Chapter 9 - THE RETURN OF THE DEVIL
The phone dropped from my hand, clattering onto the hardwood floor.
Panic, raw and suffocating, seized my lungs. Marcus had Mrs. Donnelly. Sweet, innocent Mrs. Donnelly, whose only crime was showing kindness to a broken girl in apartment 4B. He was going to kill her because of me.
I didn't think. The maternal, protective instinct overrode every ounce of self-preservation I had left. I sprinted out of the library, tearing down the grand hallway toward the front doors.
"Miss Roslyn!" one of the heavily armed guards called out as I blew past him, throwing open the massive oak doors. "You cannot go out there! The perimeter is breached!"
"He has my neighbor!" I screamed back, sprinting down the marble steps and across the expansive lawn. The rain had started again, a miserable, freezing drizzle that soaked through my sweater in seconds.
I reached the massive wrought-iron gates. On the other side, Marcus stood in the street, pressing the barrel of a glock against Mrs. Donnelly’s temple. The poor woman was sobbing silently, shaking in her floral raincoat.
The Valente guards at the gatehouse had their weapons drawn, laser sights painting Marcus’s chest with red dots. But they couldn't fire without risking Mrs. Donnelly’s life.
"Open the gate!" I yelled to the guards.
"We cannot do that, Miss. The Boss gave strict orders—"
"I don't care about his orders! Open the gate or he shoots her!"
Marcus smirked, leaning heavily against the car, favoring his broken ribs. "Listen to the lady, boys. Open it up. Come on out, Rosie. Let's go home."
"Open it," I commanded the guard, my voice cracking with desperation. "Please. I'll go with him. Just let her go."
The guard hesitated, his radio crackling frantically on his shoulder. With a heavy sigh, he pressed the button. The massive iron gates slowly swung inward.
I stepped out of the sanctuary.
"Good girl," Marcus sneered, shoving Mrs. Donnelly violently to the ground. She collapsed onto the wet pavement, weeping.
I ran to her, kneeling in the puddles to check on her, but before I could even touch her, Marcus grabbed me by the hair, hauling me roughly to my feet. A scream tore from my throat as he dragged me backward toward his car, pressing the cold barrel of the gun directly under my chin.
"Back off!" Marcus screamed at the Valente guards, who were advancing slowly. "I'll blow her head off! I swear to God!"
He opened the passenger door, shoving me inside with brutal force. My head cracked against the window, stunning me. He slammed the door, ran around to the driver's side, and peeled out, tires squealing against the wet asphalt.
I was trapped. Again.
The familiar, sickening scent of Marcus's cologne filled the car. He was driving erratically, weaving through traffic, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He looked like a cornered animal.
"You ruined my life," Marcus spat, slapping the back of his hand against my cheek. The sting brought tears to my eyes, but I didn't cry. I was too numb. "You think you can just replace me with some Italian mobster? I'm going to take you somewhere quiet, Rosie. We're going to have a long talk about loyalty."
We were speeding down a deserted industrial road in South Boston. I gripped the door handle, calculating the odds of surviving a tuck-and-roll at sixty miles an hour. It was better than wherever he was taking me.
Before I could unbuckle my seatbelt, the world exploded.
A massive, armored black SUV T-boned us out of nowhere, smashing into the driver’s side of Marcus’s sedan with the force of a freight train. The sound of crunching metal and shattering glass was deafening. Our car spun violently across the wet road, slamming into a concrete barrier before coming to a smoking halt.
The airbags deployed, punching the air out of my lungs. My ears were ringing. Blood trickled down my forehead from where I had hit the glass.
I looked over. Marcus was pinned between the crushed door and the steering wheel, unconscious and bleeding heavily.
Through the shattered window, I saw the armored SUV reverse, its grill crumpled but the vehicle entirely intact. The doors flew open.
Alessandro stepped out into the rain.
He didn't look like a businessman anymore. He looked like the Devil incarnate. He walked toward our wrecked car with slow, terrifying purpose, a massive, custom handgun gripped in his right hand. His eyes were completely black, stripped of all humanity, radiating a wrath so pure it made the air heavy.
He wrenched the crushed passenger door open with sheer brute force, tearing the metal off its hinges.
"Roslyn," he growled, unbuckling my seatbelt and pulling me gently into his arms.
"I'm okay," I sobbed, collapsing against his chest. "I'm okay. He had Mrs. Donnelly. I had to—"
"I know," Alessandro hushed me, pressing me tightly against him. He turned his head, signaling to the three armed capos who had stepped out of the SUV behind him.
He looked down at Marcus’s unconscious, bleeding body in the wreckage. The wrath in Alessandro's eyes flared into an inferno.
"Take her to the secondary safe house," Alessandro commanded one of his men, handing me over gently.
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"Alessandro, what are you going to do?" I panicked, gripping his sleeve.
He looked at me, his expression cold and absolute. "I am going to ensure that the concept of Marcus Chen is completely erased from this earth. Do not look back, piccola. I will be home for dinner."
