Echo, page 22
I reluctantly took my jacket off and hung it on the back of one of the chairs at the table.
Opening both of the green bags, he riffled through them and pulled out two smaller packages, also wrapped in olive green, and handed me one. “Eat.” Taking his jacket off, he hung it on a chair next to mine before grabbing the waters.
I took the small green-wrapped thing and looked at it. Whatever it was, I did not think I could stomach it. “I am not hungry.”
Watching me as he unscrewed the caps on both waters, he stepped right in front of me, set the bottles down on the table, then he took the wrapped bar from my hands. Opening it, keeping his gaze locked on mine, he pulled the packaging halfway down and handed it back. “Granola bar. Eat.”
I took the bar.
Still watching me, he opened his and bit off half in one bite. Chewing, he picked up the water and chased his bite. “You got a problem with eating? You’re thinner than you used to be.”
“I do not have a problem eating foods that I can recognize.”
“Oats, grains, sugar, fats, chocolate. It’s got protein and calories. You need both. It’s also the only food we have at present. Eat. I’ll make the dinner rations after I make a couple calls.”
I looked at the brown bar. “You are able to make a phone call from here?” We seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.
“Yes,” he answered simply before finishing his bar. “Eat. Drink.”
“What are dinner rations?” I did not know the term.
“Powdered shit in a bag that you add hot water to and choke down.”
I looked up at him. “That sounds horrible.”
“That’s the choice between survival and starving when you’re in the military and out in the field.” He nodded toward the huge windows. “Or in a cabin in a blizzard.”
Blizzard. I glanced out at the snow. “Have you ever lived here?”
“Only while I was building the place.”
I looked back up at him. “You built this cabin?”
“Yeah.” Reaching out, he broke off a bite of my bar and held it to my lips. “Eat, Principessa.”
I took the bite, and sugar exploded on my tongue followed by a slight plastic taste, then a sticky texture I did not care for. I must have made a face because he shook his head.
“It’s not gonna kill you. Just eat it.” He pulled his cell phone out and dialed. Holding the phone to his ear, he walked toward the windows. “Conlon, where we at?”
Forcing myself to swallow the bite, I took another and another, but halfway through the bar, I could already feel my stomach revolting at the processed, sugary food that I was not used to eating. Sipping the water, looking at the cabin and the snow, so much snow, I started to feel like I could not breathe.
“Let me know the second you have him…. Don’t care. If that’s where you have to do it, get it done. No…. I already told you I have a plan. Do not engage. No. I said I’ll handle it…. Goddamn it, I said I’ll take care of it…. Calling Alpha now.” Ending his call, Erico glanced over his shoulder. His gaze met mine, and he frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Suddenly, I wanted to go home.
Home, home.
Sicily. The villa in the country that I had not been back to. The past. A simpler time. I wanted off this mountain and away from a cabin where it felt like the walls were closing in.
“Sancia.”
“I want to go home,” I blurted.
Turning around, he studied me for a moment. Then he took a hammer to what was left of my disillusion. “What home would that be?”
“Sicily,” I dared to answer.
His jaw clenched, and the vein on the side of his neck stood out as his throat moved with a hard swallow. “You’re never going back to Sicily.” As if he did not just destroy my very last thread of hope, he made another call on his cell as he walked toward the short hallway. “Turning the water heater on,” he bit out abrasively. “You can take a shower in thirty.” Disappearing around a corner, he spoke into his phone. “Alpha, any progress?”
I did not think.
I did not pause.
I did not waste one single second.
Too much hurt, too much anger, too much unfairness for me to hold anymore was crushing the very last of the reason I had been clinging to, and I had to go.
I could not stay here.
I could not be in this wooden coffin.
I could not take another breath of his anger and breathe it through my lungs as if it were my job to purify it.
I would not be the cause of his anger or his martyrdom. It was killing me.
He was killing me.
He could not go up against the Cosa Nostra and survive. Not a second time.
I could not stay and watch this.
I could not see him die too.
My feet were already moving in too-big boots, my arms pushing through the sleeves of a damp, borrowed jacket, and my shaking hands were opening the door.
Then my face was being pelted with a thousand tiny needles of icy snow.
My legs were sinking knee-deep with every impossible step.
Bitter cold was robbing my labored breaths, but I did not care.
I was running.
In my mind, in my heart, in my soul, I was running, and I was setting him free.
I was setting myself free.
I was—
My step faltered, my body fell, and then I was slipping.
Tumbling, sliding, rolling, I could not see, I could not yell, I could not stop.
My arms flailed, my hands scraping passing branches and tree bark, snow hitting my face and covering my hair, it filled the inside of my jacket.
My back hit a trunk.
The blizzard ate my cry of pain.
And the breath left my lungs.
Erico.
Echo
“Alpha, any progress?”
“Unfortunately not. I was attempting to diffuse the situation through back channels, but my point of contact says it’s a no go. I did get more intel, though. Vincenzo doesn’t care about the familial connection, not in a sentimental sense. He smells blood in the water, and he’s out for retribution on that old debt connected to the widow’s father. And before you ask, it’s not solely about the money. He doesn’t want a third-party negotiation or payoff. He wants Mantovani money, and if he doesn’t get it, he’s going to use the excuse of the unpaid debt as justification for a hostile takeover.”
