Wicked Intentions

30

Smiling, Capo tilts his head back and looks at me from under hooded lids. “You want to kill me, Mari?”

Only every day, you worthless piece of s**t. “I’m not in the murder business.”

His smile vanishes. “You’re in whatever business I say you’re in.”

I swallow. A cold bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Behind me, one of the fighters lands a vicious blow.

The crunch of bone makes the collared girls shudder.

“Yes, Capo. I meant no disrespect.”

Gazing at me thoughtfully, he draws on his cigar. The tip burns red. He exhales a plume of smoke, then, without looking away from me, he raises the hand that holds the girls’ leashes and says to Enzo, “Get rid of this garbage.”

Enzo leads them off like they’re a pair of dogs on choke chains. They crawl behind him on hands and knees toward a door on the far side of the room. I can’t watch, because I can’t help them, and I’m concentrating on swallowing the scream of impotent rage building in my throat.

I start counting all the places I’ve hidden weapons on my body.

Left thigh. Lower back. Right forearm. Shoe.

I’m not going to attempt anything because I’d be dead within seconds, but it calms me.

Capo motions for me to join him on the sofa. “Come. Take off your coat and have some champagne.”

The six bodyguards watch me rebel for a moment against an order from their king. Try as I might to move, my body remains frozen.

Capo’s hand is extended toward me. His eyes glitter with malice. Very quietly, he says my name.

I drag in a breath and find the will to get my shaking fingers to untie the belt on my coat. It falls open, Capo’s eyes flare, and I freeze all over again.

Abruptly, he stands and comes to me. He cuffs my wrists in his hands and gives me a short, hard shake. I smell his cologne, sandalwood and cloves, and almost groan in terror.

“You seem reluctant.” His voice is low, his face close to mine. “Are you afraid of me, Mari?”

I could die in this room, and no one would ever know. I’d never see Reynard again. I’d never see the sun again.

And the American… Will he think of me?

I’m hyperventilating. It must be my fear that answers Capo, because I would never be so self-destructive to utter the words I say next.

“Yes. But I hate myself for it. You’re not worth the wasted breath.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes. He looks at my mouth. “I’ve killed men for less than that,” he says, deadly soft. His gaze flashes back up to mine. His grip around my wrists is viciously tight.

I think of the American again, the way he touched my body with such reverence, how he was so sweet I couldn’t bear it. It’s comical that I should be thinking of him at this moment. Or maybe it’s madness. Either way, it gives me a welcome boost of strength.

“I can’t help it if you don’t like to hear the truth.”

Capo exhales slowly. His lids droop. He moistens his lips.

With a fresh dose of horror, I realize he’s aroused by my defiance.

In a lover’s tender murmur, he says, “Always so reckless, Mari. Always so proud. Do you know what I’d like to do with that pride of yours?”

My mouth goes dry. My stomach knots. I’m sure he can hear my knees knocking.

He leans closer. He inhales deeply against my neck, raising all the tiny hairs on my body. The tip of his nose nudges my earlobe as he breathes hotly into my ear, “I’d like to beat it out of you.”

Then he releases me abruptly and snarls, “Now sit your ass down on the f*****g sofa!”

He shoves me so hard, I stumble and fall to my knees. A hand grips my hair and yanks my head back. I look up into a handsome, unsmiling face.

Capo makes a clucking noise and chides, “Clumsy.”

He drags me to my feet by my hair. I suck in a sharp breath from the pain but don’t scream. I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction. He pushes me onto the sofa, then stands glaring down at me while I wait, heart hammering, for him to pull out a gun and shoot me in the face.

But he only runs a hand over his hair and adjusts his tie, smooths a wrinkle in his beautiful jacket.

“You always manage to disrupt my equilibrium.”

There’s an edge like a knife in his voice. He sits next to me and pours champagne into both glasses. An acrid coil of smoke wafts up from the carpet beneath the coffee table where he abandoned his cigar.

I take the champagne he offers, ashamed to see how hard my hand shakes. Unsure if it will be the last taste of champagne I’ll ever have, I swallow it in one gulp.

One of the fighters hits the other with a vicious undercut to the jaw. It sends him flying. As the soprano hits a high note, his body lands on the carpet with a dull thud. A tremor shakes the floor under my feet.

Get up. Keep fighting. Please don’t die in front of me. Please don’t die and leave me here alone with him and his soldiers and nothing else to hold their attention.

“I told you to take off your coat.”

Capo has leaned back against the sofa, and is watching me from the corner of his eye. I do as he orders, my gaze averted. When I try to drape my coat over my legs, he warns softly, “Mariana.”