Page 69 of Crimson Vows

Panic claws up my spine, a wild animal desperate to escape. I punch Nico’s number again. Still, nothing.

“Dammit,” I hiss, leaving a voicemail instructing him to call me right away. The quiet of the car closes in.

I slam the gearstick into drive, tires squealing in protest against the tarmac. The city looms around me, the start of rush hour indifferent to the urgency that pumps through my veins. I weave between cars, each honk and screech of brakes fueling the fire in my chest. I will keep my promise to Amelia and figure out who is behind the attack on Vincent, but first, I have to get to Gia and Nico. I have to know they are safe.

An image of Vincent lying in a hospital bed filled my thoughts. My cousin, my blood. As angry as I was with him over what he did to Gia, I never would have wished for this. It can’t go down like this. Fuck. Who would dare come for Vincent King on the doorstep of his own home? The list of enemies is as long as the legacy the name bears, a price that comes with the crown he wears.

With each red light, each delay, dread tightens its grip around my throat. I attempt to dial both Gia’s and Nico’s numbers once again. Nothing. Why aren’t they answering? The car surges forward.

If someone made a move against Vincent, what if he wasn’t the only one who was attacked? What if they also took aim at our captains? What if I was supposed to be a target? I sat outside Amelia’s most of the day. There’s no way anybody would have known to look for me there. But someone could have gone to Gia’s looking for me. Is that why they aren’t picking up? I try to push the unthinkable out of my mind, but as hard as I fight, it lingers. The idea that everything I have been fighting so hard to protect may already be gone.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

NICO

Islowly pace the length of the small studio apartment, my footsteps echoing off the bare walls. The musty smell of mildew and dust fills the air. Marco obviously hasn’t been here in a while. My eyes take in the sparse furnishings—a few blankets draped over the windows and dilapidated furniture that looks scavenged from a curbside. It’s not surprising that Marco has a hideaway like this prepared. In our world, survival depends on always being ready for anything. I’m grateful he has a place where we can remain hidden while he assesses our danger, but I hope we don’t have to stay here long.

Gia lies on a thin mattress on the far side of the room, attempting to nap. Her restless movements tell me it’s just as uncomfortable as it looks. “Are you hungry?” I ask, desperate for any distraction.

She sits up and looks at me with tired eyes. “Do you really think there’s any food in this place?”

I move into the efficiency kitchen and take a closer look. The cupboards are practically empty, save for a few canned goods that look far from appetizing. Marco didn’t stock this place very well, so my guess is he never intended it for an extended use.

I sigh. “I guess not,” I mutter and then suggest, “I could run out and grab us something.”

Gia’s dark eyes are pools of worry, reflecting the concern for our friends and our situation. She shakes her head before standing and crossing over to one of the covered windows, pulling the blanket aside for a moment to peek out. “No, that’s okay. I’m not even sure I could eat anything right now.”

“Hey, everything’s going to be okay,” I assure her, but I can hear how unconvincing my words are.

She doesn’t respond and instead tosses her jacket onto the soiled couch before sitting on top of it. She’s a fortress of strength. I’ve never met a woman like her.

My heartbeat quickens when a sudden ring fills the space. My phone. It dances across the wooden coffee table in front of me, the sound grating against my nerves. I snatch it up, the color draining from Gia’s face as she watches me. The caller ID reads Dante.

I flash the phone screen toward her so she can read the name, my thumb hovering over the green icon. I press it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Dante,” I breathe out, barely above a whisper.

“Ni—Nico . . .” His voice cracks.

“Hey, man, where the fuck are you?” I ask. My grip on my phone tightens.

“Can’t... I—” I pull the phone away briefly as sharp static hits my ear and then a muffled curse. He’s breaking up or breaking down; it’s hard to tell which.

“Dante!” I bark in frustration. “I can’t hear you. Where are you? What’s happened?”

Gia stands directly in front of me now. She’s watching, trying to decipher what is being said.

“Everything’s fucked,” he gasps, his breathing ragged. “I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” I snap. I hate the desperation clawing at my throat. I can tell the sound of it is alarming Gia even more.

“I can’t fix this,” he chokes out. The line buzzes with silence, a void stretching between us.

“Fix what? Talk to me!” I’m shouting now, words ricocheting off the walls of the safe house. Gia’s eyes are wide.

“Fuck. Oh fuck, what am I going to do?” It’s quickly becoming clear that Dante isn’t listening to a word I’m saying. He’s spiraling out of control in his own head.

“Christ. Hold yourself together!” I shout. “You’re not making any sense.”

“It’s too late...” Dante’s words are like jigsaw pieces with jagged edges that don’t fit together.