Chapter 8: The Interrogation

The explosion didn't just blow the doors off. It felt like it blew the world apart.

My ears rang with a high-pitched, deafening whine. The shockwave threw me hard against Enzo’s chest, knocking the little breath I had left right out of my lungs. Dust, smoke, and concrete rained down on us.

For a terrifying second, I thought the ceiling had caved in. But then, fresh, freezing air rushed down the stairwell, chasing away the suffocating gas.

I gasped, coughing violently, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed broken glass. Enzo’s arms were still locked around me, his body a heavy, solid shield over mine.

“Enzo,” I croaked, my fingers digging into his blood-soaked shirt. “Enzo, breathe.”

He didn't respond. His head was heavy against my shoulder, his breathing shallow and rattling. Panic, sharp and icy, pierced through the fog of my exhaustion.

“Godfather!”

Heavy boots pounded down the stairs. Marcus emerged through the smoke, his face covered by a tactical mask, his eyes wide with a rare flash of fear as he took in the blood and the bodies.

“Get him up! Now!” Marcus barked.

Two massive guards rushed forward, hauling Enzo to his feet. He groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, his head lolling forward. The moment his skin left mine, his entire body seized. His spine arched, his teeth clenching so hard I thought they would shatter.

“Don’t let go of him!” I screamed, scrambling up. I grabbed Enzo’s hand, lacing our fingers together and squeezing with every ounce of strength I had.

The seizure stopped instantly. He slumped against the guards, unconscious, but his grip on my hand was a vise. Even in the dark, even on the brink of death, he wouldn't let me go.

I followed them up the stairs, my legs trembling so badly I nearly fell twice.

The mansion was a graveyard. Smoke curled from the walls, and the pristine marble floor was smeared with blood. My stomach churned violently, but I forced myself to look away.

They laid Enzo down on a velvet chaise lounge in the grand foyer. The private doctor was already there, tearing open Enzo’s shirt. I knelt on the floor beside him, my hand still wrapped around his, refusing to let the withdrawal kill him faster than the bullet.

“Where is Victoria?” I demanded, my voice hoarse.

Marcus stood over me, his jaw tight. “Gone. She and Dante slipped out through the tunnels while we were breaching the bunker.”

“And the survivors?”

Marcus’s eyes darkened. He turned and nodded to one of the guards, who dragged a bloody, trembling man in a black tactical vest into the center of the foyer.

Dante’s lieutenant.

I pushed myself off the floor. I didn't let go of Enzo’s hand, but I stepped close enough to the man that I could smell the metallic tang of his blood.

“Where is the ledger?” I asked. My voice didn't shake. I didn't recognize the cold, ruthless tone that came out of my mouth, but it felt right.

The man spat at my feet. “Go to hell, Vance whore.”

Before I could react, Marcus stepped forward and drove a heavy combat boot straight into the man’s kneecap. The crack of bone was sickening. The man screamed, collapsing onto his side.

“The next one goes through his skull,” Marcus said coldly.

“I don’t know where the ledger is!” the man sobbed, his bravado evaporating. “I swear! But Victoria... Victoria’s going after your father! She’s going to kill Richard Vance and pin it on you!”

My blood ran cold.

“What?” I breathed.

“She’s going to frame you for his murder,” the man gasped, clutching his shattered knee. “She’s going to tell the families that you killed your own father to steal the blood debt, and she’s going to use it to declare war on the Vitales.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, a sickening realization washing over me. My father was a monster. He had sold me, used me, and treated me like dirt. But if Victoria killed him and framed me, I would be hunted by every Mafia family in the city.

And Enzo would be forced to go to war to protect me.

“Sarah.”

Enzo’s voice was a weak, raspy whisper.

I spun around, dropping back to my knees beside him. The doctor was stitching his side, but Enzo’s dark eyes were open, fixed on my face. His gaze was hazy with pain, but the possessive fire in them was undiminished.

“I’m here,” I whispered, squeezing his hand.

“I heard him,” Enzo rasped. He tried to sit up, but the doctor pushed him back down. Enzo ignored him, his grip on my hand tightening until it was almost painful. “We need to get to your father first.”

“Enzo, you just had a bullet dug out of your ribs,” I argued, tears burning in my eyes. “You can’t even sit up.”

“I can,” he gritted out, forcing himself to a sitting position. His face went ashen, a violent tremor shaking his shoulders, but he didn't fall. He pulled my hand up to his lips, pressing a fierce, almost desperate kiss to my knuckles. “If Victoria gets to Richard first, she takes everything. She takes you.”

The sheer, terrifying weight of his words settled over me.

“Cars. Now,” Enzo ordered Marcus, his voice regaining that authoritative, Godfather edge.

Marcus nodded and began barking orders.

I pulled my hand from Enzo’s grasp, the sudden loss of contact making him flinch. But I didn't go far. I slid my arm around his waist, hauling him to his feet. He leaned on me heavily, his arm draping over my shoulders, his hand finding the bare skin of my neck. The relief in his eyes was instant.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We limped out of the ruined mansion and into the harsh morning light. The black SUVs were lined up, engines roaring, armed men standing guard.

I helped Enzo toward the lead car, but before I could open the door, a sharp crack echoed through the air.

The passenger window shattered.

“Sniper!” Marcus roared.

Enzo didn't hesitate. He threw his entire body weight against me, tackling me to the gravel just as another bullet tore through the space where I had been standing.

I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me. Enzo was on top of me, his face inches from mine, his eyes wild.

“Marcus!” Enzo screamed, his voice tearing with strain. “Get her out of here! Now!”

Marcus grabbed my arm, hauling me up.

“No!” I screamed, thrashing against him. “Enzo!”

But Enzo was already pushing himself up, grabbing a rifle from one of the guards. He didn't look at me. He just aimed into the tree line.

Marcus shoved me into the backseat of the armored SUV, slamming the door shut. I pounded my fists against the bulletproof glass, watching in absolute horror as Enzo stood exposed in the open driveway, firing back at the sniper.

The engine roared, and the SUV peeled away.

I pressed my face against the glass, tears streaming down my cheeks. The last thing I saw before the car turned the corner was Enzo collapsing to his knees.

And then, the sharp, cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of my head.

“Don’t scream,” Dante’s voice whispered from the front seat. “Or I’ll paint this pretty glass with your brains.”