Page 94 of Filthy Dirty Dom

To the boat.

When he heard a gunshot in the distance, Alex cursed. He always wore his gun in its holster, always. But earlier, when they’d headed to the kitchen to draw with Bella and Maria, he’d forgotten it. He immediately grabbed the gun from Nico’s holster, realizing it was still snapped in; the boy hadn’t even had a chance to draw his weapon before he’d been attacked.

"I'm going to take you to the boat," Alex said, his voice steady. "You’ll take it out onto the water."

"No, not without you," Leslie protested immediately. Her expression was determined, her jaw set. "I can help."

The thought of Leslie putting herself in harm's way made Alex's heart pound against his chest. "Leslie," he said, his tone hard. "Someone just murdered an armed security guard. You can't take them on. I need you to do as I say so I can check on the others. Do you understand?"

There was a beat of silence as the truth of his words sunk in. Leslie's shoulders sagged, a mixture of terror and resignation in her eyes. Yet she didn't argue further. It was clear she realized he was right.

He gently gripped her elbow and helped her stand. With one final glance at Nico, he began following Nico’s directions, guiding Leslie toward the direction of the boat.

Rain began to patter again, a soft rhythm against the leaves, slowly intensifying into a steady downpour. The sky above was a churning canvas of steel-grey clouds, echoing the turmoil that had ensnared their lives. Drops of rain trickled down Alex's face, blurring his vision, yet he pressed on, Leslie's determined footsteps echoing his own.

The path beneath them was slick and treacherous, a winding ribbon of mud and rock weaving through the dense foliage. Alex's heart drummed in sync with the rushing rhythm of the rain. The fear in his veins was as icy as the droplets that soaked their clothes, and the steady drum of rain provided a chaotic soundtrack that traced their escape.

Finally, up ahead, was a clearing to the water. He spotted the silhouette of the boat Nico had mentioned. It was tied to a pylon at the end of the beach, bobbing on the restless sea, looking both fragile and steadfast against the dark, churning waves. They ran toward it.

The boat was a small, weather-beaten vessel, its blue paint peeling in places, revealing patches of scarred timber beneath. Alex waded through the turbulent water, his arm securely around Leslie's waist, steadying her against the ferocity of the waves. The water was cold, biting into their skin like a thousand icy needles, the current tugging insistently at their legs. The rain was falling harder now, stinging their faces, soaking through their clothes, adding to the urgency of the situation.

Leslie was trembling, her eyes wide and fearful. He felt her clutching onto him tighter with each crashing wave, her breath hitching in quick, panicked gasps. He tightened his grip on her, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Look at me, Leslie," he commanded over the din of the storm, his voice rough with urgency.

She turned to look at him, and he planted a fierce, desperate kiss on her lips. He wanted to etch himself into her, to leave a piece of him behind, just in case…

He pulled away then hoisted Leslie onto the boat. The vessel rocked under her weight, water spraying over the sides, adding to the chaos of the storm. He steadied her, his hands firm on her arms, his gaze locked with hers.

He handed her Nico’s gun, the cold metal a stark contrast against her trembling hands.

"I don't know how…" she started to protest, her voice barely audible over the storm.

"You point and you pull the trigger, Leslie. Only if you have to," he interrupted, his gaze intense. "Promise me you'll stay here. Promise me."

She nodded, tears streaming down her face, merging with the rain.

I can’t leave her, he thought. But there was no other way. He had to go back, he had to help the others.

He untethered the boat then pushed it deeper into the water, fighting the waves that threatened to carry him away. When she was out far enough, he dived into the churning water, swimming back towards the shore. The sight of Leslie, alone and terrified on the boat, was seared into his mind, fueling his determination. The rain continued to pour, each drop a ticking clock, each flash of lightning a grim reminder of the danger looming ahead.

Minutes seemed hours as he sprinted back towards the house, the stormy sea and the lonely boat fading into the background. Each breath was a fight, each step a battle, his mind a whirl of fear and determination. Alex was in a race against time, the lives of those he cared about hanging in the balance.

His heart beat loud as a drum, but his mind was sharp, focused. Soon, he saw the bodies. Some were Damien’s men, others were strangers. Alex grabbed a gun from one of Damien’s men and quickly inspected it while also scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger.

The sounds of battle could be heard now that he was closer to the house. Screams. Gunshots. Alex's senses were on hyper-alert. He moved away from the sounds of gunfire and entered the house from the other side. He was in the living room when he saw the split-second flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. His body, trained and primed for combat, reacted before his brain could even process it. With a swift, calculated move, he threw himself to the side, barely dodging a bullet that zipped through the space he had just occupied. Then he fired his weapon multiple times, its deafening sound bouncing off the walls of the house. Before the echo of the first gunshot had even died out, he was back on his feet, his gun held steady in his grip. His eyes narrowed on the two intruders sprawled on the floor. Dressed in black tactical gear, their faces were obscured by ski masks, making them anonymous agents of death. Their weapons, a pair of slick, semi-automatic pistols, lay discarded a few feet away.

They were obviously professionals, their swift and coordinated attack pattern, coupled with their choice of weapons, reeked of trained assassins. Alex checked their bodies, but like the Russians back in New York, they carried nothing else on them. Next, he peeled off their ski masks, cursing when he recognized one of the men from when he’d met him almost ten years ago.

Italian mafia.

Either he worked for Luca or he was carrying out some kind of mission against Luca. Given the fact that this operation would obviously put Renee, Luca’s aunt, and his nieces in danger, Alex was betting these soldiers weren’t here by Luca’s command.

42

Alex moved like a predator through the sprawling mansion, every cell in his body on high alert for the hint of another threat. The house had transformed from a sanctuary into a battleground, its once-familiar corners now potential hiding places for danger. His ears strained for the smallest sound, his fingers twitched around the cold metal of his gun, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

The gunfire outside was growing noticeably more silent. A quick look out the window and Alex could see more men in ski masks, either lying on the ground dead, or being subdued by Luca’s men. He saw Damien shouting orders. It looked like he and his men were gaining ground to stop the intruders.

But that didn’t mean all was well.