“It’s not like they can stop us, boss,” the driver interrupted cheerfully. “We added fifty-thousand dollars’ worth of armor plating and bulletproof glass to this bad boy. Unless they’ve got a bazooka set up down there, we can barrel right through.”
Yes, yes,
Sasha urged silently.
Listen to him, Butcher. Make a huge scene at the border. That’s just the diversion Jeff and Teal need to sneak across.
Dante pursed his lips,
then
instructed his bodyguard, “Tell the barbarians we will cooperate. That way they won’t be ready for us. Then do as Johnny says, barrel through. Let them try to stop us.”
“What if they shoot the tires?” Sasha asked.
The driver grinned at her in the rearview mirror. “These babies have special inserts.
Solid rubber.
We’ll make it across that border. Don’t you worry about
that.
”
“What a relief.” She cuddled against Dante again, trying to ignore the throbbing in her forehead. At least the pain in her forearm had subsided, replaced with an eerie numbness and stiffening that made the limb essentially useless, except for the key role it played in keeping the stiletto hidden.
It’s going well,
she assured herself miserably.
In less than ten minutes, Teal will be safe, and Dante will be dead or in custody.
And Sasha would be dead. She had no more illusions about that. Without the pistol, she couldn’t really make three powerful men do anything for long. But at least she could make them stop this vehicle before they killed her, and that was all Jeff needed from her. He’d have to do the rest himself.
With a sigh, she went over her revamped plan one last time, reminding herself that the most crucial element was timing. As much as she needed to get this over with once and for all, Jeff had been correct about waiting to make her move until the Hummer crossed the Kestonian border. If she tried to attack Dante now, she’d be dead within seconds, and then they’d turn around and go back to the fortress.
But the instant the Hummer cleared the border, the Kestonian soldiers would break off their fire. Jeff was right about that, too. They had no jurisdiction outside their country, and they wouldn’t risk an international incident and an underworld shoot-out on the night of Zelasko’s fancy gala.
So she’d wait for that precise moment to pull the stiletto. She’d press it to Dante’s throat and order the driver to stop. Surely he’d do so, if only to enable
himself
to pull his own pistol from his shoulder holster. At that point, if Jeff could get to her quickly, she might survive. But she suspected it would be otherwise. Dante would resist, and with her arm out of commission, she’d run out of time. But she’d use those last seconds to kill the Butcher. At least then she’d know she had avenged her mother before dying.
The driver and bodyguard would be in shock. They’d shoot Sasha, probably multiple times,
then
they’d get out of the Hummer and try to save Dante’s life. That would give Jeff the chance he needed. With Teal’s help, he’d overpower Dante’s men, or maybe he’d be lucky enough to get a clear shot at each of them from a distance. Then he’d drive Teal to safety.
He’d be so unhappy. He’d blame himself. And Teal would carry the weight of Sasha’s death with her for the rest of her life. Sasha’s heart ached for the poor girl—the way she imagined her own mother’s heart had ached. But like her mother, Sasha knew that the only thing that mattered now was to save the life that had been entrusted to her care.
And at least Dante would be dead. That also mattered.
She could almost hear Summit’s voice saying,
Don’t
do it, Camper. We’ll find another way.
But it wasn’t true. He needed the Hummer to get himself and Teal far from Kestonia. The instant Zelasko realized Teal was missing, he wouldn’t hesitate to send troops across that border in pursuit, jurisdiction
be
damned. Teal was too valuable a prize to let slip away. He had sent his soldiers out of Kestonia for her once, hadn’t he, recovering her during the first rescue attempt? Jeff and Teal needed to be far away before the dictator knew what was going on, and for that, they needed the Hummer.
“You’re trembling,” Dante whispered, stroking Sasha’s damp hair. “Don’t you realize how safe you are with me?”
“I know. I’m so grateful.”
“Are you?” Pressing his lips to her ear, he asked, “How grateful?”
“What?”
“You’re so beautiful. Just like your mother. But—” his hand moved to cover her left breast “—I could never touch her like this.”
“Oh, God!”
Sasha recoiled in absolute horror,
then
begged him instantly, “I’m sorry! Please forgive me? It’s my arm. It hurts so much.”
