The rear doors of the armored SUV didn't just open; they were violently flung back by a blood-slicked Lorenzo.
The hidden concrete courtyard of the safe house was bathed in a dull, sickly yellow glow from the overhead security lights. The air here was damp and stagnant, a stark contrast to the burning penthouse forty stories above the city. Elena blinked against the sudden light, her hands still pressed firmly into the balled-up microfiber cloth buried in Dante’s side. The Don was a dead weight against her, his chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic stutters, his stormy grey eyes completely rolled back.
"Move, Elena," Lorenzo ordered. His face was a mask of cold, sweating adrenaline, his own leg wound leaking a dark trail of crimson onto the pristine concrete. He hooked his powerfu
