Isabella found the woman in the bathroom, losing everything contained in her stomach. The stench was enough to make her want to heave, but she held her stomach and talked the woman off the floor and to the sink, where she helped her wash the ick off her face and applied a damp paper towel to her forehead.

She’d obviously had too much to drink. Thankfully, she’d purged a good portion of the alcohol from her body. She’d be okay after a good night’s sleep.

Isabella sent Amina out to find the woman’s friends and to order a water taxi to get the woman back to her hotel.

By the time she exited the bathroom, with the drunk leaning on her arm, Ronin was pacing the hallway like a bull in a ring.

Isabella would have laughed if she didn’t smell so much like vomit. So much for making love in her father’s study. She’d be lucky if they made love at all that night, the way things were going.

When she appeared, Ronin stopped pacing and hurried to her side.

She held up her hand to stop him. “I wouldn’t get too close.”

“Why?”

Isabella wasn’t afraid to speak English in front of her guest. The woman only spoke Italian and German. “She has been projectile-vomiting for the past fifteen minutes. I think she has emptied her stomach, but I can’t be sure.”

Ronin shook his head. “Let me help.”

“Are you sure?” She glanced at his outfit. “No use in both of us smelling like this.”

“I’ve smelled worse.” He bent and started to swing the swaying woman up into his arms.

“Go slowly, the motion might make her lose it again,” Isabella warned.

As directed, he lifted her slowly into his arms.

The girl’s head lolled as she passed out.

“At least if she sleeps, she will not be gracing you with the contents of her stomach,” Isabella noted. “Hopefully, she will remain unconscious until you get her safely to a water taxi.”

Her girlfriends gathered around Ronin, exclaiming about how strong he was to carry their friend and how heroic to save her from a “fate worse than death.”

Isabella rolled her eyes and fought to keep from snorting in a very unladylike manner.

She followed the gaggle of females and Ronin toward the front entrance that would lead out to the dock.

“Stay close,” Ronin said.

“I’m with you,” Isabella reassured him.

She wanted to stop at the entrance and have Ronin pass on the duty of carrying the girl to one of the bodyguards pulling bouncer duty at the entrance. But they were busy checking bags and patting down women in big dresses to worry about one woman on her way out.

Besides, Ronin was already halfway to the dock before he stopped and turned back to wait on her.

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

“I know you can. You survived a year in a hostile country. I’m sure you’ll be fine in Venice for a few short minutes.” He waited for her to catch up then added. “But just remember, it only took a few short seconds for someone to attack your father in broad daylight.”

Isabella was fully aware of the truth of his words and kept a vigilant watch in all directions, studying the people still arriving by boat or on foot.

Ronin grinned.

She frowned. “What?”

“I keep forgetting you’re a trained combatant. You’d kick ass if someone tried to jump you.”

“Damn right, I would.” She even managed to say it with an American accent.

A chuckle bubbled up Ronin’s chest and exploded in a burst of laughter.

The woman in his arms lifted her head, stared at him through blurry eyes and dropped off again.

A water taxi pulled up to the dock and stopped. The drunk girl’s friends climbed in first and waited while Ronin got in with their friend, laid her out on a seat and climbed back onto the dock.

Meanwhile, Isabella spoke with the driver and slipped him a wad of bills. He grinned and slobbered all over her, thanking her for her generosity and promising to help get the woman inside her hotel when they arrived. Eventually, the taxi driver pulled the boat away from the dock.

Isabella hooked her arm through Ronin’s and walked back to the house, wishing she didn’t have to go back inside with the loud music and crowd of people. She’d rather run away with Ronin to a quiet spot where they could be alone.

“Too bad we can’t escape to Hotel Eden,” Ronin said, as if echoing her thoughts.

She sighed. “If only I did not have this party to oversee. But I promised my father.”

Ronin nodded. “And a promise, is a promise.” They entered the house, passing the two bodyguards, Lorenzo and Matteo.

As soon as her eyes adjusted to the blinking disco ball lights, Isabella stopped and stared up at the top of the stairs. “Madonna!”

Her father, dressed in a pirate outfit, swayed unsteadily, holding onto the top rail with one hand and his wounded belly with the other. His face was white without having used any of the face paint preferred by many of the party goers.

“The man is stubborn beyond reason,” Isabella muttered. She lifted her skirts and plowed through the throng, intent on getting to her father before he plunged down the stairs in a headlong fall and broke every bone in his body, not to mention tearing his stitches and possibly bleeding to death.

Amina ducked out of a hallway as she passed by. “Signorina Pisano! Signorina Pisano!”

Isabella slowed but didn’t stop. “What is it, Amina?” she said in Italian.

“Two men slipped into the house, through the kitchen. They have guns. I think they mean to do harm to you and your guests.”

Isabella’s heart flipped. She spun toward her fake fiancé. “Ronin, get help and go with Amina. She says two men got in through the kitchen and are carrying guns.”