Dante’s face had hardened into expressionless stone, but she persisted shakily. “I’m so sorry. I’ve wondered myself, ever since this morning at your cottage, if you and I—well, what it might be like to be with a man like you. It would be my honor to…to make love with you in Provence. Especially after spending time with a crude man like Zelasko, I crave someone like you. But my arm…” She covered her mouth with her right hand as though stifling a sob.
His gaze warmed. “That’s fine, Sasha. I can see you’re in pain. I’ll wait for Provence.”
Bile rose in her throat, burning it, threatening to spill over, and while she knew she should go back to him—nestle against him again, her stiletto at the ready—she backed away until she was pressed against the door, then she curled into a ball.
She couldn’t help herself. The thought of his touch disgusted her so completely, she couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore. Even during the worst of it with Zelasko, she had never felt her stomach twist with such pure and utter revulsion.
And Dante could sense it. She saw that in his narrowing eyes, so she explained in a tremulous voice, “How can you even
look
at me? I’m such a hideous mess. You compare me to Mom, but I’m
nothing
like her. I’m nauseous, and injured, and exhausted.
Puffy eyes, no makeup, crying.
Just when I want to look my most beautiful.
For you.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“You said she was brave. Look at me. I’m shaking with fear! We’ll be at the border any minute, and Zelasko’s guards will start shooting at us—”
“Sasha!” Dante reached over to pat her hand. “You really are exhausted, aren’t you, poor child? There’s no danger here. What Johnny said is true. This vehicle cannot be stopped. And if those guards have any brains, they won’t try too hard. It’ll be over in no time.”
“Really?”
He smiled fondly. “Try to sleep. That’s what I intend to do. We’ll be driving for hours. Then we’ll get that arm looked at. And after that…” His tone grew husky again. “I assure you, you are the most beautiful woman in the world to me at this moment. As soon as we can get you some painkillers, I’ll find a way to prove that to you.”
“You’re so good to me.”
“You saved my life, didn’t you? I was a sitting duck there in Kestonia. Thanks to you, the authorities will be too late.
Again.”
I don’t need the authorities. I’m going to take you down personally,
she promised him as she huddled in her corner.
All that stood between Sasha and revenge was the challenge of wielding the stiletto with her injured arm. She didn’t have much strength at her command, but if Carmine had kept the implement perfectly sharpened—as she absolutely
knew
he had—it would glide into Dante’s neck as though he were made of butter.
Her muddled thoughts drifted to a spring afternoon just before her fifteenth birthday. She had come home from Arizona, and was helping seventeen-year-old Vittoria Martino perform emergency surgery on the neckline of an ugly prom dress she was supposed to wear that night.
Eighteen-year-old Carmine had burst into the room.
Cocky.
Handsome.
Anxious to show off a brand-new stiletto.
He had had knives before, but this was something special.
A gift from his uncle Vincenzo.
Taking Sasha aside, he had explained to her that if he kept the blade in top condition, it would puncture an enemy with barely any pressure. Then he had added huskily, “Now I can protect you from anyone, anytime.”
Seduced by his sexy swagger and declarations of love, she had tumbled onto the sofa with him, but their make-out session had been quickly interrupted by Tori, who threatened to tell Big Frankie if Carmine didn’t go away and leave them to their dressmaking.
Now as she remembered that innocent day, a tear slid down Sasha’s cheek.
If you’re crying for Carmine Martino, you really are a basket case,
she taunted herself.
Try to focus, Bracciali.
“Hey, boss!” Johnny announced. “There’s the border. And it looks like they’re ready for us. Or at least, they think they are.
The chumps.”
Sasha scooted back toward Dante, pretending to be scared, but really just wanting a better view. There in the distance was the Kestonian border, where four guards with machine guns had positioned themselves across the road in front of the control gate’s mechanical arm.
The soldiers clearly expected the Hummer to stop. But it did not. In fact, it increased its speed. The Kestonians dived out of the way, all the while shouting and spraying the Hummer with bullets—bullets that bounced harmlessly off the armored plating and bulletproof windows.
“Woo-hoo!”
