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Fuck.
My stomach tightened, and anger and annoyance bubbled up inside me. How could she be so reckless and stupid?
And beautiful.
I leaned back, folded my arms over my chest, and watched the video of her stomping along. Her face looked fierce, as if she was a warrior princess going into battle—or coming from it—and she was mumbling something and waving her hands, probably cussing me out. Then she stopped for a moment to greet and pass the guards before she continued the arm-waving.
I smiled at her antics, leaned forward, switched cameras until I got another one, then zoomed in on her behind.
I took a couple of deep breaths to slow down my suddenly increased heartbeat.
I felt an odd admiration for her defiance.
How had she become such a rebel despite growing up, surely under tight reign, as the daughter of the head of the Irish Mob?
And how could a spitting-mad woman look so adorable?
“You’ve got some spirit, Fee, I’ll give you that. But you annoy the heck out of me, you little brat,” I muttered, gritting my teeth. My life was messy enough without playing babysitter to a grown woman.
Or playing with fire.
But I had no choice.
I had to go after her and drag her back, before she got into trouble.
But right after, I would to have organize a security detail to watch her 24/7. And I would tell Gabe I was too busy to take over babysitter duty.
Fee Donnelly was dangerous.
And not the kind of danger I had time for.
I threw on my leather jacket and sunglasses, grabbed my helmet and a spare one, and the keys.
I told Susie, the receptionist, I was off for the day, exited the lobby, swung my leg over my motorcycle, and revved the engine before speeding off.
How could one tiny woman be so stubborn?
She wasn’t afraid of me, not even a little, which was both infuriating and intriguing.
Women usually either flirted with or feared me—but not this princess. She was just different. Was that what caught my eye all those months ago?
The sun beat down on my helmet as I passed the guards, then wound along the narrow street leading to our hotel before I opened her up.
The wind whipped past me, clearing my thoughts as it always did, and I focused on the scenery for a moment.
I loved Malta—the blindingly blue sky, the muted shades of green and gray of the vegetation, the azure sea.
It was the perfect antidote to the storm raging inside of me most of the time.
I focused back on the road. I needed to find Fiona and drag her back. Would she be stupid enough to leave the road? What was she thinking, wandering off alone?
We still hadn’t found out who exactly was behind the attack on our family home a couple of days ago and what their target was.
I’d tightened the reins since I was back on the island. Had executed the deal Gabe had made with a new importer from South America. It left some very powerful people very pissed. Was that what the attack was all about?
Or was it the Moretti family?
There were some rumors that ever since old Moretti had made his deathbed confession of me being his son, Bruno Moretti had it in for me. And why wouldn’t he? I was older than him. I was a Moretti, not a Falcone by birth. I was a threat to his power. He would be dumb not to try to eliminate me.