His expression turned to stone. “Where are they now?”

“I don’t know. Amina can show you. I have to get my father to his room before he kills himself or someone else does it for him.” She ran toward the stairs, shoving people aside. If men with guns were inside the house, everyone there was in danger. But if they were only after her and her father, the sooner she got her father to safety the better.

Ronin, didn’t like it. He wanted to stay with Isabella and make certain she got to a safe place. But Amina was pulling at his sleeve, urging him to follow her toward the kitchen.

He glanced toward the stairs.

Isabella had made it through the crowd and was almost to the top.

Ronin waited until she and Andre moved her father through his bedroom door, and the door was closed, before he allowed Amina to lead him through the maze of hallways to the back of the house.

She slowed, pressed a finger to her lips and pointed toward a door.

He hadn’t been through that door yet and wished he’d taken more time to explore the palatial mansion earlier that day. But it couldn’t be helped now. If the two men were inside, he’d be outnumbered and outgunned.

“We need to get help,” he said. What were the words he needed in Italian? Every lesson he’d taken escaped him now.

Amina shook her head. “Non capisco.” And she pointed toward the door, making motions with her hands like she held a machine gun, firing rounds.

He gripped her arms and pointed back toward the music and dancers. In a low, insistent voice, he told her, “Go get Lorenzo and Matteo.” With a gentle push, he sent her back toward the party.

She stopped and shook her head. “Non.” Again, she pointed at the door and made the machine gun motion.

Ronin waved her on. “Go. Get Lorenzo and Matteo.”

Amina remained rooted to the floor, her eyes wide, wringing her hands.

“Go!” Ronin stopped short of shouting.

The door beside him burst open.

Amina bolted.

Two dark-skinned, black-haired men dressed dark clothing lunged for him and dragged him back into the room.

Ronin fought hard, putting all his training to work, with the thought in the back of his mind to be on the lookout for chairs. He couldn’t allow the two men to take him down.

One had a knife. The other had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol with an attached silencer in his hand.

With the music so loud in other parts of the mansion, the silencer wasn’t necessary. No one would hear the shots fired.

Ronin ducked, threw a punch into the belly of the man with the knife and performed a sidekick, knocking the handgun in the other man’s hand across the room.

Before the attackers could regroup, Ronin caught the wrist of the man with the knife as he doubled over and yanked him forward, planting his knee in the guy’s face. The crunch of cartilage and the spray of blood indicated he’d broken the man’s nose.

Ronin wrestled the knife out of his hand and shoved the bleeder into the other man who was fumbling with his rifle.

The two men fell to the floor but scrambled to their feet.

Ronin was halfway to the door when he was jerked backward by the collar of his costume. He loosened his arms and let the coat slide free of his body.

The man who’d pulled it from his body flung it to the side and attacked Ronin, blood still streaming from his broken nose.

His buddy was pulling the rifle strap over his shoulder. If he got the weapon in front of him, it would be all over.

Ronin couldn’t leave the room and let these two men get their shit together. He had to put a stop to their plans. Here. Now.

He flung himself to the ground and swept his legs to the side, catching both men at the ankles and sending them flying to land flat on their backs.

Rolling to his feet, Ronin kicked the man with the rifle full in the face. His head snapped back, and he crumpled to the floor, out cold.

His friend lunged at Ronin, catching him in the side and ramming him into the wall.

Ronin hit the paneling so hard the breath shot from his lungs. His attacker reared back to punch him.

Ronin ducked to the side.

The man’s fist crashed into the wall, and he clutched it to his chest cursing in Arabic.

While the man nursed his sore hand, Ronin gave him something else to worry about. He hit him hard with a sidekick to the kidney.

The guy crumpled to the ground.

Again, he kicked him, this time in the face, knocking him backward to land on his back, blood gushing from his broken nose.

Both men lay still. He checked for pulses. They were still alive, but they might not be still for long.

Ronin pulled the ties off the drapes hanging in the window and made quick work, tying their hands behind their backs and their ankles. If woke up, they wouldn’t be going far.

He shrugged back into the costume coat then grabbed the rifle and the knife. Easing open the door, he peeked out into the hallway, wondering where Amina had gone and why she hadn’t returned with Lorenzo and Matteo.

With a rifle and a knife, he couldn’t just waltz through the party without someone stopping him or questioning him. And he couldn’t claim they were part of his costume when he was supposed to be from the seventeenth century.

“Fuck it.” He tucked the rifle beneath his long coat and slipped the knife into his pocket. He couldn’t leave them in the same room with the attackers, and he couldn’t leave them anywhere near partygoers, drunk on alcohol and whatever else might be floating around. Someone could accidentally pull the trigger and cause all kinds of craziness and death.

He had to get to Isabella and her father. If two men had found their way into the mansion, there could be more.