in the vehicle?" I snapped as Paolo stared down at his GPS tracker. While my fingers drummed anxiously against the dashboard, Marco's stayed completely still on the steering wheel as he navigated us away from the stadium.

"I said, is she in the damn vehicle?!"

Cecelia, who was sat in the back of the SUV, beaten up, bloody, and bruised, muttered at me to calm down. I rolled my eyes but didn't turn to her. All of my attention was focused on Paolo.

After a minute of tense silence, he nodded his head. "She's just got in his car."

I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding but didn't relax. "Then what are we waiting for?" I growled.

Marco shot me a levelling glance as he said, "We're waiting for the Genovese to leave."

My fingers continued to drum impatiently, teeth gritted like a vice. I hated waiting around, I hated depending on the actions of other people, but in this case it was necessary.

In the back, Cecelia chuckled – her laugh was throaty and rough, betraying the mistreatment she had experienced despite her strong facade. "I see he isn't any less impatient," she murmured to Paolo.

Nobody else spoke; my men knew better.

"We need to move," Paolo said abruptly, sitting up straight.

I detected the change in the tone of his voice and frowned. "What is it?"

"Marco, drive, now."

"Paolo," I warned.

"They seem to be driving past the arranged meeting point," he explained in a clipped tone.

Bastardo. I should never have trusted that this plan would work out; I should never have believed in the words of a filthy Russian. Florence had made me blind to realities I should have seen from the beginning. I was so concerned with her safety that I wanted to believe I could protect her.

"We can catch them," Marco assured me as he sent the car flying forward. We were racing well past the speed limit but the law was beyond my current thoughts.

"This is what you get when you trust people outside of The Family," Cecelia berated as Paolo attempted to wrap her bleeding hands in bandages. She would need medical attention to fix her up, but she had always been good at hiding her pain. She was like a closed book – one that once, many years ago, I had thought I was able to read.

"Keep watching the GPS," I growled at Paolo.

Marco's mouth pulled into a thin line. "Bandage her up."

I almost might have felt sorry for Paolo, who was being given two contradicting orders and had to try to fulfil them both, but I was too angry to feel anything else.

"Head for the meeting place then keep going straight," Paolo instructed, his voice wavering each time Cecelia pulled away with a scowl. She was just as stubborn as always; she never knew what was best for her. It was a quality I admired and resented. "The vehicle doesn't seem to be going very fast," he observed as an afterthought.

"Is it a trap?" Marco wondered.

"Of course it is," Cecelia growled, then she softened her voice, "but we have to go anyway, for Arturo." She leant forward in the car and placed a hand on my shoulder, causing me to stiffen. "This girl is clearly important to him."

Her hand lingered a moment longer before it withdrew, and I let out a breath when it did.

"We're approaching," Paolo warned.

Marco eased the car into the left lane as we sped up, easily gaining ground. The van ahead of us carried on at its same steady speed, practically crawling. When we began to overtake still it went on; as we pulled in front it didn't stop. Not until Marco slammed on the breaks causing both vehicles to come to a screeching halt.

The moment we stopped I leapt out of the car, moving swiftly toward the van. Instantly I found my eyes searching for Florence, but she couldn't be seen in the passenger seat. Viktor was slowly getting out of the driver's seat, an easy smile on his dark features.

"Arturo," he greeted with a nod, slamming the door behind him.

"Where is she?" I demanded. "Why didn't you stop?"

Leaning against the bonnet and folding his arms, Viktor smiled easily. "Just making you sweat, old friend. I was never going to take her, not when she is so enamoured with you."

I bristled at old friend, fighting the urge to smash his nose back into his head. Our interaction might have seemed civil, but Viktor was still playing a game; his suggestion that had Florence not chosen me he wouldn't have honoured our agreement only confirmed this.

Viktor and I weren't old friends, in fact we weren't friends period.

"You know what happens if I find out you've hurt her in any way," I threatened, meaning every word. I could feel the sleek bodywork of the gun tucked into my waistband, ensuring that every threat I made was a promise.

Oh, how I'd love to pull it on a fucker like Viktor, or any of the Ivanovs. But there was one family further up on my hitlist after the events of today.

I heard Marco climb out of the car behind me, coming to stand on my left.

Viktor's sharp gaze flicked between the two of us and then he shrugged lazily, "She's all yours."

As I made my way around the car every part of me was tense; all of my muscles were coiled and ready to spring, expecting the worst. I wouldn't relax until she was safely in my arms.

