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"That’s where you're wrong because whether or not I live or die, the information that I have on you will not only destroy you but your entire corrupt family. It’s just a matter of time before the truth is revealed. Who will you avenge for it then, Luca, if you have already killed me?" She laughs. It’s eerie. I kind of laugh, shattering any doubts that she is bluffing into tiny little pieces.
"Is that so?” I cock my head, raising a brow, amused but also confused. “And how might they find out if you're dead?"
She laughs again. This time she is condescending. "Wow, you're all muscle and no brain, butcher. As if I would tell you that."
Losing my patience and my tolerance, I grab a fist full of her hair and pull down on it. Her head tilts back, and her eyes widen from the force. It moves the gun that's still in my other hand level with her lips. Staring me straight in the eyes, she opens her mouth wide, placing the barrel into it.
Brazen bitch!
"Don't test me," I warn, but it makes no difference. This woman has balls of steel and isn't budging. She will not show me her fear. If I end her here and now, something deep in the pits of my gut tells me she was not lying before, and somehow, she has planned something to get out to the media in her death. Has she given the story to someone who has promised to reveal it if she was to die? Does she have it all in a timed email that automatically sends after a while if she doesn't override it?
Grrr! Fuck!
"Get up," I order, but just as I expected, she deliberately disobeys.
"I said, get the fuck up!" I drag her by the arm this time until she comes to her feet. She winces at my tight grip on her, and I couldn't give a rat's ass if I am hurting her or not.
Her eyes scrunch up with distaste. "I am not going anywhere with you. I'd rather die."
"Oh, that you will, but we have some business to deal with first, so go and pack some clothes."
"As I said, I am not going anywhere with you. That is, unless you drag out my cold corpse with you when you leave, but you strike me as more of a leave me to rot kind."
"You are starting to really piss me off with that big mouth of yours."
"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings? Wait, do you even have any of those?" Her smart mouth is about to get her in more trouble than she bargained for if she is not careful. I no longer find her entertaining. Frustration has taken over, and my blood is beginning to boil. I am not used to being disobeyed nor mocked, and I will not stand for it.
"I don't give a fuck that you are a woman. If you don't shut that pretty little mouth of yours, I will shut it for you, and believe me when I say that you will no longer be pretty.” I point my gun away from her and towards her bedroom. "Move. Now," I bark at her. "Either you pack some clothes, or you will stay in those same ones until the day you die, or start to smell, whichever comes first. Then you will just be naked, so make a choice.” She doesn't resist me this time. Instead, she huffs, blowing strands of her auburn hair off her face, and stomps off to her bedroom.
Just as she gets to the doorway, she stops and looks back at me over her shoulder.
"What are you going to do with me if you're not going to kill me?" she asks, and it's the first time I see a hint of fear in her.
I grin at her. "I am going to make you suffer."
Eight
Scarlet
My heart races heavily inside my chest. How am I still breathing? When I woke up with a gun pointed at my face, I honestly was okay with dying. I was at the point of surrendering myself anyway. Over the past fifteen months, I have done nothing but run and hide in a constant state of anxiousness and fear. I wanted it to be over. I wanted my peace.
I'm not the type to give up easily, but that was before. Before him.
When everyone you love has parted from this world, and you have nothing left to lose, you tend not to care what the repercussions of your actions are. I don't fear death. I fear living. Because right now, for me, living means I have to suffer at the hands of Luca Valsetti, and that thought alone is much scarier than death itself.
Sifting through my drawers, I grab some shirts, jeans, and underwear and pack them into an overnight bag. Luca stands shadowing the doorway. The creep has not taken his eyes off me. He looks dark and dangerous, wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt, and black steel cap boots. I wonder if this man owns anything in any other color. I mean, even his watch is black.
"Hurry up," he clips from the doorway.
I quickly grab my toothbrush and some toiletries from the bathroom. As I step back into my bedroom, Luca is by my chest of drawers, looking at something inside it.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat to get his attention. "Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to go through other people's things?"
He turns around, holding up my deep red lace panties in his hand.
"You match your underwear with your hair?" He raises his brows with a smirk. "I walk over to him and snatch them from his hand with disgust.
"How mature of you," I hiss. I'm unsure if it's my hatred and vengeance for Luca that gives me the confidence to stand up to him and insult him. Or purely a provoking act to encourage him to just kill me out of anger and be done with it. Either way, I know I am getting under his skin.
