“No, not good enough. Into the water.”
“Take the gun off her.”
“I don’t think so.” He cocks the gun instead.
Dante comes into view in my periphery. Marcus’s eyes shift to him.
“Both of you. Pistols in the water.”
“Mother fucking—”
“Dante!” I order.
“I won’t let him—”
“Drop it.” I pick up my gun and throw it overboard. It barely makes a sound.
“Cris—”
I glance at him. “He has Scarlett.”
Dante’s gaze shifts from me to Marcus and back. He drops the gun into the water.
“Good boys.”
I take a step toward him. I wasn’t sure what I’d feel when I saw him again. Wasn’t sure if all the rage over the years would burn me up, take over, turn me into a beast that’s just caught his prey.
It doesn’t though. And I don’t know if it’s Scarlett at gunpoint that has muted that beast. That’s at least tempered it for now.
I take another step and hear someone from the other boat call out to Marcus. Tell him they need to move.
“You’re going to miss your ride,” I tell him as the boat teeters beneath us and the larger one waiting on him moves slightly farther out. “Let her go. You’re not taking her with you.”
“I’ve had my fill of her already,” he says, expression cocky, his words making my hands fist.
I force myself to breathe and take another step. He’s lying. It’s what he does.
He backs up a step to match mine but he’s out of room.
“Marcus. Let’s go!” a man yells from the other boat.
Marcus turns around, drags Scarlett a step.
I charge him. I’m almost to him, only an arm’s reach away. I know I can grab him. I know it.
But he does something I don’t expect.
He raises an arm to shoot his pistol into the air. Scarlett screams, and a moment later, he shoves her hard and she goes toppling over the side of the boat.
In that split second, as her body tumbles overboard, I’m frozen in place.
I can have him. For years I’ve been living with one purpose. One goal. To kill Marcus Rinaldi.
No. Two goals.
To find out what he said to my mother and then to kill him.
But he’s grinning like the fucking Joker, running to the other boat. Scarlett bobs on the water’s surface just once. She can’t save herself, not bound as she is, and the water swallows her scream as it swallows her body.
6
Scarlett
It’s freezing. My god. How can it be so cold?
I’m kicking but my arms are bound and I’m sinking. Just sinking. It’s so dark below me. Inky black. I’m a strong swimmer and I’ve never been afraid of water. But tonight, I’m terrified. The open sea, the darkness of it, overwhelm me as the little bit of the light from the boats above fades too fast.
I have a few seconds, I think, before my lungs force me to breathe. Force me to take in air when all they’ll get is water. Icy cold sea water.
Then I feel him. One powerful arm banding around my ribs and pulling me up with him. He’s a strong swimmer too. Stronger than me. He’s fully clothed and he’s hauling me up with him. How did he even find me down here?
As soon as we break the surface, I open my mouth only to suck in air and salt water. I choke on it, coughing, my nose and throat on fire.
“It’s all right. I’ve got you,” Cristiano says.
I’m not sure what’s colder, the water or the air? I still can’t move my arms but I’m thrashing against him, kicking wildly, desperately.
But he holds tight, keeping me above the surface. “You’re safe.”
Another set of hands close around my arms and I’m hauled up into the boat. A different one than the fishing boat that’s bobbing, now deserted, not too far away.
I’m on my belly throwing up water. How much did I swallow in those moments I was under? It was moments, right?
Cristiano is beside me, hand on my back.
After what I hope is the last of the retching, I lay my cheek on the floor of the boat. This one doesn’t stink like the other one.
I feel something cold at my back then, at my wrists. I try to pull away, but Cristiano shushes me and a moment later, my arms are free. I rub them, right hand around my left wrist first, then the other way, the skin raw.
Cristiano’s hands touch my shoulders and then he’s wrapping something warm around me. A blanket.
I look back at him as I hold onto the blanket. He’s soaked, his eyes locked on me, watching me so closely. Dante comes into view behind him. He’s soaked, too, and staring at me. Did he go in after me, too?
“Cristiano,” a man says, drawing my attention.
Cristiano drags his gaze to the man.
I follow it to his uncle who looks a little worse for wear.