In other words, war. I fished to see if November said anything to him about the security footage. “What’s Vincenzo saying about the hit?”
“Nothing, which is unusual for him. When something this big happens in his world, Vincenzo’s usually the first person to take credit whether he was behind it or not, but he’s being tight-lipped. I know you have Victor on this. You need November too?”
Fucking Conlon. “What did Conlon tell you?”
“Nothing, but I know both November’s and Victor’s signatures when either of them takes a plane off the radar. And before you get pissed, I’m not tracking you, and Victor did everything right. I don’t know where you are, and neither will anyone else. But you should know that Vincenzo’s jet is fueled up on the apron at Teterboro, and his pilots are on standby.”
Fucking great. “Anything else?” A chill hit the back of my neck.
“No, but the clock’s ticking with Vincenzo, and my sources are telling me no one’s stepped up to Mantovani Don, which means this is going south fast. You got a plan in place?”
“Yeah.” Turning away from the windows in the bedroom, I walked back into the hall, and the temperature dropped. What the fuck? “Alpha, I gotta go.” I strode into the main living area and saw it.
“Problem?” Alpha asked.
The door.
Not locked. Not closed all the way.
I fucking panicked.
“Sancia!”
“Echo,” Alpha clipped. “What’s going on?”
“Later.” Hanging up, noticing her jacket was gone, I grabbed mine and was out the door in half a second. The back deck ran east to west and was open at both ends, but only the west end had tracks.
I went west, cleared the deck and got five yards before her tracks were just gone. Frantically scanning left to right, I couldn’t see two fucking feet in front of me. “Sancia!”
Nothing.
Cupping my hands to my mouth, I yelled again, this time in the direction where the tracks ended. “SANCIA.”
Still nothing.
Just dumping heavy, wet snow, and shit visibility.
“Goddamn it. Sancia!” Why the hell did she go out in this? “Where the fuck are you?”
No response.
Pulling out my cell and bringing up the security system, I checked the outside camera footage, but all I saw was her leaving the porch. Switching to the satellite I’d paid a small fortune to get access to years ago, I brought it up and hoped like hell I could see something, but the imagery was hours old.
Shoving my cell in my pocket, I trudged another few yards, and that’s when I saw it.
The top of her boot sticking out from a drift over the side of one of the ravines.
“Motherfucker.”
I didn’t think.
I didn’t stop to grab gear.
I fucking jumped.
Going over the edge of the ravine, landing a few feet from pink suede sticking out, I grabbed for it and came away with only the damn boot. No Sancia.
Crazed, I started digging.
I hit rock and kept fucking digging.
“Come on, come on.” My hands numb, my hair wet, I knew I was compromising myself, but I didn’t fucking care. I knew from the Teams how fast hypothermia could set in, and she’d been out here too goddamn long.
I was pivoting to dig in another spot when I heard it.
A groan.
It was faint, but it was her voice.
“Sancia!”
Scanning in the general direction I’d heard her, I waited, but I didn’t hear her again. “Come on, bella, give me something.” I looked over the far edge of the ravine that was a sheer drop down to the lake but thankfully didn’t see any sign of her there.
That left two options.
Further down from my position or back up on the ledge.
Out of time, I made the choice.
Down.
Bracing on trees, checking drifts, I missed her at first because she was almost completely covered.
On her side, wrapped backward against a giant pine, facedown, a wet chunk of her dark hair lay on top of the snow.
She was barely three feet from the drop-off.
“Sancia, if you can hear me, do not fucking move!”
Half stepping, half sliding down, holding on to a branch above me, I reached for the front of her jacket and got a hold on her. Not seeing any blood, hoping like fuck nothing was broken, I pulled.
Shivering violently, she groaned.
“I got you. I got you, bella.” Slow, steady, I brought her up until I could get an arm around her and repositioned my hold.
Then, tree by tree, keeping my footing, holding on to the branches one-handed, I dragged her up the ravine and lifted her over the ledge before climbing up after her.
The second I cleared the top, I picked her up and double-timed it back to the cabin.
Shoving the door open with my foot before kicking it shut, I laid her on the dining table and ran down the hall to the linen closet for blankets. Rushing back, I dumped them on a chair.
Then I wiped the snow from her face and checked every inch of her body.
Shaking, teeth chattering, lips tinged blue, she finally fucking opened her eyes and looked at me.
Relief flooded in. “Bella.” Fuck. Fuck. “I have to get you out of these wet clothes.” Fast.
Starting with her jacket, being careful but quick, I stripped her down to her bra and underwear that were still dry and wrapped her in the blankets.
Fucking shivering, she turned onto her side.
“Wait right there a minute,” I ordered.
Hanging her clothes on the backs of the chairs before shedding my own wet shit and tossing my jacket, shirt, and pants over the kitchen stools to dry, I rummaged through the MREs until I found a tea bag. Dumping a bottle of water into a mug and throwing it into the microwave, I went back to her.
