Michael Bianchi

"Which route should we take?" Kai asks, handing me the tablet with the map open.

"Hope was taken in Las Vegas on Interstate 70, and we found her in Utah, where we are now. At this moment, Samuel's men are probably on our tail." I analyze the options we have—preferably, I want to avoid direct confrontation with his men or the feds. I only have a total of twenty soldiers accompanying us in the convoy cars.

I turn my head, seeing the girl asleep again with her chin resting on Daniel’s chest while he keeps the jacket pressed to her wound. I grip the tablet tightly, wanting to rip it away and take care of her myself. The only woman who triggers my protective instinct is my sister Emily. Hope, however, tears through me with possessiveness—I don’t want her near any other man.

"The best option would be to take a helicopter in Colorado, it’s the closest state right now," Daniel says.

"Too obvious," Kai replies. "We should head to Wyoming or Idaho."

"Idaho isn’t an option. It’s too close to Nevada," I tell them, making my decision. "We’ll circle the deserts tonight via Interstate 70 and set up a base in Green River, as planned. We’ll be ready for any attack and can defend ourselves better using the high ground. The helicopter will pick up the four of us and Trent." The soldier I appointed as lieutenant of my operations team.

"Got it, boss," Trent responds while driving. "I’ll pass the instructions to the soldiers and alert our air unit. I’ll secure two helicopters—one for transport and another for attack."

"Do it."

I look at Hope, noticing the sweat gathered on her forehead and fear she might have an infection from the wound. The hand resting on Daniel’s thigh begins to tremble.

"Michael," Daniel calls.

"Yeah?"

"We need to stop at a pharmacy. Hope's burning up."

"Could be an infection," Kai says, touching her forehead. "For one of us, a small fever wouldn’t be much, but for her, it could be fatal."

"We can’t stop in the middle of the desert." I see nothing but night and emptiness in the western U.S. deserts. "Once we reach Green River, I’ll have someone buy medicine."

"Bonnarro will lose it when he sees the scar." A smirk appears at the corner of Kai’s lips. "Rapunzel left the tower just to get hurt."

"Don’t joke about that, Kai," Daniel warns. "If Black finds out you’re calling his sister that, he’ll rip your balls off."

"Everyone calls her that," he defends. "No one says it in front of the Bonnarros. That’s the only difference."

"Focus on the mission," I tell them, irritated by the way they talk about Hope. "We still don’t know why she was kidnapped."

"It’s strange they even know about Hope," Daniel points out. "She lived locked away her entire life. I didn’t even know what her face looked like."

"And we go to the Bonnarro estate all the time," Kai adds. "Maybe they’re hiding something."

"We’ll find out once we get to New York." I hand the tablet back to Kai. "For now, get some rest. We’ll stay alert until we land at the compound."

"Okay," Kai agrees, and the annoying sound of his game fills the car.

"Turn that shit down," I snap.

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters lazily, lowering the volume.

"One of these days you’ll lose your fingers from gaming too much," Daniel says.

"Kai, take off your jacket and put it over Hope," I order. "Daniel, let me know if her fever or tremors get worse."

They do as I say, and each distracts themselves. Kai goes back to his game, Daniel messes with his phone, and I rest my head against the seat after two days of pursuit. I go over the intel I have, trying to figure out what led to Hope being kidnapped by the Boston mafia.

Friday morning, she went to medical school, accompanied by her brother and bodyguards. Due to a helicopter malfunction the previous day, they had to use cars. On their way home, the convoy was attacked in the desert—they knew the route and were waiting with heavy artillery. Black was injured when the car flipped and then took three shots: one in the leg, another in the abdomen, and the last in the shoulder.

Hope was taken from Las Vegas to Utah in two days. We were alerted an hour after her abduction and spent the rest of the time tracking her. Since the bastards kept her locked in the trunk, it was harder to get images of her possible location.

We had to use facial recognition on one of the thugs who had visited the casino weeks earlier with Samuel to track their route and find her in that house. The signal from her call to her father helped narrow the perimeter. She’s brave—I thought she was a scared little kitten, but she turned out to be a lioness. I like that about her.

I still don’t know what Samuel and Bartolomeu discussed at the casino. His report to Andrew, the Bianchi Mafia Boss, was merely about a proposed alliance. Totally out of the question—the Boston Mafia has always been disorderly and poorly managed. We would never stain the Bianchi legacy with such despicable men.

I get a notification from Andrew, informing me that reinforcement troops were sent to Bartolomeu, and some are heading to wait for us in Green River.

"Road clear?" Trent asks through the earpiece.

"Yes, sir. Aerial images show the next five kilometers are clear, and we have no pursuers," one of the soldiers responds.

