I read the Italian words.Loyalty makes you family.
Oh shit!
They’re not just with the Italian mafia, but the bratva as well.
I dart forward, and as I grab hold of Abbie’s hand to pull her away from our enemy, my eyes land on another man that’s walking toward us from the direction of the castle.
Instantly my legs go numb with shock, and my mouth drops open.
My prince.
The sight of him has my heartbeat shooting into a crazy-fast thump, and my mouth grows dry. A kaleidoscope of butterflies erupts in my stomach, and I even feel a little dizzy.
I never thought I’d see him again.
Yet, there he is. Walking toward us.
He glances in our direction, and when his eyes land on me, I feel the same punch from the intensity and beauty of his light blue eyes.
Sweet, sweet Jesus. Thank you.
My mouth curves up in a happy smile, and I swear my heart is hammering against my ribs.
Flashes of the night the club was bombed rush through me.
I remember how he did his best to protect me. How he calmed me down. The secrets we shared. The kiss he gave me.
“Mio principe,” I whisper in total awe of finally finding him.
His features turn to stone, and there’s no happy surprise on his face at the sight of me.
Doesn’t he remember me?
I watch as his eyes fill with hatred, and slowly my smile fades.
He stops next to the other two men, and it’s only then I realize they’re his friends from the nightclub.
They all have similar expressions on their faces – as if they’re looking at the enemy and plan on killing us. Then I see the matching tattoos on the back of their hands, and now knowing it means they’re all bratva, my stomach sinks.
No. My prince belongs to the bratva?
My mind refuses to accept the reality bearing down on me like a ten-ton hammer.
Emotionless blue eyes sweep over my body, from head to toe, then disgust forms hard lines on his face.
“I see you survived. Such a fucking shame,” he says, his tone harsh, like jagged shards of glass cutting through my heart. “Here I was hoping you died.”
No.
My lips part, and in total shock, no words escape.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Next time I get the chance, I won’t make the same mistake. I will kill you, D’Angelo.”
Abbie grabs my arm and forcefully pulls me away. My eyes stay glued to him as long as possible.
He’s bratva?
No, not my prince.