‘How long have you suffered with hypoglycaemia?’ he asked after he’d set the glass down next to my plate.
I continued cutting into my steak – which lived up to its promise by tasting obscenely sublime – without looking up. ‘Are we exchanging pleasantries now? After your man rendered my men unconscious instead of doing the civil thing and calling up to my room to ask for this meeting?’
‘Would you have come willingly?’ he countered.
I swallowed without answering because we both knew I wouldn’t.
‘Exactly,’ he muttered. ‘Answer me, Maddelena,’ he breathed after another minute passed.
‘Since I was fourteen,’ I muttered.
His eyes narrowed. ‘That why you were always hanging out with the vending machine at the school cafeteria?’
I forgot to ignore him and blinked in shock. ‘You noticed?’
‘I refer you to my previous statement.’
‘Which one?’ My dizziness from low blood sugar had receded. A different kind of dizziness – this one a complete byproduct of having him so close, so focused on me, took its place. ‘You claiming to know everything about me – clearly wrong since you didn’t know about the hypoglycemia till now or you having eyes and ears everywhere. Also false, by the way, or we wouldn’t be here in the first place.’
He didn’t answer. Merely jerked his head at my plate. A lock of hair fell down his forehead, adding to his scarily hot as hell package. It really wasn’t fucking fair.
I carried on eating until my belly protested its fullness. Then I set down the cutlery. It was the best meal I’d had in a long time, but hell if I was going to disclose that.
‘Any other symptoms besides the dizziness?’
‘What are you, my doctor?’
His nostrils flared, then he drained his glass. ‘I always wondered why El Topo made you his consigliere and not that idiot Stefano. Looks like you have some spine after all,sì? That should make things… interesting.’
I wanted to snap at him not to call my grandfather that. Nonno had cut off body parts of upstarts who’d dared to use that disparaging nickname. But I didn’t bother. Cesare would probably have been amused by that.
‘Or not, seeing as I don’t plan to be as accommodating next time as I was tonight,’ I replied.
One eyebrow arched, raising his insane hotness several more notches. ‘Wanna place a bet on that?’ he asked.
‘No. I don’t gamble. I make accurate calculations that reap substantial benefits.’
I dabbed the corners of my mouth with the starched napkin and dropped it next to my plate. Now I had nothing to occupy my hands with or keep my gaze distracted, compulsion dragged my focus back to him.
‘Then tell me,in your calculations, who in your opinion is the mole? Which one of your employees is stupid enough to have weaselled their way into my team to feed you information, Maddelena?’
I pushed the chair back and rose, telling myself walking across the room to snatch up the purse that had fallen during my dizzy spell wasn’t putting vital distance between us.
Ping.
My heart stuttered. With very few friends – none who would contact me out of the blue especially knowing it was a race weekend – the only people who would try to reach me was my family. My fingers moved to the clutch’s opening only to see Cesare plucking his own phone from his pocket.
Ping.
He read the screen and displeasure spasmed across his face.
‘You should see to that,’ I said, forcing my feet towards the door.
Still sitting, he pivoted towards me, his gaze slowly sweeping my body. ‘You know if I don’t get a name, I’ll have no choice but to put you in my crosshairs, right?’
Why the hell did that low-voiced threat make my nipples hard? Light a fire so deep in my pelvis I had to clench my thighs and withhold a moan?
‘Give it up, Salvatore. All that’s happening here is you’re being beaten at your own game. I know it’s hard when you discover not everyone is an adoring fan, ready to drop to their knees for you and your overblown ego.’
