, who’s still backing away from my men, Dante grabs my upper arm. “Maximo, wait. This is too easy. What if it’s a trap?”
I rip away from him, fury blazing through my veins. “Do I look like I fucking care?”
The words are barely out of my mouth when it happens.
Boom.
The explosion comes like judgment day—a flash of hell-bright orange that catapults Emily’s car off the fucking ground and swallows it whole. My gaze hones in on my wife just as the force of the blast catches her, launching her small frame through the air like a broken doll until she crashes to the ground face-first with a sickening thud.
“Elira!” I shout from my soul as I charge towards her. Around me, my men scatter in a chaotic frenzy to dodge the hungry flames, but not everyone is lucky. Agonized screams cut through the crackling flames. Screams my mind blocks out, because my universe has narrowed to a single point: reaching the still form of my wife on the ground.
I hit the pavement hard enough to tear my pants, my hands already reaching for her when a bullet whizzes past my ear. “Goddammit.” I gather her limp body against my chest, my heart threatening to explode when I feel her breath. She’s unconscious, but breathing—thank fuck, she’s breathing. And someone’s shooting at us again for the second time this fucking night. Except now I know who it is.
Dante and Perro step in front of me, and the remaining men quickly form a protective shield around Elira and me as I carry her to my bulletproof SUV. I yank open the back door and slide inside with her in my arms. Once we’re safely inside, the men move away to return fire, but Dante stays, slipping into the driver’s seat.
“Is she okay?” he asks.
My chest tightens as I examine her scrapped face and neck. “Elira. Wake up, dolcezza,” I whisper, shaking her gently. Her pupils dance behind her closed lids, and I shake her violently now, scared out of my mind. “Please, please, dolcezza, open your eyes.”
When her lashes flutter and those hazel eyes finally focus on me, the relief nearly breaks me. “Ma–maximo…”
“I’ve got you,” I breathe, pulling her against me like she might vanish if I let go. “You’re fine. You’re fine.” My voice cracks, the words tumbling out in a frantic mantra as I rock her, burying my face in her hair. The smell of smoke and ash clings to her, but she’s here—she’s alive. The crippling realization of how close I was to losing her has me unraveling. One minute later, or even one second…
“Maximo,” she sobs into my shirt and hugs me back.
“Shh, it’s okay, amore. I’ve got you. You’re safe, you’re safe. I’m never letting anyone hurt you. Never again. I swear it.”
She nods into my chest as she cries. My eyes flick to the window, catching my men driving the attackers back while the flames from the burning car slowly die down.
Then suddenly, a sleek red sports car rolls past my SUV with a low rumble, pulling to a stop behind my men. My stomach knots until I recognize it—Michael.
The door lifts, and the bastard emerges like he’s strutting onto a runway, rocking a pair of fucking sunglasses and a black leather jacket. His inked scalp gleams in the firelight, the ring on his thumb catching the glow as he runs a hand over his head. Completely unfazed by the chaos, of course.
Adjusting Elira in my arms, I roll down the tinted window so he can see me. He raises a pierced brow when our gazes connect, but his face softens a little when he spots Elira.
“There are you,” he says, striding closer. “Is my sorellina okay?”
“She’ll survive.”
Elira stirs against me and lifts her tear-streaked face to glance at Michael.. He offers her a faint smile, though it looks more like a grimace, then shifts his focus back to me.
“Romero and his men are pulling up on the other side of the road to trap those fuckers. Get her the hell out of here. We’ll end this.”
I nod at him gratefully and roll my window back up as he returns to his car, takes out an M16, and lifts it with a wide grin before diving straight into the thick of it. I shake my head as I watch him go. Crazy motherfucker. He has a few loose screws, that one.
“Take us home,” I tell Dante, who promptly starts the car. I pull up the privacy partition, and when I glance down, Elira’s hazel eyes are already locked on mine, her expression a mix of exhaustion and… something deeper. Her trembling fingers trace over my jaw before her hands cup my face. Then she pulls me in, pressing her lips to mine—sweetly, yet carrying the weight of everything we’ve been through.
My heart swells, expanding almost painfully as I kiss her back as tenderly as I can with all the emotions running through me, my hands rubbing up and down her back, needing to feel her warmth, to remind myself she’s really here—alive.
