Lawless:Mob Boss Book Three

By: Michelle St. James

He stirred, and a split second later his eyes flew open and he sat up, terror playing across his features in the dim light making its way into the room from the sconces in the hallway.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just me.”

He lay back down, his body slowly relaxing. “What time is it?”

“It’s the middle of the night.” She felt guilty as she said it. Why did she wake him up? Was she scared he’d OD on his medication? Or was she just looking for company? “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

She fought the urge to laugh hysterically. “It’s fine,” she said softly. “I was just checking on you. Go back to sleep.”

He nodded and rolled over. “Love you, Ange.”

She ruffled his hair. “Love you, too, loser.”

He snorted into his pillow as she eased from the room.

She closed his door and headed back downstairs. It was nearly four am, but she wasn’t ready for sleep, and she continued toward the kitchen at the back of the house.

She still wasn’t used to being back in Boston. Filled with antiques and art chosen by her father’s decorator, the house felt stiff in a way Nico’s family home in the Hudson Valley hadn’t. But she hadn’t had time to redecorate, hadn’t had energy for anything except taking care of David and plotting revenge against the men who had betrayed Nico. She felt a sudden longing for her little apartment upstate; the tiny bedroom, the living room with the threadbare thrift store couch. It hadn’t been much, but it had been hers, and it had been bought and paid for honestly. She had already packed up her father’s penthouse apartment. She would need to do something about the brownstone eventually, too.

She pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, and poured a healthy sized glass. Her hands shook as she brought it to her mouth, and she took a long swallow before setting it back on the counter. Her nerves smoothed out just in time for reality to hit her.

Nico was alive.

She closed her eyes against the memories. Nico’s perfect body moving over her, his breath in her ear, his strong hands spreading her thighs.

A sob escaped her mouth, and she bent over at the waist, muffling her cries against her hand. Waves of emotion crashed over her; anger and relief and bitterness all mixed together in a hurricane that threatened to undo the facade of control she’d constructed over the past four months. It went on and on, the pain of losing him wracking her body while her mind tried to reconcile it with the fact that he he had been alive all this time.

Alive, alive, alive…

She was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see him. What had she been thinking when she’d walked away? She needed him in front of her, needed to know it was real. Then she would deal with the why of it all.

She straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and taking a deep cleansing breath. She was reaching for her cell phone when glass exploded behind her head.

She hit the floor almost without thinking, instinctively covering her head to shield her face from the falling glass. More of it erupted from a second window in the kitchen, and then she understood; someone was shooting at her.

She crawled toward a drawer next to the fridge as another volley of gunfire erupted, wood splintering from the cabinets overhead. When she got to the drawer, she slid it open from the floor and reached into the back where she kept a twenty-two caliber revolver. She’d learned to appreciate the sense of protection the gun offered her. Luca or one of the other guys was almost always in close proximity, but she wasn’t about to leave their safety up to someone else. Not after all they’d been through.

Luca… Was he still out front? Had he heard the explosion of gunfire from the back of the house? Had someone taken him out on their way to the back yard. She fought panic at the thought that something might have happened to him, forced herself to push it aside. Leaning against the fridge, she checked the gun to make sure it was still loaded, then took a deep breath while she assessed the situation.

So far only only one gunman, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more of them outside. She thought of David upstairs in bed. Was he drugged enough that he’d stay asleep? Panic hit her full force as she imagined him stumbling down the stairs to investigate the noise. He would be an easy target, completely unable to protect himself.

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