Indebted to the Mafia King
Wedding Night

Dante

Jace is glaring at me sullenly from the other side of the room they're keeping me in when the first gunshots ring out. "What the fuck?" he says.

I grin. El's here. Hopefully with the cavalry in tow. I scrape the stone in my ring over the plastic faster and faster. I'm almost through, and now, I have nothing to lose in Jace seeing me. "Wait, what the fuck are you doing?" He leaps to his feet.

Out of time. Better hope I sawed enough. I tense my arms and yank.

One of the cuffs snaps just as Jace throws himself at me, his baton raised for another strike. Idiot. I use the momentum of the cuffs breaking to swing my right fist forward, directly into his cheek. The blow knocks him off balance just enough that I can drive my elbow into the meat of his bicep-not impressive-looking, but it makes him whimper-and that exposes his right side. Where the fucking moron still has his service weapon holstered. I snatch it out and fire two shots point- blank into his chest.

Before he even hits the floor, I'm bending over him as much as I can with my ankles still bound to this fucking chair and fumbling through his pockets. Ah! On his waistband, he has exactly what I need: a pocket knife. With what looks like a mother-of-pearl handle, but at least he's a dead douchebag. I slit the plastic holding my legs in place and jump to my feet. Somebody will be coming for me soon, and I'm praying it's Fyodor. I tuck myself against the wall, right where the door will hide me while it opens, and wait.

One heartbeat passes. Two. I check Jace's gun over quickly. Semi-auto, two bullets used. He probably has more magazines, if I need to fight my way out. Footsteps pound toward me. I brace.

The door opens, and I see a flash of dove gray fabric in the crack. Perfect.

I slam the door back, and whoever was opening it grunts as it hopefully gives them a hell of a concussion. Then, I jump forward and yank the door open again. Element of surprise.

Gunsmoke makes the hallway hazy, but I can see Fyodor and two guards clearly. My body moves automatically. Arms up, first goon sighted, bullet between the eyes. He topples. Again, and the second guard falls like clockwork. "Italian bastard!" Fyodor bellows.

I should've known Russians wouldn't have the polish for an out-and-out gunfight. The leader of the organization that's been torturing me for months throws himself at me like a fucking linebacker, and we hit the ground in a pile. I bite back a scream as he lands on my probably broken ribs. Jace's gun scatters away. Fuck!

Fyodor doesn't give me enough space to reach for it. He keeps me pressed to the floor, his body barely an inch from mine, and begins pummeling me. My fists slam into his ribs, but the baton blow to my shoulder weakens the hit. Through the haze of blood and pain, I note the rings tattooed on his knuckles. They probably mean a bunch of different shit, but there's only one thing about them I need to know. He did a stint in a Russian prison, and probably a long one. Which means he knows how to scrap with the best of them.

I can fight dirty if he wants me to.

The next time one of his hits brings him close to my face, I lunge up, capture a mouthful of ear, and bite down. Blood spurts, hot and coppery, into my mouth. Fyodor howls. I spit the chunk of his flesh away and use the brief gap that earned me to hook my leg around his, brace an elbow on the floor, and roll us over. Just a little closer to Jace's gun. Once Fyodor's back hits the floor, I start to stand and race for the deadly weapon.

He whips out a straight knife from a holster I didn't see on his belt and stabs it through the hand I'm using to push myself up, trapping me against a small crack in the cement floor that catches the blade. "Fuck!"

He laughs, the side of his head covered in blood. "Looking for this?"

Fyodor pulls another gun from his belt.

I yank against the knife pinning me to the floor, but that only makes pain spread like fire up my arm. Leisurely, he cocks the gun. Holy shit. I've lost.

El, if you can hear me, I love you, I think out into the universe. I always loved you. Take Baby and live a beautiful life for me.

The last thing I expect is for Fyodor to slide out from underneath me and saunter back to the door. My heart leaps into my throat. I fucking missed something. I grab the knife with my other hand and pull as hard as I can. The blade slips free a second after a gunshot rings out.

My mind goes white. I scramble for Jace's gun, whip around, and riddle Fyodor's body with bullets until the pistol clicks. Empty. I throw the husk of the weapon down and scramble out into the hall, over the dead Russian. There, flat on her back in the hazy hallway, lays El.

"No, no, no," someone moans.

I race to her side. I can barely see. There's blood everywhere. I don't know what's hers or mine or any of the dead Russians in the hallway. I stroke her cheek, and she doesn't respond.

Not her. Anyone but her. If they've killed her, and Fyodor is already dead, I won't be able to stop until I've brought the whole fucking FBI down. My eyes slide shut, and I gather her to my chest. She's still warm and pliant. Footsteps pound toward me. Let them kill me now. Who gives a fuck?

"Dante," Tony says.

I open my eyes and look up at him. He's bloody but walking.

"They got her," I whisper.

"Fuck." Tony drops to his knees next to me, knocks my arms away, and rips open El's jacket, presumably to start doing the first aid I hadn't even thought of yet.

The most beautiful thing I've ever seen stares back at me. A navy-blue bulletproof vest with a bronze shell casing lodged visibly in its surface.

El coughs, and her beautiful blue eyes flicker open. "Dante?"

A wild smile splits my face. "Thank God."

I crush her back to my chest, despite how much it hurts me, and she holds me back.

"Not how I...pictured it," she says.

"What?" I ask.

She laughs weakly. "Our wedding night."

Hot tears slip down my cheeks. I press kisses to her hair and promise that I love her. But over the top of her head, I meet Tony's eyes. He looks exhausted like he didn't a minute ago, and I think he already knows what I'm going to say. Somehow, that makes it harder.

"I'm fucking done," I say. "I can't do this anymore."

Tony closes his eyes.