She breaks away with a shaky breath. “I thought I might never get the chance to do that again. Thought I’d never see you again. Never get to—”
“No. No matter where you go, I’ll always find you. Always,” I promise savagely, pressing my head against hers. “You’re my life now, Elira. My everything. I would kill anyone who dares stand between us.”
Her lips tremble as she smiles at me. “I love you, Maximo. You’re a fucking thief—you stole my heart.”
My eyes fucking sting, and I inhale sharply. “Fucking hell, Elira. I love you. Sono innamorato di te.”
Her watery laugh is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard as she burrows her head into my chest, her wild curls tickling my chin. Behind us, gunfire continues to paint the night in muzzle flashes, but here, with her in my arms, I’ve found my peace in the chaos.
I shift her carefully, taking my phone out of my pocket to text Ethan to meet us back at the penthouse. Time to get my queen back where she belongs.
“We really need to stop meeting like this, Mrs. Leonotti,” Ethan teases, though I can see the concern in his eyes as I walk into the living room with Elira in my arms. She’s straddled to my chest like a koala because when I tried to carry her bridal style, she let out a scream. Guess the heat from the explosion seared her back. Damn it.
“I know, right? I seem to be getting into one scrap or another whether I want to or not,” she responds dryly.
I take her up the stairs to our bedroom and carefully place her on the edge of the bed so she’s sitting. When she peels off her shirt and twists her back at Ethan, the sight makes my blood run cold. Angry red blisters mar her skin, each one screaming at me for failing to protect her. But I shove down the guilt.
Thankfully, it’s not as bad as it could have been. My mind betrays me with flashes of a worse scenario—her trapped in that metal coffin as it burst into flames. I shudder and promptly push the thought out of my head, uninterested in entertaining it.
Her small hand finds mine, anchoring me to the present. Those hazel eyes, still bright despite everything, look up at me with such trust it makes my chest ache. I sink down beside her, holding her hand tightly. I’m never letting her out of my sight again.
The room is filled with a heavy silence as Ethan carefully tends to her back, my wife occasionally wincing from the pain. When he finishes, he turns her around to inspect her face, frowning at the scrapes before cleaning them and sticking a plaster over her left brow.
“Well, I’m happy to announce that you’ll live,” Ethan says, stepping back from her with a smirk that doesn’t quite hide his relief.
My wife chuckles, but it quickly turns into a pained wince. “Glad to hear that. I was starting to worry.”
After Ethan leaves, I help Elira take off the rest of her clothes and gently carry her to the bathroom. I run a warm bath for her and ease her into it, careful not to get the gauze on her back wet. “We’re moving out of here,” I say while running a washcloth down her arm. “To somewhere more remote and secure.”
Her brows knit together as she watches me. “I love this place.”
“Well, I don’t. I think I might build a compound like your father’s and lock you up tight so nobody can ever get to you.”
“I hope that’s a joke, Maximo. I’m not going to be a prisoner.” She lifts her chin stubbornly, and I smile faintly as I flick some water on her face.
“You’re not going to be a prisoner. But I’d feel better knowing no one could ever get in, no matter how good they are. I hate seeing you hurt.”
“I’m no damsel in distress, Maximo. I think I did a great job rescuing myself.” She nudges my arm playfully. “If you hadn’t been halfway to my rescue, I might have just turned up here on my own.”
True. I’m beginning to learn just how capable my wife is. “How did you even get away from her?”
She launches into the story, her voice animated as she tells me about hotwiring the car after Emily got out to talk with some men fueling a plane, my heart stuttering when she mentions the wires sparking. God, she’s incredible.
My brave girl.
I lean forward and kiss her temple. “Remind me to send Roan some flowers or something for teaching you how to hotwire a car.”
“Forget Roan. How about you give me some flowers for hotwiring the car successfully.” Her hand falls on my arm, and her fingers start tracing over my tattoo. “I’m thinking… a Lily of the Valley or two.”
I study her face, trying to gauge her seriousness. “You want a tattoo?”
“Not just any tattoo. Yours. This one.” She taps my lily of the valley tattoo, and my heart fucking spills up to my throat.
“I love you so fucking much,” I murmur as I lean down to kiss her on the lips this time.
I don’t deserve her, but I’ll spend the rest of my life treating her like the queen she is.