Johnny yelled, like a cowboy at a rodeo, flipping off the guards with a series of colorful hand gestures.
Sasha had a hand gesture of her own in mind as she took a deep breath,
then
allowed the stiletto to slip down into her palm.
“S uck-ers!”
Johnny shouted as they cleared the border, then he rolled down the window of the Hummer and repeated the taunt at the top of his lungs, clearly hepped up on adrenaline. It seemed like a foolhardy move, but no gunfire erupted, and Sasha realized that the Kestonian guards had indeed chosen the prudent course and retreated behind their now-shattered gate.
Which meant it was time for Sasha’s own personal attack, and she was more than ready. No more visions of her mother’s riddled body, or Carmine’s leering expression or Vittoria Martino’s fragile smile. In Sasha’s world, only two people existed now—Teal and Jeff, sprinting across the border, relying on her to provide them with a vehicle.
And thanks to the blade in her hand, she would do just that.
Then the roadway before them lit up like a scorching desert at high noon, and the Hummer skidded wildly to a stop as a man’s voice over a bullhorn roared out instructions.
“Vincenzo Martino! You’re under arrest! Exit the vehicle immediately.”
Sasha stared in shocked fascination as a dozen armed men in black outfits scrambled into view. A row of vehicles that blocked the road provided them with ample cover.
“The goddamn feds,” Johnny muttered, twisting to look at Dante. “What now, boss?”
“Are you an idiot? Drive through them!” the Butcher told him between gritted teeth. “We’ve got a fucking armored car, don’t we?”
“Sorry, boss, but this time, well—” The driver pointed. “They actually
do
have a bazooka. See over there?”
“Yeah, boss,” the bodyguard echoed. “We’ll be blown to bits.”
Confused, Sasha used her palm to force the stiletto back up into her sleeve. It was too soon to know, but
either she and
Dante were about to be annihilated together, or she was going to get out of this alive.
The agent on the bullhorn had an American accent. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but was fairly certain Jeff was behind it. All she could hope was that he had gotten across the border in time to enjoy this scene from a safe hiding place with Teal.
“Exit the vehicle with your hands in the air,” the official voice was instructing confidently. “You’re under arrest. No sudden
movements,
and we’ll all get out of this alive. Use your heads.”
“Boss?”
Dante gave his driver an exhausted scowl. “Go ahead. It looks like it’s over.”
Johnny nodded, then opened his door slowly and got out of the Hummer with his hands above his shoulders. The man with the bullhorn instructed him to walk toward the lights, and a swarm of men descended on him, cuffing him and leading him behind the barricade.
The bodyguard didn’t follow suit, at least for the moment. Instead, he turned and gave Dante a tearful look. “Wanna go out blasting, boss?”
“No, it’s fine. Do exactly what they say,” Dante murmured. “Your loyalty will be repaid, I promise you that.”
The bodyguard nodded. Then he opened the front passenger door, exited the vehicle and walked over to the agents who immediately took him into custody.
Sasha gave Dante a mournful sigh. “After all this…”
“I know.” His voice was surprisingly calm. “My only regret is that you killed Carmine by accident. He should have died slowly and with great suffering.”
She nodded, struggling to control her expression. “I guess they’ll arrest me, too.
For being your accomplice.
And do you know what? I’ve never been prouder of anything in my life.”
“Let’s do it then.” He motioned toward the door on her side of the backseat. “Shall we?”
Thrilled beyond belief, Sasha opened the door and set her feet on the ground. Then she stood, raising one hand above her head, prepared to walk over to the agents.
Over to safety.
But Dante grabbed her from behind, shoving a pistol against her neck as he imprisoned her against his body. Then he shouted victoriously toward the barricade. “Do you want this girl’s blood on your hands?”
“Let her go, Martino,” the agent with the bullhorn responded, his voice still confident. But Sasha knew he was beginning to panic. His carefully executed arrest had just become a hostage situation, and if it wasn’t handled properly, Vincenzo the Butcher was going to get away.
She didn’t need to feign a frightened tone when she demanded of Dante, “What are you
doing?
I’ve been loyal to you! I tried to save you—”