house.
“How are we going to approach this?” Cristian asks.
“We’re going to walk through the door,” I tell him simply.
Cristian shoves his hands in pockets, strolling off like he hasn’t got a care in the world, but I know him to be fast. If a threat emerges, his gun will be in his hand before I can blink.
“Of course! Why would I ever think it’d be something as easy as that?” he retorts, but I decide to ignore him.
We make it to the statue of the angel in the centre of the drive and the door opens. Father DiMarco and his brother, Damien, step out, and my hand itches to go to my gun. However, it disappears when a third man in a sharp-fitting suit steps out beside them and smirks. His jet-black hair is slickly combed away from his face, and his blue eyes glint like the ocean shimmering under the summer sun.
I know him. I can’t place how I do, but I recognise him from somewhere.
“Shoot,” Raphael orders.
“No!”
My mind whirls, trying to work out where I know him from, and then it hits me. I met him a couple of years ago at a business dinner, hosted by Anthony Dupree, for the charities in Vita, and how we could help them more without having to rely on donations as much. He introduced himself as Damon Harlington, and I spent the night with him because his stance was powerful and reminded me of Raphael.
“What are you doing? This is what we’re here for,” Raphael spits out, trying to keep his voice low.
I can’t answer him, because I don’t know what I’m doing. But maybe, a bullet doesn’t need to be fired—yet.
“Damon, what an unexpected surprise,” I call out, feeling Raphael stiffen beside me.
“You know him?”
“Sort of,” I mumble, not intending to explain just how much I know of him.
Damon steps in front of the DiMarco brothers, keeping his grin in place.
“Jamila, we didn’t think you’d surrender so quickly.”
“We’re not here to surrender,” Raphael growls.
A guard over his shoulder whistles, and from both sides of the house, more soldiers march out, forming a semi-circle around us. Just how many men do they have? We’re outgunned and outnumbered.
“If you’re here to talk, save your breath. Our terms were very simple,” Damien advises.
It’s Damon I keep my eyes on. He steps even closer, not caring about our men with their guns trained on him.
“Do you want your men to live?” he questions, focusing solely on me.
It’s a stupid question, and one I don’t reply to.
“I’ll make you a deal. You agree to come with me, and all your men can walk away with their lives, even Mr. Marocchi. No one else has to die.”
Turning to look at Raphael, he’s clearly not in agreement. Fire burns in his eyes, the flames of his rage licking at my soul. His little finger brushes around mine, trying to curl around it before I step away.
He’ll be angry with me, most likely vow to kill me himself, but I turn to Damon and say, “Deal.”
We’re standing in the middle of a firing squad. Without buying us some time by me agreeing to go with him, we’re dead. Raphael says he can’t live in a world without me, but he never thinks I don’t feel the same about him.
I don’t particularly have a plan, but I’ll certainly take the first opportunity to get my home back.
Raphael grabs my hand as I step forward, but I yank it free. Widening my eyes as I face him, I mouth, “Trust me.” His jaw locks tight, and his eyes narrow into slits, but he doesn’t make a move to fight against me on this.
As soon as I’m close to Damon, he pulls me to his side and waves his hand for my men and Raphael to leave.
“Make sure they leave the grounds,” he orders his men.
I watch Raphael and Cristian walk back to the car, hoping I’ve done the right thing.
Chapter Forty-Three
Raphael
I slam the hilt of my gun over and over against the door panel, but it does nothing to elevate the anger and frustration toward that fucking woman.
“Raphe!” Cristian bellows.
“She fucking promised she wouldn’t leave my side!” I shout, the chords in my throat straining.
“You can’t honestly tell me you trusted her. She’s a fucking Camarco, Raphael.”
I did trust her, and I still do. I don’t know what happened back there, or what made her change course, but I have to trust that she knows what she’s doing. She asked