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The possessiveness bleeds into his voice. Goosebumps prickle along my arms, a shudder running through me head to toe.
I shake him off, “No one. My friends, that’s all. It was a prank. A stupid prank.”
The tense line of Salvatore’s shoulders relaxes. He sighs through his nose. The fact that he jumped so quickly to fight—maybe both of us are too twisted up by this life to take a joke. I don’t understand why he cares. I’m not even sure cares is the right word. Insane, my thoughts whisper again, as if confirming it.
“They kidnapped me to bring me to the club.” I hesitate around the truth, but there’s no point in not telling him. “It was a surprise for my birthday.”
“Today?”
I nod, lifting the cigarette in a fake cheer.
“To me, and the end of my 24 years of successfully avoiding men like you.”
His smirk is wolfish as he looks me over, “Are you saying I’m not a good present?” He punctuates the question with a thumb scrubbing over my hip.
“I’m shocked your ego can fit in the back of this car,” I retort. The corner of his mouth only twitches, and I find it irresistible and maddening. I frown and look away from him. “You never answered about the Christmas music.”
“Can’t stand it.”
“Then congratulations, this is the best kidnapping I’ve had today.”
Salvatore studies me.
“You really don’t give a fuck, do you?” he asks.
“…I do,” I admit. “Of course I do. But I’ve spent my whole life dreading this day. My father made sure I grew up always looking over my shoulder. There’s a fucked-up kind of relief in it finally happening. You don’t have to worry about the bad guy getting you when he’s already got you. And unless you’re going to consider letting me out because I scream and throw a fit…”
“I don’t work like that,” he agrees.
“Then there’s nothing left to do, is there?”
My explanation doesn’t seem to satisfy him. He stares at me like I’m a child hiding the truth behind my back.
“What?” I finally demand, exasperated. “What do you want?”
“I want you to admit you enjoy it.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Your dad never taught you how to lie?”
“Shut up,” I finally snap at him, only for his huge hand to curl around my throat. My breath stutters, pulse pounding against his hard fingertips. I stare up at him, mouth open around a breath I can’t take. Just clenching my legs makes a constant, hungry pulse rocket through my belly. Want, want, want it sings as he holds me like that, like something he wants to break.
He sees what he wants in my face and lets me go.
“Fuck you,” I snarl at him, between breaths.
“Can you wait until we’re out of the car, princess?”
His confidence radiates. Nothing I can say will shame him. I shake my head and look away. He sees too much when I look at him.
“So, there’s some fight in you after all. Everyone says Contessa Lovera is a little lamb. No claws.”
“Is that what mafia bosses do? Sit around and gossip about little girls?”
“We keep tabs on our enemies, even the women, in case they grow up to be a problem.”
I glare out the window, sulking, my pride scalded.
