Theirs to Protect - Julia Sykes Page 0,27

stubborn bastard,” I retorted. “I’m coming with you, end of discussion. We’re in this together. Deal with it.” If my vulnerability wouldn’t work, I could shift to bullying. Marco wasn’t going to face our enemies alone. I wouldn’t fucking allow it.

We exited the restaurant and cut around the block to where I’d parked my black BMW. I’d chosen one of my least flashy cars, so Ashlyn wouldn’t immediately spot it and realize I was somewhere nearby, watching her.

As soon as Marco slid into the passenger seat beside me, his dark, furious energy crowded the car. I sucked in a deep breath, trying not to choke on it. I’d forgotten how scary my best friend was when he got like this. I rolled my shoulders and allowed his cold, focused rage to fill my chest. We would do this together. We would protect Ashlyn and each other. Always.

It took a little under fifteen minutes to drive to Rafael Foti’s apartment complex in the North End. The building wasn’t exactly rundown, but it was old, and security was minimal. All it took to gain entry through the locked front door was a quick call to a random apartment on the intercom. I told the man who answered that I had a package for another resident who wasn’t currently at home to accept the delivery. Just like that, we were in.

We bypassed the elevator and found the stairs. We could easily be trapped in the confined space if Rafael figured out we were coming. I wasn’t interested in being shot like fish in a barrel.

When we reached the fifth floor, Marco shouldered open the stairwell door and unzipped his leather jacket. The familiar shrug of his shoulders let me know that he was freeing up easy access to the gun holstered at his side.

“You brought a gun?” I hissed, edging down the hallway one step behind him, sticking close to the wall.

He glanced back at me, brows raised. “You didn’t?”

I shook my head but said nothing. Maybe it was stupid, but I hadn’t even considered arming myself. I’d been so determined to thoroughly leave violence in my past. I didn’t realize Marco still owned a gun. I probably should’ve asked. I should’ve talked to him about his concerns, his fears for our family. He wouldn’t have a weapon if some part of him hadn’t been afraid that we weren’t entirely safe in Boston.

As we passed the beige-painted doors that punctuated the rust-colored walls, I formulated a quick plan. I wouldn’t allow Marco to do all the dirty work. Not this time. We were a team, and I’d meant every word I’d said to him last night: I wouldn’t hesitate to use violence to protect my family. I’d prove it to him right now.

“You keep the gun on him, I ask the questions,” I murmured, keeping my voice low to prevent it from echoing off the yellowing, water-stained ceiling.

I caught his frown in profile, but it was too late for him to argue. We’d reached Rafael’s door, and I rapped it with my knuckles, standing to one side of the threshold with my back pressed to the wall. Marco shot me a scowl, but he took a mirrored position on the opposite side of the doorframe. Our enemy wouldn’t be able to check who was outside his door without opening it.

Low grumbling and shuffling footsteps floated through the door. “What do you want?” a gravelly voice demanded, slurring slightly.

It was barely seven o’clock, but Rafael wasn’t sober. That would be helpful in loosening his tongue. I was prepared to spill his blood, but I’d prefer not to torture him.

My stomach soured, and I forced myself to think of Ashlyn. I made myself remember her delicate features twisted in pain and terror as Gabriel Costa pinned her down. A shadow of the helpless rage that’d suffused my bleeding body that day darkened most of my compassion. I would never allow that to happen again. I would never watch while a monster tried to violate Ashlyn, too wounded to save her.

I sank into the searing heat of that rage, allowing it to temper my will into something sharp and merciless. Rafael would answer my questions, and I would eliminate the threat to Ashlyn.

“Who’s there?” My enemy’s voice boomed through the door. He was smart enough not to open up when he didn’t know who had knocked.

But he was also inebriated, and his decision-making was impaired. I glanced at Marco, nodding my approval when he unholstered his