Chapter 7 - The Blood on the DocksThe kiss wasn't gentle; it was fierce, desperate, and laden with the dangerous electricity of a war zone. Bianca gasped against his mouth, her hands instinctively gripping the lapels of his silk robe as Tristan pulled her flush against his chest. Every rational thought in her head dissolved into white noise, replaced by the heat of his skin and the cedar scent of his cologne.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Tristan rested his forehead against hers in the dim quiet of the hallway.
"Stay with me tonight," he whispered against her lips, not as a command, but as a plea.
She didn't say no.
The next evening, the storm had cleared, leaving the Manhattan skyline glittering like a bed of diamonds across the dark waters of the river. But inside the Bellamy estate, the calm was shattered by the ring of an encrypted satellite phone on Tristan’s desk.
Tristan answered on the second ring, listening intently as his lead enforcer spoke on the other end. His expression hardened into stone.
"Vincenzo Moretti just moved his men into position at Pier 44," Tristan said, setting the phone down. He looked across the study at Bianca, who was sitting stiffly on the sofa. "The trap is set. I have to go."
"You're going down there?" Bianca asked, standing up quickly. "It’s a trap. Moretti knows you're coming."
"That’s the point," Tristan replied coldly, pulling a heavy black holster and a Sig Sauer pistol from his desk drawer, strapping it securely beneath his left arm. "Some debts can only be paid in blood."
"I'm coming with you," Bianca said.
Tristan froze, his hand hovering over his suit jacket. He whipped around, his face twisting into a scowl. "Are you out of your mind? We are going into a gunfight at an active shipping dock!"
"And I'm a trauma nurse!" Bianca fired back, stepping right up to him, her eyes flashing with absolute fury. "If your men get shot down there, who is going to keep them from bleeding out before an ambulance arrives? You? You can shoot people, Tristan, but you can't stitch a severed artery! Let me go with you."
Tristan stared at her, caught between absolute fury and a twisted sense of admiration. For ten seconds, the room was dead silent. Then, with a harsh curse, he grabbed a heavy bulletproof vest from the closet and shoved it toward her.
May you like
"Put this on. And if you leave my side for even a single second, I will throw you back in the Maybach and have my driver lock you in the estate dungeon myself. Understood?"
"Understood," she muttered, slipping the heavy vest over her clothes.
