Turning away from his other soldiers who are tidying up the mess we’ve left behind, we split up, three upstairs and three down.
I aim for the first door while Alex and Nico overtake me to hit up the next two.
I push the handle down, but it doesn’t budge.
Assuming that it’s empty, I almost walk away, but something stops me.
I have no idea what it is, but the niggle of uncertainty in my gut means I ram my shoulder into the light wood, throwing all my weight into it.
The lock pretty much melts under the force and the door swings open, revealing a guy’s legs hanging off the end of the bed, quite clearly in the middle of something important.
A slight smirk curls at my lips and I step into the room as the guy sits up and barks, “Get the fuck—” but the second our eyes lock and he realises who’s just walked in, his words immediately cut off.
Smart guy.
But the joy at my gut feeling being right only lasts a split second, because I step farther into the room and my eyes land on the woman with that Italian cunt between her legs.
She freezes in shock as our eyes connect and something akin to lightning cracks between us.
“Daemon,” she breathes, suddenly jumping into action, scrambling up the bed and trying to cover herself up.
But it’s too late, I’ve already seen it.
I’ve already seen her with another fucking guy, a fucking Italian, about to…
“You’re going to fucking die for this.” My voice is cold, colder than even I recognise as the words fall from my lips and I lift my arm, aiming my gun right at his head.
“Daemon, no,” Calli cries, scrambling from the bed, but she’s too slow.
Before her feet even hit the floor, I squeeze the trigger, sending Antonio Santoro flying back into the wall.
“Nooo,” she screams, but I don’t give her a chance to look back and see where I hit him. I drop down in front of her and throw her body over my shoulder, marching her out of the room while she screams bloody murder behind me, her tiny fists slamming into my arse.
It’s only my dad who looks up as I pass through all the bloody and broken bodies that he and his guys are rounding up. With Calli upside down behind me, I don’t worry that he’ll recognise her, and when he doesn’t even spare the woman hanging over my shoulder a second glance, I keep moving, getting her the hell out of this shitshow.
She doesn’t stop screaming and fighting even when I come to a stop beside my car and place her back on her feet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she screams, her arms flying at me, hitting wherever she can make contact.
Tears cascade down her cheeks, coating them in black makeup as she stands there in just her bra and tiny skirt.
Fuck. She’s never looked better.
My cock aches as images from that night flicker through my mind like a fucking movie.
I was so close. So fucking close to having the one thing I’ve allowed myself to crave all these fucking years.
Calli Cirillo.
My obsession.
My addiction.
My ultimate fucking weakness.
“Stop,” I boom, my hand finding her throat as I force her back against the car.
Her screams stop as her chin drops in shock.