Seeing Tomasso’s ID on my phone, I answer. “What?” I bark at him through the speaker.
“Uh boss, we were waiting outside as instructed while you were having dinner when the shooting started, we approached the building the shots were coming from with the group you sent to check things out, by the time we got to where they were we spotted three shooters, but they ran before we could do anything. I managed to shoot one of them in the leg, but he still managed to get away. They were Russian.”
“Fuck,” I sigh. “Thanks man,” I say before ending the call and turning to face Izzy, it’s only then that I realized she’s stood against the wall with one of my men wrapping what seems to be some sort of makeshift bandage around her arm. I walk over to her and take her arm from Gianni, undoing the material to see she got cut from the glass after the windows shattered.
“It’s fine,” she says. She’s right, it isn’t a deep cut, but that doesn’t stop the fucking blind rage I feel simmering up deep inside me that those fucking Russian assholes made my wife fucking bleed.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath to try and control my anger. “Come on, let’s go home so I can clean and wrap it properly,” I say softly while taking hold of her hand and beginning to walk through the destroyed restaurant to get to the car.
Needing to make sure Izzy really is okay, I pause my steps and run my eyes up and down her body again, checking for additional injuries. I feel slightly better when I don’t see any, but I still sweep her up in my arms and carry her out to the car, bridal style, I might add. Oh, the irony.
My men are positioned all around us, shielding us in case someone decides to start firing shots at us again, this shit is happening far too fucking often for my liking. This war needs to end, and soon, because what if next time it’s not just a small cut, what if next time she gets seriously fucking hurt?
“Was carrying me really necessary?” Izzy huffs when I position her inside the car.
“Just let me help you woman,” I groan as I put on her seatbelt. She just shakes her head at me and gives me an inquisitive glance.
Yeah, I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, baby. Don’t look at me for answers, you won’t find any.
During the drive back to the apartment I give my Dad a call to let him know what happened and that we’re okay. Luckily, no one was hit during all the chaos—it’s the first hit in a while that we haven’t lost anyone. I can’t fucking wait to put a bullet between Novikov’s eyes next week. The fact that my wife got hurt makes me want it so much more, I don’t give a fuck what the rest of the family say, that fucker made my wife bleed, it’s only fair I get to take his blood in return.
Once we exit the elevator to the penthouse, I immediately sense someone else in the apartment, my security is so good there’s less than a handful of people who would make it up here without ending up in an early grave, so I know it’s probably one of my brothers, specifically the idiot who wouldn’t think to not just show up here now that I’m married. I know Marco would never just turn up here now that I have Izzy so that leaves the delinquent brother.
We turn the corner into the sitting room to see Enzo sprawled out on the armchair watching some fucking cooking show on the tv and eating an apple. Fucking hell.
“What the fuck are you doing here Enzo?” I growl.
He glances up from where he’s sitting to smirk at me. “Hey, bro,” he says before turning to Izzy. “Hey, sis, I’ve come for some womanly advice,” he states as though that’s the most normal thing in the world, while I’m absolutely fucking baffled that my emotionally unattached, psychotic brother has just turned up at my house to ask my wife of two days—who he barely knows and has only met once—for dating advice.
God help the poor girl that’s caught his eye, she has no idea what she’s in for.