Chapter 9 - The Confession
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The kiss deepened, a desperate, frantic collision of fear and relief. Christopher’s good arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me tightly against his bare, broad chest. I could feel his heart hammering wildly against mine.
I tangled my fingers in his dark hair, entirely losing myself in the overwhelming heat of him. For a moment, the mafia war, the bleeding shoulder, and the dead men in the study vanished. There was only the intoxicating reality that we were both alive.
He broke the kiss first, gasping for air, resting his forehead against mine.
“I shouldn't have done that,” Christopher whispered, his chest heaving. “I’m dragging you into hell, Emily.”
“I walked in voluntarily,” I replied, my voice breathless, my hands resting on his uninjured shoulder. “You didn't force me to stay.”
“Because I was selfish,” he confessed, his dark eyes searching mine with a raw, agonizing vulnerability. “The moment I heard you sing my mother’s song, I knew I couldn't let you walk away. I used the letters as an excuse to keep you close. I put a target on your back because I was too weak to let you go.”
“You aren't weak, Christopher.”
“I am when it comes to you,” he said, his thumb gently stroking my lower lip.
The heavy steel door of the safehouse buzzed loudly, shattering the intimacy. Dante’s voice came over the intercom.
“Boss. Doc is here.”
I pulled away quickly, my face flushed, grabbing a towel to wipe the blood from my hands.
An older man with a worn leather medical bag entered, taking one look at Christopher’s shoulder. “You’ve made a mess of yourself again, Vitali,” the doctor grunted, pulling on sterile gloves.
I stepped back into the shadows of the kitchen, watching as the doctor stitched Christopher’s wound. Christopher didn't even flinch, his eyes remaining locked on me the entire time.
Once the doctor left, Dante stepped into the living room, his expression grim.
“I have intel from the streets, Boss,” Dante reported. “Silvio has officially defected to Lorenzo Mancuso. They’ve fortified the old meatpacking plant in the North End. Silvio is calling the capos, telling them you’re unfit to lead, trying to stage a full coup.”
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Christopher stood up, completely ignoring his freshly stitched shoulder. He buttoned a clean black shirt he pulled from a stash in the closet. The vulnerability from the couch was entirely gone. The King of Boston had returned.
“Call the loyalists,” Christopher commanded, his voice cold and lethal. “Tell them to gear up. We assault the meatpacking plant at dawn. I am going to mount Silvio’s head on the gates.”
