Taming Seraphine

LEROI

Sal crawls up the winding roads, gripping the steering wheel as though that’s the only thing stopping the car from careening down the side of the hill. No matter how many times I call, Miko’s phone still goes straight to voicemail. I can’t shake off the image of Samson torturing Seraphine.

“Faster,” I growl, my fingers curling around the device. “We have to reach her before it’s too late.”

“I’m trying,” he says, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

The car lurches forward, making the tires screech around the corner. I grab hold of the handle above my head and brace myself for another sharp turn.

The distant sound of gunshots offers zero reassurance. I knew Roman would pull through with his men, but if Seraphine gets hurt in the crossfire…

Bright light from an oncoming vehicle fills the windshield, and I have to squint against the glare. Sal slams on the brakes and swerves to the side, avoiding a head-on collision. Pain shoots through my abdomen as the seat belt digs into my wound, making me hiss.

“You okay?” Sal shoots me a worried glance.

“Fine,” I grind out through gritted teeth. “Keep going.”

We round another bend, and I catch sight of activity within the trees. Vehicles are parked haphazardly, with men advancing toward a mansion already alight with gunfire.

“Stop the car.” I unbuckle my seatbelt, already opening the door before Sal can park.

“I’ll wait for you here,” he yells as I rush into the trees.

The canopy blocks out the moonlight, but I’m guided by the sight and sound of gunfire. I run toward the building, each step hitting like a sucker punch to my wound. Pushing past the excruciating pain, I pull out my gun and run through the twisted scraps of metal Romans trucks have made of the gate.

His men have already breached the mansion’s front doors and have littered its grand foyer with corpses. Movement out of the corner of my eye has me swinging my pistol to the left. Roman steps out of a doorway with a semi-automatic.

He lowers his weapon and smirks. “You’re late.”

“What’s the situation?” I rush toward the staircase with Roman following close behind.

“We’ve taken out most of his guys. Samson either fled at the first sign of trouble or he and some guards are holed up behind a fortified door on the third floor.”

Shit.

If it’s as well-guarded as the basement where I found Seraphine, the security will be impenetrable. “Any other ways in?”

He flicks his head toward the front door. “There’s a balcony.”

“Show me.”

Roman runs outside, and I follow suit, having to clutch my wound to absorb the impact of my steps. We race around to the back of the building, where one of his trucks has barreled through the rose garden, and men in bullet proof armor scale a woody vine covering the wall toward an iron balcony.

My gaze snaps up to the balcony and a pair of Samson’s guards pointing automatic weapons downward, hindering their progress. I shake my head. They’re going about this the wrong way.

“Cesare wants to end this siege with a bazooka,” Roman mutters.

“Where is he?” I growl.

“I sent him home.”

Good. I always preferred dealing with Benito and Roman. Cesare is a brat who never thinks further than satisfying his own temper. His plan would wipe out the last Capello, but it would also kill Miko and Seraphine.

“I’m beginning to think Cesare has a point,” Roman says. “Those assholes have been shooting down on my men for ten minutes straight and still haven’t run out of ammo.”

My jaw tightens, and I squint up toward the balcony. Samson’s men are well protected, but not completely. They’ve lifted their visors to get a better view of the climbers, and I catch glimpses of their necks between their helmets and the collars of their armor.

“Order your guys to retreat to the van,” I mutter.

Roman passes on the commands to one of his men, who sprints toward the others trying to scale the walls. Then he turns to me and asks, “What’s the plan?”

“I need those bastards’ attention on a fixed spot.”

“To make an easier target?”

“Exactly.”

Minutes later, Roman’s men position themselves around the van, while the shooters on the balcony direct their fire at the vehicle. I can’t even find satisfaction in them acting as I predicted because that Capello psychopath could be up there mutilating Seraphine.

I slink around the side of the building, close one eye, and peer up to the third floor. The man standing on the side closest to me leans over the balcony and shoots.

Taking aim at an exposed patch of skin on his neck, I fire off a single round.

He drops his weapon and topples over the side. I don’t bother to follow the trajectory of his body because I’m already aiming at his companion. As the second man falls, the garden fills with a chorus of cheers.

Roman claps my back so hard that I feel the force of his blow in both of my knife wounds. “Nice shooting, man.”

It’s too early for congratulations. Seraphine is still in the house, and there’s no sign of Samson Capello.

