The Mafia's Bride
She didn't even realize she was crying until her tears soaked the sleeve of his shirt.
"Shh, it's okay. I've got you," he whispered, though his voice was nearly drowned out by the deafening noise.
She was too rattled by the chaos for the words to fully register. Her ears rang, her thoughts scattered like broken glass.
Giovanni crawled away from her, low and fast, heading toward a corner table. Without hesitation, he reached underneath and pulled something out—a sleek, matte-black handgun. The way his fingers curled around it, steady and practiced, sent a whole new kind of shiver down her spine.