Free The Gypsy King by Morgan Rush Page B

her to make her happy. All he wanted was what they both had wanted since they were young—a house, babies and a long life taking care of him while he took care of the family business. A dark, Corsican cloud came over him and he winced as he remembered lessons from his youth years and years ago.
    Leone finished the rest of his third bottle of 83

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    wine and flung the empty into the fireplace, then laughed at the explosion! He laughed and danced around wildly, spinning in circles and kicking his heels like the Greeks after so much Retsina they can barely stand, but still managed to dance and fight. He staggered up the stairs, falling against the banister several times and laughed at himself and his sudden predicament. He marched into his bedroom, head held high, opened his travel trunk and unwrapped one of his most treasured
    possessions, a French Officer’s Epee.
    The sword gleamed in its velvet coffin and
    Leone admired its history immensely. It had been used in Napoleon’s cavalry and infantry during social functions. In exchange for six cases of Leone’s finest champagne, an infantry officer had given it to him. He looked at the elegant, thirty-two inch blade, the handcrafted leather scabbard with a brass locket with frog stud and end piece.
    He pulled it from its velvet tomb and, with anger and hatred at a situation he could not yet control, he released it from its scabbard and stood up straight, falling naturally into a fighting position.
    In complete silence, he cut the air in a searing practiced stroke so fast, accurate and deadly, he surprised himself.
    “There will be no whores in this family!” he hissed venomously between gritting teeth.
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    Morgan Rush

Chapter Eight
    eronique’s room was dark except for slivers of Vmoonbeams slicing through the window,
    bathing the hardwood floor and her bed in a soft glow. Ahndray slept, his breathing smooth and peaceful. Her naked body, still glistening with a light sheen from their lovemaking hours earlier, draped over him like the branches of an Aspen tree against a darkening sky.
    The banging and yelling downstairs woke them both like a thunderbolt! They sat straight up in her bed and Ahndray immediately reached for her hand. They listened and looked at each other.
    Without speaking, both understood what was
    happening downstairs.
    Veronique’s father was in the foyer trying to talk sensibly to another man who was yelling and would not be consoled with anything he said.
    They continued talking, the din of their muffled voices carried up the flight of stairs and wafted 85

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    into the lovers’ room. The voices quickly became louder and the arguing became more intense. One man was shouting and sounded abrasive and very drunk. There was a loud crash, then a brief moment of silence. Veronique gasped as she could only guess what had happened between the men.
    She started to get out of bed, but Ahndray pulled her back briskly.
    “Stay here, Princess.” He held her hand tightly in his. It was quiet downstairs, then suddenly someone erupted and was bounding up the stairs very quickly with a powerful stride. The lovers recognized the voice now barreling toward them and they looked at each other with dread. They squeezed each other’s hand and knew there was no time for questions. There was nowhere to run and Veronique cursed herself for the second time in as many days.
    She hissed through her teeth, “As fast and
    beautiful as the passion we just shared came rolling over us both, it is being destroyed again, just as quickly!” She felt her heart burning a dark hole in her chest and she heard the marionette’s strings that had been holding her up for the past several weeks snap, one by one.
    Before they moved to get out of the bed, the door exploded into the room and Veronique’s screams blasted throughout the house. Chunks of wood from the doorframe sailed into the room as splinters rained across the floor and the bed.
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    Morgan