Page 96 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
Nero’s men take cover behind the many rows of seats. Caelian’s men rush to do the same. All while both sides fire back at each other the second something’s within their line of sight. Men drop like flies once they’re struck.
I’d have a front row seat to the carnage if I weren’t locked into a scuffle with Nero. For being a mafia don that bullies and intimidates for a living, he’s not much in physical combat. Even with my basic training, I’m able to hold my own… at least for the first few seconds we’re struggling for the gun.
Strength is on his side as he muscles control over the gun’s handle. I’m not to be defeated so easily—I fight like I was taught, focusing on evening the playing field, using any maneuver to my advantage. As he wrestles my grip away from the gun, I’m sweeping my leg out to send him crashing onto the floor. He grabs me by the ankles and yanks me off my feet in immediate payback.
I slam into the stage floor, the wind knocked out of me at the brutal impact. Coughing and aching, I try to push myself back up, but it’s no use.
Nero’s hand shuts around the back of my bun to jerk my head back. The open palm of his hand collides with my cheek. A burst of pain smarts across my face. It might not be the hardest hit in the history of physical confrontations, but it’s enough to have me crying out and seeing stars.
“You stupid little bitch, look what you’ve done. You think this is going to turn out in your favor? You’re coming with me, and now it’s going to be so much worse for you and your pathetic family!”
“DON’T EVER TOUCH HER!” roars Caelian from out of nowhere. He leaps across the stage and spears into Nero with crushing force.
Nero’s grip on me vanishes as his long, gangly body sails backward. He lands on the ground, already half unconscious. Caelian couldn’t care less as he follows up with a fist to his jaw. Blood splatters onto his tattooed knuckles as he goes back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.
The grotesque crack of Nero’s teeth shattering makes me cringe. So does the limp way his head dangles as Caelian lifts him off the ground and cages his jaw between his large hands. An even louder, sharper crack whips through the air.
He’s broken Nero’s jaw.
With his bare hands.
Caelian lets go of him. His body thumps to the floor. It hasn’t even been a full minute yet bruises bloom across his skin and his blood drips down his front.
It’s the goriest sight I’ve ever seen. I’m shirking away when Caelian rounds on me. Then relief fills me as our gazes meet and I move to push myself up off the floor. My ankle protests with a dull twinge of pain. My fall from fighting Nero was so rough it’s injured my fragile right ankle again.
Caelian’s scooping me up at once. I’m tucked into his arms and propped against his chest. He keeps his other arm free to aim his weapon at others posing a threat.
Nero’s men dash toward the stage to avenge their boss who’s passed out and broken on the floor. At the sight of me and Caelian, they open fire.
“C’mon,bella, we have to go!” Caelian shouts. He shields me with his broad shoulders as he turns to dive behind the curtains. He pants, running for cover, occasionally returning fire himself.
“Caelian,” I say, bobbing as we sprint backstage. “What about Nero? His men?”
“We’ll finish this rivalry another day. All that matters is I’m getting my ballerina back. Time to go.”
His men seem to realize it’s time end the gunfight, because they begin making their exits too.
I close my eyes and cling to Caelian, overwhelmed by the deep relief of being in his arms again. Relief that we’re both still alive and relief that we’re still going to be together.
THIRTY-ONE
Caelian
Snow floatingoutside the bedroom window is the first thing I see on Christmas morning. The flakes sail through the air until they reach their eventual destination on the ground. In the hours between nightfall and the pale sunrise, we’ve had two more inches.
I scrub a hand over my rough, untrimmed beard and glance to the small bundle at my side—Nevaeh’s curled up under the covers still deep in her dreams. She looks as angelic as she had in mine, but instead of twirling about for me like so many dreams before, she’d been at my side as we moved hand in hand. We’d been slow dancing as if it were our wedding.
We never danced at our wedding. Nevaeh never even smiled that night. Instead, she’d cried. A realization that leaves me with a pang of guilt.
I’m stuck in my head as she stirs next to me. A sleepy smile naturally spreads on her face the instant our eyes connect and she realizes I’m already up. My arm slips under her to pull her against me, my thoughts shifting to how good it is that she’s in my bed. That we’ve managed to come out on the other side of these chaotic past few weeks. We’re stronger for it.
Times that have been difficult but perhaps necessary.
I press a kiss to her lips. “So good of you to join me.”
She stretches her torso and legs against me and yawns, “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long. But long enough to notice you sleeping.”