Burned Dreams - Page 64

I bite the inside of my cheek and make myself meet his eyes. Every touch we share becomes a knife in my chest, prolonging this agony. I can’t do this anymore. It’s killing me on the inside.

I gather myself and plead, “Can I ask you to do something for me?”

He tilts his head to the side and strokes my cheek with his hand. “Anything. You know that.”

Yes. Anything, except to choose me.

“I need you to leave now, Alessandro.”

His fingers still on my face.

“I’ll get dressed and go back to the party,” I say, willing my voice not to tremble. “I’ll ask someone to drive me home in the next hour. Will that be enough time for you to get your things from the mansion?”

He drops his head, leaning his forehead to mine. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I choke out.

Alessandro doesn’t move, just resumes stroking my cheek with his thumb, silently staring at me. That hush is shuttered by laughter outside the room, probably a few guests heading to a restroom. There is a possibility that they may walk in here, but I can’t make myself care. I lift my hand and wrap my fingers around Alessandro’s wrist, pulling his hand off my neck.

“I love you, Alessandro,” I whisper. “Please, take care.”

He shuts his eyes for a second, then takes a step back. His hand falls away from my face. I watch him as he pulls up his zipper, then turns and heads out of the room. At the door, he comes to a halt, and my heart leaps as slight hope ignites within me.

“I’m sorry, Ravenna,” he says, squashing that ember to ash.

He walks out, not bothering to look back.

I stare at the sunroom through the windshield of my SUV, searching the small crowd of milling people for the green dress. I’ve started my car three times already, only to turn off the ignition moments later.

She told me she loves me. It almost killed me to leave her there after hearing those words. It doesn’t have to be like this. Felix can easily find a hitman who could handle Pisano, and no one would be able to tie his death to me. I can call him right now, then return to the party and take Ravenna away with me.

But the beast gnawing on my soul these past eight years sinks its teeth deeper in my flesh, demanding for me to carry out Rocco’s death sentence myself. It yearns for the blood I promised it so long ago, and it won’t tolerate a substitution.

I’ve accepted my fate, but I can’t make myself leave. Not yet. I need to see that Ravenna arrives home safely, and only then will I let the beast get its due.

A roar of an approaching vehicle reaches me, becoming louder as it nears. It’s not a car, the exhaust noise is harsh and too high-pitched. I look toward the other end of the driveway, where a big black bike comes to a stop.

Taking my gun out of the shoulder holster, I exit the car and hurry across the driveway while snow crunches under the soles of my feet.

“What are you doing here?” I bark as I stop in front of the biker.

Drago Popov pushes up the visor on his helmet and fixes me with his gaze. “Settling the accounts.”

“We had a deal.” I lift my gun and point it at his face. “Leave. Now.”

“Our deal, Zanetti, only applies to Rocco Pisano. Not to the others who were involved in killing my men. And my intel says that three of them are inside at the moment.”

Several more bikes approach at high speed from the rear. I turn around, my eyes snapping toward the sunroom where the guests are still having drinks. On the road beyond the iron fence surrounding the house, two bikes come to a halt. Foreboding rises inside me, then transforms into a heart-stopping panic. I’m already running across the driveway when the bikers pull out their guns and start shooting through the glass walls.

People scream, their wails mix with the sound of gunfire. In my mind, however, it all turns into a single shrilling buzz. It drills directly into my brain, to the point that it feels like my head will explode.

By the time I reach the shattered walls of the sunroom, the shooting has ceased and is replaced with the rumbling of the bikes speeding away. The air is filled with screams and yelling.

Pieces of glass are everywhere; tables and chairs lie overturned throughout the space. The bodies of two men are on the ground, twin blood pools surrounding them both. I recognize these guys right away as guns for hire I saw with Rocco on one occasion. Another goon is sprawled on the buffet table.

I frantically scan the guests huddled on the floor behind the overturned tables. There are at least thirty women here, but I can’t seeher!

White dress. Pink. Black. Black again. Yellow. But no green. Where is she? I start running around, stepping over people’s hands, feet, legs. I don’t give a fuck. A man approaches me, pulling on my arm. I grab him by the front of his jacket, launch him onto one of the upright seats, and continue my maniacal search. Red. Black. Gold. I stop in the middle of the room trying to calm down. And failing.