Wicked Intentions

31

I place the coat on the arm of the sofa and fold my hands in my lap. I’m sitting ramrod-straight, staring at nothing, when I feel his hand settle onto my thigh.

I flinch. He squeezes my leg. I grit my teeth and close my eyes. “So you know I finished the job.”

He says casually, “Speak again without permission, and you won’t walk for a week.”

“Who told you you could speak, you bad girl?”

Why, why is the American in my head? Why can’t I get him out? Why am I thinking of him as I’m sitting here with this savage of a man, my life in danger, my heart exploding in fear?

Even as I’m asking myself those questions, I know the answer.

Because the further away I get from that beautiful night, the more clearly I can see what I was given.

Capo asks sharply, “Why are you smiling?”

My eyes snap open. The fighter who was knocked out has rolled onto his side and is struggling to stand. It seems like a sign, so I decide to tell him the truth. “You remind me of the things I’m grateful for.”

My honesty surprises him. Something like amusement flashes across his expression, but of course it can’t be amusement because he doesn’t have a sense of humor—because he doesn’t have a soul.

He says, “How interesting. That almost sounded like a compliment. If you’re not careful, I’ll start to think you’re sweet on me.” After a beat, he adds, “Although those murderous eyes tell a different story.”

We stare at each other. My fingers itch to claw into his eye sockets, to dig out his eyeballs and crush them under my feet, to feel vitreous liquid, warm and gelatinous, ooze between my bare toes.

I wonder if evil is contagious.

I ask politely, “May I please have permission to speak?”

His grin is unexpected. It’s also terrifying.

“Do you know why I like you, Mariana?”

He likes me? Dios mio. His hand, heavy and warm, still rests on my thigh.

“No, Capo. Why?”

“Because you’re a warrior. Even your submission is defiant. You’d rather die on your feet than live on your knees.” He adds thoughtfully, “Like me.”

Like me? He thinks we have something in common? Revulsion curls my tongue when I say, “Thank you.”

My expression makes him laugh. When he lifts his hand from my leg, it feels like I’ve been sprung from prison.

“We could’ve made an incredible team, you and I. It’s a pity you chose to take the oath to repay Reynard’s debt instead of…the easier way.” His gaze drifts down to my breasts. He sinks his teeth into his full lower lip.

I wish I hadn’t guzzled all my champagne. I need something to wash the taste of vomit from my mouth.

He glances at my face. Whatever he sees there makes him prompt, “You may speak.”

My plan was to try to get right down to business and find out why he called me here, but something has occurred to me that’s much more important.

And far, far more dangerous.

I say haltingly, “I want…I want to ask for a favor.”

For a long, tense moment, he stares at me. I wonder how long the fighters will be able to continue, because I sense I’m starting to run out of time.

Capo leans forward, sets his champagne glass on the coffee table, then rests his elbows on his knees and smiles. He’s never looked more ruthless.

Holding my gaze, he says softly, “You know my favors aren’t free.”

I almost lose my courage then. But I’m gambling that the blood oath I’ve taken will give me some measure of protection against the worst part of his nature. Sicilians value blood oaths more than anything, except family and respect.

“Yes, Capo.”

His eyes blaze with anticipation. He inclines his head, permission for me to speak granted.

“The girls who were with you when I came in…”

That muscle in his jaw flexes again. He looks hungry. Like a starving wild animal about to rip into a carcass with his teeth. “What about them, Mariana?”

My name on his lips is so sinister, I have to take several breaths before I work up the courage to speak again. “May I have them?”

He looks startled for a split second, then his face clears with understanding. His voice comes out as a hiss. “Save them, you mean. Rescue them. From me.”

When I don’t answer, Capo sneers. “They’re two of hundreds. Thousands. All exactly alike. You can’t save them all.”

I stare at my hands. They’re shaking. With fury or fright, I don’t really know. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”

He grabs my jaw and forces my head around so we’re nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes. “This is about your sister, isn’t it?”

My silence infuriates him. He snaps, “There are better ways to respect the dead than throwing yourself on their funeral pyre!”

I’m shocked. I thought he’d jump at the chance to degrade me the way I know he aches to.

“Is that a no?”

His nostrils flare. His hands clamp around my throat and start squeezing before I can react. He jerks me toward him. The movement is so violent, it lifts me clear off the sofa.

“You stupid f*****g woman,” he growls, veins popping out in his neck. “You stupid, proud, sentimental woman. You’d sacrifice yourself for a dead girl and two worthless whores who’ll rob you and stab you in the heart the second they get the chance?”

He flips me onto my back on the sofa, a big, dark presence looming over me as I cough and struggle against his grip. My eyes water. I draw my knees up against my chest in useless defense.