Burned Dreams (Perfectly Imperfect #7)

Ravenna starts ascending the stairs, but then stops at the third step and falls into a fit of sneezing. The sound reminds me of a little kitten. It’s hard to believe, but she looks regal even when she sneezes. Shaking my head, I lean forward and scoop her into my arms.

“What?” Ravenna gulps in surprise, then sneezes again.

I carry her up the stairs, keeping my eyes fixed directly ahead, trying to ignore the overwhelming enjoyment of having her so close. Denying myself the need to pull her even closer against my chest. Her face is just a fraction away—I can feel her breath fanning my neck. When I reach the landing, I carry her down the hallway and lower her to the ground in front of her door.

“Um . . .thank you. It wasn’t really necessary, but”—she sneezes, then looks up at me—“thank you.”

I watch her, noticing how red her nose is from wiping it with a tissue at least a hundred times, and how tired she looks. I want to take her back in my arms, as if it would somehow make her feel better.

Instead, I just nod once more.

Ravenna blinks at me and then smiles. My breath catches the same way it did the very first time I saw her.

“People really need to dig to get a word out of you, Alessandro.” She cocks her head to the side.

The scarf around her neck has come loose, and my eyes fall to her throat. Or more precisely, to the vibrant red marks on it. Murderous rage ignites in my chest. I plant my palms against the door on either side of her and lower my head until our faces are only inches apart.

“Was it Rocco?” I say through gritted teeth.

A gasp leaves Ravenna’s mouth.

“When, Ravenna?”

She turns around, twists the knob, and disappears into her room, closing the door behind her. I squeeze my hands into fists and take a deep breath. And another one. He dared to touch her. Hurt her. It must have happened this morning, after I left.

Taking out my phone, I open the tracking app. I didn’t have a chance to put a tracer on Rocco’s new car, but I do have his security vehicles tagged. And where Rocco goes, they follow.

***

The highest level of this unfinished garage gives me an unobstructed view of the surrounding area. I lower my bag to the ground and look down at the construction site on the other side of the street.

Rocco is standing by a makeshift table placed off to the side. The man, who looks to be a site manager, is across from him and is currently staring at the blueprints spread out between them. Rocco’s security men—five of them, with hands never leaving their holsters—are spread in a ten-foot radius around him.

I crouch next to my bag and start reassembling my rifle.There are not many sniper rifles designed to be assembled on the spot. Most are intended to be transported and used as complete units because each time the precision weapon is disassembled and reassembled its accuracy is impacted. This beauty has the barrel and optic assembly in one piece, so it remains zeroed in and ready to fire. It cost more than my car, but the alternative would be carrying a meter-long weapon around. Only a lunatic would do that. Well, a lunatic or Kai Mazur.

None of the guys in my old unit were exactly sane, but Kai Mazur was a unique type of crazy. He reminded me of a trained bloodthirsty animal who never forgot his feral nature. I wonder if they found him in a fucking jungle, taught him to feign civility, and pushed him into the program. Kai was the only member of the team who was sent on missions before he reached the age of eighteen. I think our commander, Kruger, eventually regretted recruiting Kai and kept sending him on the most dangerous missions with the hope he wouldn’t return. But that maniac always came back. Except for that one time he got picked up because he was strolling through the city with a damn sniper rifle on his back in the middle of the day. Attracting the attention of local law enforcement was a big “no” in our line of business, but I’m pretty sure Kai did that on purpose, just to rile up Kruger.

I finish assembling my weapon and take cover at the unfinished parapet wall. Rocco, still in a heated discussion with the site manager, leans forward over the table, his palms planted on the wooden surface. I look through the scope and aim at the bastard’s head. So easy. It would be so fucking easy to end his life here and now. I imagine the bullet passing through his temple and dwell on the idea of his brain matter exploding through the other side, but then, I shift my aim lower until I’m zeroed in on the middle of his right hand. The hand that’s responsible for the bruises on Ravenna’s neck.

And I squeeze the trigger.

He saw.

I can’t believe I forgot myself and let Alessandro see my neck. I always make sure I cover the bruises with foundation, but I was so exhausted this morning that I decided to use the scarf to hide them. Applying a full face of makeup drained what little energy I had.

I reach for the pain and fever meds on the nightstand and take two pills. My head feels like it’s going to explode. Bundling myself under two blankets, I close my eyes and let myself drift to sleep.

***

Bang.

I squeeze my eyes shut and throw the blanket over my head.

Bang. Bang.

“Mrs. Pisano!” the maid’s voice carries through the door.

“I’m sleeping,” I choke out and turn toward the wall.