I paused by the door of the car and listened carefully. The windows were tinted, so I couldn't see in, but I needed to be aware that I could be walking into an ambush, no matter what agreements Viktor and I had reached. I could pull open the door and my head might be blown off by a machine gun; such was the precarious nature of my life.

"Florence," I said loudly, waiting for some assurance.

There was only a brief pause before her startled and hopeful reply came. "Arturo?!"

The second I heard her voice I threw open the door and there she was, the woman I loved, dishevelled, bruised and scared but alive. Neither of us said anything as she threw herself into my arms and started sobbing loudly.

I stroked her fiery hair while her tears saturated my shirt. I could feel her heart thundering against my body as we moved.

"I'll expect to be hearing from you very soon, Arturo," Viktor said from behind us. I pulled open the door of the SUV while Marco got in and started the engine. Ivanov was still leaning against his bonnet, watching us with that sharp smile of his. I nodded in his direction.

Suddenly, Florence's hands stopped clutching at my shirt. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy as she stared between us. "You knew about this?" she accused. Her voice wasn't filled with anger, I knew her too well to mistake what she was really feeling: hurt.

Viktor raised his arms in a shrug, the razor edge of his mouth carving into a smirk. "I'll take that as my cue to leave," he said, climbing into the passenger seat and starting the engine.

Florence and I both watched him drive off in tense silence. I'd always known this was going to be difficult, but I could feel the weight of my silence pressing out from the inside.

I studied Florence's side profile in the headlights from the SUV. She was staring determinedly ahead, I knew she was trying to appear emotionless, but the way her jaw tightened as she chewed on her lip gave her away.

"I needed you to think this was real," I said honestly, reaching for her hand. She let me take it but didn't look at me, which somehow hurt more than if she had slapped me away. "The Genovese were watching the whole time, if they thought for even a second that they were being played then I would have lost you for good."

"So you needed me to seem scared," she said. "You needed me to be scared, to be terrified that this man I didn't even know was going to do exactly the same to me as Salvo did to Sofia."

Her hand was limp in mine, it felt like I was trying to hold water without it slipping between my fingers. My skin burned at her rejection and her hurt.

"I would never let that happen to you, Florence."

She took a long time to respond. I could see her taking the idea, running it through her head, I could practically see her mind parsing the information, truth from fact or lie.

When she finally turned to me her expression was hard, any vulnerability protected by an immovable shell. "If you think you have any control over what Viktor Ivanov does then you are a fool."

"I know Ivanov. I know how his mind works."

Florence raised her eyebrows and somehow that sceptical gesture felt like a slash over my skin. "And do you know that he propositioned me?" she wondered. "Do you know how he told me he wanted a wife, that he would protect me better than you ever could?"

Her eyes searched mine as I sought something to say but came up blank.

"Or was that part of the plan, too? Were you testing me, Arturo?"

"Of course not. I had no idea that he would say those things." I was increasingly aware that we had an audience watching us, observing and judging each return of the argument as though we were playing tennis with words. Cecelia caught my eye briefly as I glanced at the SUV, but her expression was unreadable.

Florence nodded sharply, though it wasn't in agreement. I knew she had seen me glancing at the car, she was as aware of our audience as I. "So then you don't really know Viktor at all?"

"We came to an agreement."

"And you think everyone behaves with the same code of honour as you?" She folded her arms.

"The Ivanovs may be many things, but they are not dishonourable," I replied with a shrug. Bastards, maybe, but usually reliable ones.

"And what if he hadn't played fair? What if he really had kidnapped me and..." she swallowed hard.

"We were tracking him the whole time. There was no way any of us would have allowed that to happen." I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb, hoping I could coax her into the car and postpone this argument at least until we were alone.

Florence took a step towards me, she tilted her head so that she could look directly into my eyes. "And what if I'd said yes to him?" she whispered.

I swallowed, measuring her expression carefully. Her brows were raised challengingly, but there was something behind her confidence faltering. Uncertainty, the very same emotion I was feeling, although I'd never let it show in the same way she did.

"It would be your choice," I replied slowly, honestly. "No matter how much it hurts me, it will always be your choice to walk away."

She glanced to the car for a second and tried to hide it by brushing back her hair. I saw. "But it would hurt you?" she asked.

"Yes. You know it would."

Florence nodded again contemplatively, until I saw exhaustion creeping up on her. It was like a physical force causing her to crumble, the second I saw her shoulders sag I pulled her into my arms.

"I want to go home," she whispered into my neck, clutching the collar of my shirt.

"Me too."