“Come on.” Picking her up, I carried her into the bedroom and pulled the dust sheet off the bed before yanking the comforter back and laying her down. “Be right back.”
Grabbing the tea from the microwave and my cell from my jacket, I locked the door, hit the lights then strode back to the bedroom.
Curled on her side again, her haunted, dark eyes standing out against her pale face, she was still shivering, but her teeth had stopped chattering. Watching me as I set the tea down and climbed in next to her, she didn’t protest as I pulled her into a sitting position.
Reaching for the mug, I tested a sip to make sure it wasn’t too hot, then I held it to her lips and tipped it for her. “Drink.”
Staring at me, she drank.
“Good.” I gave her a short reprieve before holding the mug back up. “Little more.”
She drank again, then turned her head away.
Setting the mug on the nightstand, I pulled her close and lowered us to the pillows. “Your back good in this position?” I saw the bruise forming right above her hip when I’d stripped her.
She nodded.
I pushed a strand of her hair from her face and tried not to think about how fucking easy it would be to sink inside her. Or the fact that this was the first time I’d held her. Because the second I went there, I immediately went to that place, wondering if Ademaro had ever held her. And that, for some fucked-up reason, made me even more pissed than the thought of him screwing her.
Compartmentalizing every shit thing in my head, I had to force myself to focus up on the present and not the past, or the fact that I’d almost just lost her to hypothermia and that goddamn cliff.
“Can you give me your voice, bella?” She still hadn’t spoken.
“S-s-sorry.”
I looked down at her. “For?”
“R-running.”
If I thought it’d work, I’d threaten her to never fucking do it again, or anything else that’d give me a goddamn heart attack, but since day one, this woman had a mind of her own. “You want to tell me why you went out in the middle of a damn blizzard?”
“The w-walls are l-like a c-c-coffin.”
Speechless, I fucking stared at her.
“A-and you s-said I c-could not g-go back.”
“Not to Sicily.” Not if she wanted to live. “You know that.” We both had a price on our head, but even if we didn’t, neither of us could go back.
“I-I do.” She nodded. “B-but I w-was upset. Sh-shower?”
“Not until you stop shivering.”
“Wh-why?”
“Hypothermia. We’re warming you up this way first.” I couldn’t let it go. “You think the cabin is like a coffin?”
She looked reticently at me. “All w-wood.”
I didn’t have shit to say to that, but as I looked up at the ceiling, then glanced at the walls, I knew I’d never see this place again as anything other than a damn coffin.
She didn’t say anything more, and neither did I.
I just held her.
Her shivering eased, and I thought she’d fall asleep, but she reached out from her blankets and touched my chest. “So many tattoos,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“Better addiction than killing.” Reaching for the tea, I handed her the mug. “Drink.”
Taking it with both hands, she looked up at me. “Do you have that addiction?”
“No.” Addiction meant habit. Killing was my default setting. I tipped my chin at the mug. “Hydrate.”
She drank half the tea before handing the mug back and focusing on my chest. “Then why do you have them?”
I set the mug on the nightstand. “Because Erico Mantovani wasn’t known for tattoos.”
She frowned.
I elaborated. “The ink is the first thing anyone sees about me.” Usually the only thing.
She traced a skull on my pec. “Do they mean anything in particular?”
“No.” Yes. But only one. One she hadn’t noticed yet.
She pulled her hand back. “May I shower now?”
Fuck.
Having her in my bed, wrapped in blankets was one thing. Her, wet and almost naked, in my shower was a whole other animal. Exhaling, I threw the comforter off. “Yeah.” Getting out of bed before reaching back and sliding my arms under her, sans blankets, I picked her up.
She let out a small gasp when her skin hit mine.
I stilled. “Did I hurt your back?”
“No. But I can walk.” She crossed her arms over her lace bra, and I saw them.
Motherfucking bruises. On her arms, her legs.
My jaw clenched, I clipped out a reply as I carried her into the bathroom. “So can I.” Kicking the door shut behind us, holding her too goddamn tight, I turned on the water and tried to rein it in.
She glanced nervously at the door. “I can do this myself.”
“Not a chance in hell.” I walked us into the shower.
Sancia
With every one of his defined muscles on display, wearing only a fitted pair of black boxers, making every Italian sculpture I had ever seen pale by comparison, a masterpiece of a man walked us into the shower.
With our underwear on.
Except he did not simply walk us into the spray of water.
Carefully holding me, he angled his huge body and turned so that the warm spray first landed on my still-cold feet.
His intense gaze trained on my legs, he held me like that for a long moment as if he knew where I needed the warmth the most.
Then, slowly, watching what he was doing, he gradually moved us further under the spray until my bent legs were entirely under the water. Holding me there another long moment, he briefly met my gaze, then focused back on my body and stepped even further under the warm water until the shower was raining down on my crossed arms.
Staring at my body, cradling me in his arms, his chest rose with a quick inhale. Then he said the last thing I was expecting.
