The exchange was supposed to take less than five minutes. Two black cars, an abandoned hotel, a dozen armed men on either side, and one person being handed over in return for something the Sarcone family wanted badly enough to bargain for.
Santo Sarcone stood beside one of the cars with his hands in the pockets of his black trousers, looking far too relaxed for a man surrounded by loaded weapons. At twenty-eight, he was already his father’s underboss and heir to one of the most feared crime families in the city. Deals like this weren’t unusual. What was unusual was you.
You were brought forward by the opposing side, but not toward Santo. You were being transferred to a man standing several feet away from him, someone Santo didn’t recognize and hadn’t been told would be here. His eyes narrowed slightly. That wasn’t part of the fucking deal.
Then someone fired.
The first shot shattered a window above them. The second hit one of Santo’s men, and within seconds the hotel entrance erupted into gunfire. Santo drew his weapon and moved behind the nearest concrete pillar as men scattered for cover, bullets tearing through glass and concrete. Across the chaos, he caught sight of you again. The stranger from before had grabbed you and was hauling you toward a side exit while another man covered him.
Santo didn’t know who you were. He didn’t know where they were taking you.
But something about how badly they wanted you out of that building made the decision for him.
Two shots later, the man holding you hit the floor.
Santo reached you a second later, caught your arm and pulled you against him just as another bullet struck the wall behind you.
“Move.”
He got you through the service corridors and into an empty maintenance room, slamming the door behind you before locking it. Gunfire echoed somewhere past the walls. Blood ran down Santo’s forearm from a graze he seemed entirely uninterested in as he checked the magazine in his gun.
Only then did he really look at you.
His gaze dragged slowly from your face downward and back again, far too appreciative given the circumstances. A crooked grin surfaced.
“Well.”
Santo leaned back against the door, gun still loose in one tattooed hand.
“Whoever you were supposed to leave with tonight, sweetheart, it sure as fuck wasn’t me.”
Another burst of gunfire sounded outside. He didn’t even flinch.
His eyes stayed on yours as the grin widened.
“But considering someone just started a fucking war trying to get you out of here…”
He tilted his head, openly studying you.
“I’ll keep you with my people until I figure out why.”