"I want to be informed about any dust cloud crossing our path," I tell them.

"Yes, Boss."

The road remains calm, and I take the chance to sleep. Hours later, I wake up as we park at a hotel in Green River. I get out of the car, scanning the area, and signal a soldier. He approaches, keeping his gun holstered to avoid drawing attention.

"Go to the pharmacy and buy first aid supplies, thread, and a needle to stitch a wound."

"Yes, sir."

He leaves, and I open the car door. Daniel unbuckles Hope, and I lift her into my arms. Her face is still drenched in sweat. I press my cheek to her forehead and confirm her temperature has gone down. She slumps against my chest, her forehead nestled into the curve of my neck. Fragile—she could break with the slightest touch. I feel the urge to smooth her hair and fix the mess of strands. It’s strange to feel protective over a woman I barely know.

"Let’s go," Daniel calls, entering first and confirming the path is clear in the rented building.

We take the elevator up, and I assign soldiers to patrol the perimeter. Kai opens the bedroom door, and we enter. I lay Hope on her stomach on the bed, pull the blood-stained jacket away, and lift her shirt to check the wound—about the length of my index finger and one centimeter deep.

"Get wet towels," I ask, to no one in particular.

"She’ll have a scar," Kai observes, and Daniel hands me the towel. "You know you can’t lift her shirt, right?" He raises a brow, crossing his arms, waiting for an answer.

"Of course I know, idiot." I shove him away. Even though we’re engaged, I can’t touch her until we’re married. Damn tradition.

I grip the torn part of Hope’s shirt and widen the tear, exposing part of her skin—nothing that would dishonor her. I take the wet towel and clean around the wound, removing the dried blood. I try not to touch her skin with my fingers—just the tip of the towel. Everyone in the room watches me like hawks circling prey.

"Don’t you guys have anything better to do?" I toss the towel at Kai.

"Never seen you take care of a woman before," he comments. "Something you’re not telling us?"

"We’ll talk in New York." I get up from the bed and move to the window to observe the surroundings. "How long until the helicopter arrives?"

"Two hours, sir," Trent replies.

"Patrol the perimeter. Leave us alone."

The soldiers leave, and only I, Kai, and Daniel remain in the room. With no one else present, they relax.

"What are we going to do with the girl?" Kai asks. "She needs proper treatment, and dressing her wound over her clothes is useless."

"Has anyone contacted Bonnarro?" I ask.

"No. Clifford said the Capo is fighting off an attack on the casino—a bomb exploded half an hour ago. We won’t be able to reach him without the Bianchi Boss’s help," Daniel replies.

"Stay alert for now."

Two knocks at the door—Daniel opens it and takes the first aid kit. I sit on the bed next to Hope and inspect the contents. I pour saline to wash the wound and fill it with gauze, taping it in place. I don’t have a needle or thread to stitch it up—this will have to do for now.

Her shirt is soaked and reeks of blood. I glance at the others and tilt my head; they understand and turn around. I grab a clean shirt from the corner suitcase.

I return to Hope and gently lift her into my lap. I unbutton her shirt one by one—the pink lace bra with small tears in the center reveals where she hid the blade. My hand itches to touch her. Her sweat-covered skin glistens in the sunlight, her breasts pressed against the cups—tempting. I restrain myself and focus on what I need to do. I reach for the shirt, but a hand grabs my wrist.

"No." Her voice is hoarse and weak.

I meet her green eyes staring at me with fear and pleading.

"You need to change your shirt," I tell her.

"I’ll... do it." She sits up with difficulty, wincing.

"Alright."

I hold her waist, helping her stay upright. Her pale face drips with sweat down her slender neck. I catch her glaring at me and look away as she slowly removes her shirt. Hope groans, and my hand rests on her warm hip. Our eyes lock as I help her into the clean shirt—one arm, then the other. She stares at me—not out of fear, I think, but because she needs comfort.

I support her shoulder with my forearm and button the shirt with my free hand, never breaking eye contact. She breathes softly as I fasten the last button. Her eyes close again, and this time she leans against my chest as she falls asleep. Her hair brushes against my nose, revealing the hellish days she’s endured with the scent of sweat and blood. I run my fingers along her nape, checking for wounds—luckily, I find none.

I lay her on her stomach again and keep wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"You shouldn’t get involved with a Bonnarro," Daniel warns. "Bartolomeu would never allow a marriage with Rapunzel."

"A Capo can’t say ‘no’ to a Boss." I smile, savoring the information only I know. "Focus on the mission."

They fall silent and resume monitoring the perimeter.

Bartolomeu Bonnarro will have a lot to explain about the invasion of his territory before worrying about his daughter’s marriage.