Of course, tonight of all nights, when all I really wanted was peace and quiet and possibly to let out some sexual frustration — I’d be stuck with someone who, by the feel and looks of it, clearly had had his fair share of training in the ring.

With a grunt he pushed me against the hallway wall, ramming his fist into the side of my face. After three hits, I was able to finally duck on the fourth, so his hand hit the wall. And just like that, I knew the boxer’s choreography. His dance, if you will. Right hook, uppercut, right hook, left. I landed a double jab to his stomach and then kneed him a few times before he toppled over, compliments of Muay Thai, bitch. With a grunt, his hand clamped around my wrist, knocking my gun to the floor. I kicked him again then slammed down my arms on his grasp around my waist, momentarily giving me enough time to scramble to my pant leg so I could grab my knife.

We danced around one another. He smirked, throwing his gun and pulling out his own knife. So it was going to be like that, cocky piece of work. He lunged first. I let the blade get within inches of my face before moving to the right and using his momentum to throw him over my shoulder and onto the carpet. I got on top of him and punched him repeatedly in the face until blood covered his smirk. A tooth went flying as he spat blood from his mouth.

“You’re going to have to kill me.” He spit out some more blood as he knocked his head against mine.

Groaning, I fell to the side as we switched positions. But I still had my knife. When he came down a second time, I held up the blade so it went into his palm. He howled in pain and fell back, giving me enough time to grab the knife he’d dropped and thrust it into his chest as the weight of his body fell back on top of me.

I had a love and hate relationship with knives.

I loved the control they gave me.

But I hated that, as gravity caused his body to slide to the handle of the knife, I could see the life leave his eyes, his soul finally finding rest. With a grunt, I pushed him off of me just in time to see the other guy wake up and scramble for the extra gun.

I moved as fast as I could and jumped on top of him, but his gun wasn’t trained on me. It was trained on himself.

I held up my hands. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Chase Abandonato, and you are?” I asked in a calm voice slowly leaning away from him. His hand shook as he held the gun to his chin. Why wasn’t he putting up a fight? I looked down, and that’s when I saw, somehow in the fight his leg had twisted. No way could he win against me. Even with a gun, he would most likely die trying.

Blood poured from the guy’s face as he looked up at me and answered, “A dead man.”

One gun shot.

His body slumped to the floor in a bloody heap as blood splattered all over the wall behind him. It was a complete mess. Blood began to pool at my feet.

“Son of a bitch.” I wiped my hands on my pants and gazed back at the door, hoping Mil hadn’t witnessed the entire thing.

Her face was pale, her lower lip trembled as she leaned against the door. Shit, she needed to sit down before she passed out.

“I’m fine.” She waved me off once I reached her. “I’m fine. I mean…” She swallowed. “I’m good.”

“Stop saying you’re fine and good before I take you to the damn hospital.” I held out my hand. “Cell phone. Now.”

Eyes still trained on the dead bodies in the hall, she handed me the phone from the nearby desk and crossed her arms, huddling into her own body.

I dialed Nixon; he answered on the first ring. “Well, that was fast.”

“Not the time, Nixon,” I said in a low voice. “Look, we’ve got a situation.”

“Alright.” His voice took on a business tone. “How many?”

“Two dead.”

“By you?”

“One by me, the other… self inflicted.”

“Identification?” I could hear the car roaring to life as Nixon yelled orders to men in the background.

“Never seen them before. Let me ask Mil.” I lowered the phone. “Mil.” I didn’t have time to be gentle with her, to coax her out of shock. I needed answers and I needed them fast. “You know them?” I pointed down at the bodies. “I need to know if you can ID them.”

Her eyes watered with tears. She nodded her head and looked away. “My cousins.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Those are my cousins. I saw them a few years ago during Christmas break.”

“Shit,” I mumbled into the phone. Adrenaline was starting to leave my body. Every position I stood in caused a growing ache to radiate down my spine. “Nixon, it was the De Langes.”

“Of course,” he said in clipped tones. “They have such a nasty habit of trying to kill off their own blood — no respect, no—”

“Not the time, Nixon. Just get your ass down here. Now.”

“I’ll call Sergio.” The phone went dead.

We only called in Sergio when things went above our heads. Shit, above our heads? I looked down the hall. Cameras. Not good. Hell yeah, we needed Sergio, because if this security footage got out, we were going to be front-page news, and I’d be spending my honeymoon in prison.

Thankfully we were in one of the penthouse suites. Only four rooms were on our level and none of the doors budged. I kept the door open so I could monitor the hall for any movement, praying the rooms were empty. If they weren’t… there would be more bodies, and they would be innocent.

Mil

Yeah, I was fooling nobody. I tried to keep my teeth from chattering, but it was impossible. I’d killed before. I wasn’t a stranger to death, but I’d never witnessed someone killing himself. It was… it was desperate, horror-inspiring. There was blood everywhere, on the walls, on Chase, on the floor. It was such a violent act. My brain couldn’t wrap around or fathom why the same cousin who’d teased me about my crush on Justin Timberlake when I was sixteen would not only turn his gun on me, but on himself.

As a family, we’d never been close. We were the De Langes for crying out loud; we ate nails for breakfast and sold out to the highest bidder in order to keep the family in power and make money.

We were the ugly of the mafia, the desperate joke — never did it occur to me that my own family would be out for blood. That the very people I’d sworn to protect — had ordered a hit on me.

“Mil, sit down before I lose my damn mind.” I felt Chase’s body wrap around mine. I took the comfort like a homeless person takes shelter in a storm. I shuddered as he pulled me against his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better nights.”

Chase’s body shook with laughter. “Right, I mean, I knew our wedding night would be epic, but mainly because I figured the minute I got naked you’d pull a gun on me or something.”

I smiled against his torn and bloody shirt. Pieces of muscled skin were visible through the holes; heat invaded my palms when I placed them on his chest and pulled back to look at him. “Thank you.”

“Wow, you haven’t shot me yet, and you’ve said thank you? Where’s my wife and what have you done with her?”

My grin grew so wide I almost forgot how scared I was. “Yeah well, don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered, his eyes trained on my mouth.

I leaned in first.

He met me halfway.

Our lips were an inch apart, and then a knock sounded on the door. Chase motioned for me to be quiet and went to look through the peephole. With a muttered curse, he opened the door. “Sergio, worst timing ever.”

“Says the guy with two dead bodies outside his door.” A deep male voice said. A hint of an accent was audible, but hardly. Soon, the owner of the voice stepped into the room and held out his hand. “Sergio. And you must be the bride? Or the assassin?”

“Assassin.” I pointed at Chase. “Bride.” I pointed at myself.