Chapter 4 - INK AND BLOOD
Gunfire shattered the antique lamps. Fabiano reacted with lethal speed, tackling Amber to the floor behind a heavy oak desk as bullets shredded the leather chair where she had just been sitting.
"Stay down!" Fabiano roared over the deafening noise. He drew a custom firearm from an ankle holster and returned fire. The air grew thick with the smell of cordite and pulverized wood. Amber pressed her hands over her ears, her heart threatening to crack her ribs.
She heard a heavy thud, then a choked gurgle. Fabiano had dropped two of the assassins, but the third was advancing, laying down a suppressing fire that chewed through the edge of the desk. Fabiano’s gun clicked empty.
The assassin stepped around the corner, aiming directly at Fabiano’s chest.
Instinct overrode fear. Amber grabbed a heavy, bronze astrolabe from a shattered display case on the floor and hurled it with all her strength. The heavy metal sphere struck the assassin squarely in the temple. He staggered, his shot going wide and shattering a window. In that split second, Fabiano lunged, disarming the man and snapping his neck with a brutal, sickening crunch.
Silence descended, heavy and ringing.
Fabiano stood panting, his white shirt torn and stained with blood—though not his own. He looked down at Amber, his chest heaving. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands frantically checking her for wounds. "Are you hit? Amber, look at me. Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay," she gasped, her hands shaking as she touched his face. "I'm okay."
He let out a shuddering breath, his forehead dropping against hers. For a moment, the fearsome syndicate boss was entirely vulnerable. "If I had lost you..." he whispered, the unspoken confession hanging thick in the air. He pulled her into a fierce, desperate kiss. It tasted of adrenaline, ash, and overwhelming relief. Amber kissed him back, anchoring her hands in his dark hair, giving into the electric pull that had been building between them since the moment she stopped his pen.
When they finally broke apart, Fabiano’s eyes were cold fire. "Marco just signed his own death warrant. But he controls half my men. If we move on him directly, it’s a civil war. We need to expose his treason in front of the Commission."
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"The Gala," Amber said, her mind racing. "The annual charity gala tomorrow night. The heads of all the five families will be there. Marco will be there, playing the loyal cousin."
"He will," Fabiano agreed. "And we are going to trap him."
