Chapter 20
Avery was exhausted, in pain from spending the night in the cramped sedan, and scared to death as she parked in front of the mansion. Built to impress, the stately granite façade towered over her, but Avery only saw a gorgeous prison. She dialed Vincent’s phone number again, knowing Gilroy had tackled him in time to save his life, but wanted to yell at him for not having more sense than a cow going to slaughter.
Who stood in the middle of the road as a car raced toward them? Vincent did. Had he expected her to stop? For what? Cuffs and confessions? No closer to Millie? It was impossible, because Avery was tortured by what ifs, knowing how brutal Dante could be, and those what ifs forced her foot to stay on the gas pedal. Biting her lip, listening to his line ring, Avery promised herself that if she survived her meeting with Dante, she’d send Gilroy a bouquet of flowers as a thank-you. Dammit! Why didn’t Vincent pick up his phone?
She disconnected the line, foregoing a message, because really… What could she say? Just checking in. She threw the phone on the passenger seat. Did he see it was her number, so he was ignoring it? She wanted to say I’m sorry. He probably thought she’d tried to run him over. It would have been nice to set the record straight, but—leaning forward, peering up at the mansion through the windshield—she’d run out of time.
Hands gripping the steering wheel, shaking, she wasn’t sure if her legs would support her when she stepped out of the car. Last time she saw her ex, he’d just executed six men, while she stood bleeding, clutching a bloody knife. In her nightmares, Dante was huge, and frightening. He’d terrorized her for too long to walk inside the mansion now anything but afraid. She should have killed him when she’d had a chance. Now she had no power. Not while he had Millie. He could do whatever he wanted with her. With both of them.
She got out of the car, surprising herself when her knees didn’t buckle.
“Avery!” She turned, saw Vincent running up the driveway.
“No!” The idiot. She raced around the car and waved him off. “Get out! Vincent, go!” It was too late. A security guard caught up with him and cudgeled his head with the grip of his gun. Vincent went down, face-planting on the gravel. Avery hurried to his side, then kicked the security guard in the groin. He fell back, clutching himself. “Back off!” she shouted. Another guard stepped up and sought to back hand her, but she parried it and punched him in the throat. That guard fell to his knees, bent at the waist. She disarmed him and aimed the gun at him, then at the four guards that swarmed around her and Vincent. “I said, back off!”
Hands in the air, they retreated, looking beyond her toward the mansion. Vincent groaned, and then stood, clutching the back of his head. “Well, that sucked,” he said.
The guards exchanged glances, as if coordinating an attack. She aimed the gun at one after the other, wondering who would rush her first.
“Are you insane, Vincent?” What the hell was he doing here? Where were his people? A glance back at the gate showed nothing but a great expanse of lawn and woods. No task force. He was on his own. “Shit.”
“Well, hello there, Avery.” Dante’s voice sent a chill through her. “Give that guard his weapon, please.” He stood on the stair’s landing, smiling, watching her, as trim and fit as always. She’d forgotten how tall her ex-husband was. His black hair, graying at the temples, was neat, slicked back, emphasizing his strong features, his hollowed cheeks. His brown eyes—so dark they seemed black—stared directly at her, promising familiar pain.
Everything felt familiar; being helpless, feeling hopeless and afraid.
Eyes front, Avery obeyed without hesitation, flipping the gun, holding the barrel and offering the guard the gun’s grip. She had no other choice… And Vincent had made his. He chose to save her. The idiot. Meddling in a deal between Dante and the Feds. The man would be crushed between them. The thought had her near panic, on the verge of crying.
Shut it down, Avery. Shut your thoughts, your feelings down. She’d done it before, and would do it again. She’d become what she had to be, still had to be. Hard. Cold. The Stinger.
The security guard, still holding his throat, took the gun back. She caught Vincent’s gaze, and allowed herself one word. “Why?” she said.
Vincent winked. “Can’t let you have all the fun.”
“Avery, come.” Dante turned, showcasing the perfect lines of his expensive black suit as he walked into the mansion.
She struggled not to think, or care. “Vincent—” She wanted to tell him she admired him, was grateful for him. He deserved that. “—you’re such an idiot.”
Vincent glanced past her to Dante, not hiding his worry. “Right back at you.”
She pivoted away, hurrying after her ex-husband. He waited for her inside the palatial white marble foyer. “Where is Millie?” she said.
“Upstairs in your room, waiting for you.” Dante slid his hand into his suit jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarette. “Go. See for yourself.”
Glancing up the wide, palatial stairwell, she felt torn, not wanting to leave Vincent. The security guards were already treating him rough, dragging him into the foyer behind her. She noticed they’d bound his hands at his front with a zip tie.
“Coppola,” Vincent said, “I’m sure your deal with the Feds doesn’t cover killing an FBI Special Agent.”
“You’d think, right?” Eyes wide, Dante smiled, like it was all a big joke. He tapped a cigarette out of his pack, and then tucked the remainder in his suit jacket pocket. “Stick him in the dining room while she dresses for brunch.” Then he put the cigarette between his lips, lighting its tip as he climbed the stairs. “Come, Avery. Let’s get you out of those clothes. I want you to shower before we eat.” Still not looking at her, he continued climbing the stairs, exhaling a stream of smoke. “He’s touched you, and you smell of him.”
Ignoring Dante’s taunt, she leveled a hard glare on the guards manhandling Vincent. “Stop hurting him. Not even a bruise. Got it? Or I’ll come for you.” The private security guards looked mean, and were intimidating. There were five of them in the foyer, big, brawny, young, and they scoffed at her, as if she’d made a joke. She didn’t know how to make them obey her, because she had no power here. She was helpless.
“I’ve been remiss,” Dante said. His cultured tones echoed in the large foyer, and instantly caught the attention of everyone present. “I’m sorry, Avery. It’s been three years since you’ve lived here, and these men are relatively new hires.” He paused on the stairs, brows lifted, and tapped his cigarette ash over the railing. “Please allow me to introduce you.” He took another drag, and then released a stream of smoke. “Men, this is my wife. The Stinger.”
As one, the guards looked at Avery’s hands and blanched. These men didn’t need to be convinced, because the rings indicted her. Everyone in the syndicate knew The Stinger stole them after killing the six men. Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked at Vincent, saw his disbelief quickly turn to shock. It didn’t last long, and was soon replaced with something else.