“Let’s go,” I say from clenched teeth.

Roman follows me to the wall, where the men from around the van gather. I turn to one who’s about my size and demand his armor. My cousin does the same.

Moments later, we’re scaling the walls, using the branches of the climbing plant to pull ourselves up. Sweat gathers on my brow and the wound in my gut pounds to the beat of my heart. There’s no doubt that I’m breaking out in a fever. I don’t need to feel the warm trickle of blood down my front to know that I’ve busted my stitches.

I can’t stop now. Not until I save Seraphine. Not until I hold Samson Capello down while she carves out his heart.

We reach the balcony, and I’m the first one at its glass doors. Beyond them is an empty room, where two guards in black suits stand with their backs to me, their guns pointed at a reinforced metal door. I’m assuming Roman’s men are standing on the other side, trying to shoot their way in.

There’s no sign of Seraphine, but I spot a door to the left of the space.

Roman joins my side, and we both take aim at the men and fire through the glass. They drop to the ground, and Roman opens the door.

“After you.”

“Don’t shoot Samson,” I say. “He belongs to Seraphine.”

Roman scowls and is about to argue when there’s a scream from the door on the left. My stomach lurches.

It’s her.

I push past Roman and rush through the door into an infirmary. Seraphine is lying strapped to a table, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Two figures stand over her, one of them I recognize as Miko, and he’s holding a scalpel. The larger one whirls around, revealing the twisted features of Samson Capello.

Samson’s eyes widen. His gaze bounces from me to Roman before he bursts into a high-pitched giggle.

“Montesano? You’ve come to rescue the girl who⁠—”

I shoot Samson in the gut.

Roman shoots me a glare.

“He and his twisted family kept her as their toy since she was sixteen,” I snarl. “He doesn’t get to disrespect her honor.”

Roman’s eyes soften, and he nods, seeming to understand.

It wasn’t a complete lie. Seraphine might have killed Uncle Enzo, but she had no choice. Samson doesn’t get to recast what she did as a cold-blooded assassination.

As I move toward Seraphine, Miko edges around the table brandishing the scalpel. “Stay back,” he says. “I haven’t finished installing the chip.”

“Put down the scalpel,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You don’t get it. The only way Samson will call off that hit on you is if we give back Seraphine. Then we can get on with our lives and no one else will blow up the apartment.”

“Are you really that dense?” I growl. “Let. Her. Go.”

Miko flinches, his features hardening. “You’ve been obsessed with her from the beginning. Can’t you see she’s crazy? Now, you’ve shot Samson because you don’t want anyone to know⁠—”

Seraphine stabs him in the groin with a metal object, just as I shoot him between the eyes. Whatever Miko was about to reveal about Seraphine dies with his last breath.

Time stills as he falls to the floor. A kaleidoscope of memories assault my mind at once, starting with the moment a skinny and broken kid walked in on me while I was killing his stepfather.

A fist of emotion punches through my ribcage and seizes my heart, squeezing so tightly that I can’t breathe. Miko was supposed to be the one whose hands I kept clean. He was supposed to have a better life than the one he escaped when I took him from his addict mother.

And I killed him without hesitation.

My gaze drops to Seraphine, whose face looks even paler with her new dye job. Her figure appears even more frail when she’s wearing men’s clothes.

The fist around my heart releases, and I exhale. I would kill every motherfucker a hundred times if it meant keeping Seraphine safe. She is everything.

“Hey.” Roman’s voice cuts through the blood roaring between my ears. “Isn’t that the boy you adopted?”

“He tried to make a truce with Capello.” I rush forward to unbuckle Seraphine’s restraints.

That’s not the reason why I killed Miko. He was about to reveal to my cousin that Seraphine Uncle Enzo. Roman would shoot Seraphine without a moment’s hesitation, and I would have to shoot Roman. Even if she survived, Roman, Cesare, Benito, and every man loyal to the Montesano brothers wouldn’t stop hunting us until we were dead.

Roman hesitates behind me for several heartbeats too long, making the fine hairs on the back of my head stand on end. Before I can work out how the hell I’m going to deal with my cousin’s suspicions, he clears his throat.

“While I scout the rest of the house for survivors, make sure that Capello bastard dies,” Roman says as he jogs out of the room and down a flight of stairs.

I’m about to answer when I’m distracted by the press of cold steel on my neck.

Seraphine is holding the scalpel to my throat.