The Mafia Ice Queen

CHAPTER 5

WINTER POV

“Say hi to the devil,” I said, pressing the cold steel of the barrel hard against his temple.

I expected him to flinch, to panic, or to attempt to disarm me. Instead, he simply stood there, a dark, dangerous smile curling his full lips. His golden-amber eyes locked onto mine, burning with an unholy amusement.

He didn't speak. He didn't move. He just stared at me, completely unbothered by the loaded weapon inches from his brain.

Great, I’ve been bought by a lunatic.

My gaze flicked down to his throat and collarbone. Dark ink coated his skin; lethal tattoos crept up his neck and disappeared beneath his tailored shirt.

Slowly, he reached out a hand. His broad, calloused knuckles lightly brushed against my cheek, sending a sudden, unwelcome jolt of heat racing down my spine.

“My perfect little grenade,” he murmured smoothly.

I jabbed the gun harder against his skull. “You think I won't do it?”

“On the contrary,” he said, his voice a low velvet rasps. “I know you’ll shoot. I’m counting on it.”

“You have a death wish, and I will gladly fulfill it.”

My finger slammed back against the trigger. But in a fraction of a second, his hand flashed up, brutally slapping my wrist aside. The gun shot with a deafening crack, the bullet shattering a glass vase behind him and embedding itself in the wall.

He didn't even blink. Not an ounce of fear or surprise touched his face.

I backed away a step, my grip tightening on the pistol.

Who the hell was this man? I had seen powerful mobsters break, beg, and plead for their lives when facing the barrel of a gun. Yet this man leaned into the danger, treating my lethal threat like nothing more than an entertaining game.

He took a slow step backward, retreating toward a leather armchair where he lazily slouched down, crossing one leg over the other as if he hadn't just dodged a bullet.

“Let me make this simple for you,” he said, drawing a silver lighter from his pocket and sparking a single cigarette. “Even if you manage to put a bullet through my forehead, you won't make it past that door. And even if you miraculously put down my guards in the hallway, you won't make it to the main gate before you're reduced to an unrecognizable corpse.”

He took a slow drag, exhaling a plume of gray smoke into the air. The faint aroma of rich tobacco, vinegar, and leather drifted toward me, laced with the sharp metallic scent of sin.

On any normal day, I might have admitted he was breathtakingly handsome tall, dark, sculpted, with broad shoulders stretching the seams of his partially unbuttoned dress shirt. But right now, he was just an obstacle standing between me and my freedom.

“So,” I spat out, “you spent a two hundred thousand dollars expecting me to be your good little slave and warm your bed?”

He flicked his hand dismissively. “That’s merely an added benefit.” He took another drag, and an urge flared inside me to snatch the cigarette straight out of his mouth just like I used to do with Father.

The memory sliced through my mind like a fresh razor blade.

My vision swam with red. I raised the gun again, aiming dead-center for his forehead.

He glanced at the barrel, then looked back into my eyes, his smirk perfectly intact. “Why do you think I paid for? Just for a mere p***y?” He let out a low, dark laugh that vibrated off the walls.

“Then what do you want?” I demanded. A man like him already had absolute power, wealth, and total control. There was nothing I could offer him besides sex

“What do you think I want?” He studied me closely. “Looking at you, you don't belong in a cage. You weren't plucked off the street. You’re polished, lethal, well-trained. So my bet is you belong to a powerful family. Either they got rid of you or your family got betrayed and got wiped out.”

I gritted my teeth, my jaw aching from the tension.

“Ah,” he chuckled softly. “The second one.”

“What does my past have to do with you?”

“Because I can give you exactly what you want.”

“My family back?” I asked bitterly.

“Revenge,” he corrected, his amber eyes darkening with absolute authority. “You want to ruin every single person who destroyed your life. And I can give you the power, the protection, and the army to ensure they don't even dream of touching your shadow ever again.”

I paused, lowering the gun an inch. “And what do you want in return?”

His smirk broadened into something truly predatory. “I want you to be my Queen.”

I stilled. “Your what?”

“I don't need a fragile wife. I need a lethal weapon. I need someone who can burn the world down alongside me without blinking an eye. You’re brilliant, trained in high-grade weaponry, master of stealth, and utterly stubborn. You don't break under pressure.”

“And why should I believe a word you say?”

“First, because you don't have a choice.”

I narrowed my eyes, itching to pull the trigger.

“Secondly,” he continued smoothly, “the fact that I haven't killed you yet for shooting at me is proof enough. And thirdly... Dante Valentino never goes back on his word.”

My breath hitched in my throat. Cold shock washed over me.

Valentino?

The legendary Italian mob empire ruled by the Godfather, Enzo Valentino, and his seven ruthless sons? I had heard whispers of their brutal syndicate my entire life, but I never imagined I would stand face-to-face with the most dangerous brother of them all.

Dante.

The Devil of Italy.

“Does that ring a bell, sweetheart?” he asked mockingly.

“Why me?” I managed to ask, keeping my voice steady.

“Because you fit the crown.” He stubbed out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray and stood up, towering over me. I felt small beneath his massive frame, as if he could crush me with a single hand. “You become my Queen, and I give you the power, the military backing, and the protection you need to crush your enemies.”

“I need to find my sister first,” I said firmly, holding his gaze. “She’s out there. She’s all I have left.”

“That can be arranged.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. Common sense screamed at me never to trust a devil. But right now, he was my only card to play, the only man powerful enough to help me burn the Asherford traitors to ash.

“Fine,” I said, extending my right hand.

He looked down at my outstretched palm, then wrapped his long, scarred fingers around mine. A shiver ran through me at the heat radiating from his skin. Ink covered the back of his hand, a dark, detailed skull.

“But remember,” Dante said, leaning down until his lips brushed my ear, “cross me, and I have ways to make you beg for death.”

I looked deep into his golden eyes, refusing to flinch. “Glad we’re on the same page.”