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“Someone is feeling possessive today.” He winks at me. “You two want a cheeseburger? Allister is making them.”
“Yeah, we’ll take fries too if he makes them.”
We sit on French’s couch, and I hold her hand. The guys ask her a million questions, most of which she dodges. Some of them know who she is, while others don't. But they do know she’s not your average woman when she and French take turns throwing shurikens at a giant dartboard.
“I can’t believe you snagged Maddalena Vettore. She’s going to be a hard one to hit and quit. She’ll probably find you and chop you up,” Fitzpatrick says, his Irish accent thicker than normal as he downs another beer.
“I’m never quitting her, she’s it for me,” I tell him as I watch her hit just left to the center of the board. Her shuriken landed right next to French’s bullseye shot.
“This is going to be messy,” Whit warns me. “Her father is going to kill you, and if he doesn’t, her brothers will.”
I consider his warning, but immediately toss it out the window. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Mark my words, gentlemen, she’s mine.”
They both give me strange looks before wandering into the kitchen to put their burgers together. I make my way there after watching her throw one more time and make our plates. When she sees me coming back in, she ditches French and sits with me on the couch.
“Is this poisoned?” she asks before popping a fry into her mouth.
“No, unless you consider sriracha mayo poison…” I tease her. “Not everyone can handle the heat.”
“Good thing I like it hot.” She takes a bite of the burger, then her tongue peeks out to lick some stray mayo off her lip. I grip my burger harder, trying not to pounce on her in a room full of people.
When we’re done with our burgers, we cuddle on the couch and digest. We take turns telling each other stories about life, and I get to hear all about the crazy shit Maximo and her have pulled off over the years.
She checks her phone and sits up. “It’s four-thirty. I need to get home.”
We take a cab to her building, and before she leaves the car, I kiss her cheek. “Text me as soon as you’re safe in your room. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll haul your ass back out here myself and make earlier tonight look like a warm-up.” The threat in my voice is clear. I have no issue with spanking her again.
She blushes, then nods. I watch her shimmy up the balconies again, and sneak into her room from the back seat of the cab. Five minutes later, I receive a text.
Little Killer: In bed. Goodnight Garrix.
Me: Goodnight.
Maddalena
Ihad no doubt that Garrix would make good on his threat, so I texted him as soon as I got into bed the other night.
How was he able to get into my building not once, but twice? We only rent to famgilia, and everyone is screened. Luca’s team is in charge of securing it, and Gabriele is the point person of my daily security. Either someone is dropping the ball, or Garrix is truly that talented at breaking and entering.
I should tell Luca or Maximo about him. He’s the second in command of the most dangerous, notorious mercenary society in the country—a group that operates from the shadows. They’re responsible for ending entire governments and crime syndicates. They’ve erased inconvenient people as if they never existed in the first place. Isn’t he a huge threat to my safety? Despite knowing I should, I don’t. As much as he infuriates me, I can’t stop thinking about him. Or wanting him. Or anticipating when he’ll corner me next, even though he’s completely off-limits. Just because we do business with The Brigade doesn’t mean we trust them.
My phone vibrates with a text message from him.
G: Can I take you to lunch?
Me: No.
I need to put some distance between us. Garrix and I have been texting on and off for the past two days, and he’s unsurprisingly insistent. He wants to know what Vinny sent me on my phone, who’s in my network, and whether I have any leads. It seems he’s trying to find out who sent me the note and picture he found in my office. If only he knew that the picture on my desk was the worst of the dozen photos my mystery stalker sent me.
I do have a lead. Vinny’s brother Paulo—who’s one of Luca’s foot soldiers—saw a man watching our building across from the front door. When security tried to catch him, he ran. Paulo told Vinny about the man’s distinctive ink, that the letters looked different. He showed me some pictures of similar tattoos that Paulo found online, and the tattoos are in Cyrillic script. Russian.
My phone vibrates again, but I ignore it as I step out of the car. I’m wearing a black Dior pantsuit today with red heels, a power outfit. Gabriele holds the door open, then follows me into Squisito, one of my family’s restaurants on the Upper East Side. It’s empty, as it doesn’t open until five for dinner service. After dropping me off at my table, he sits a few tables away. Dmitri Popov, the youngest Yedinstvo heir, arrives a couple of minutes late, as usual. He thinks it’s a power play, but he’s mistaken.
Being here before him means I pick my seat first, the one that faces the entrance and windows. It also means that he has to greet me. I’ll set the tone of this meeting.
He stands at the table awkwardly, waiting for me to move. I don’t. I don’t even move to shake his hand, because I don’t want this asshole having any reason to touch me. He needs to know his place. After several seconds of me stonily staring at him, he sits stiffly in his chair.
“What a pleasure it is to have lunch with you, Maddie.” He leans forward, greedily drinking in the view. When Garrix does it, it’s insanely hot and appreciative. But Dmitri’s version is sleazy, as if he’s assessing me.
