Her blistering smile has me once again forgetting we have an audience. “My dad is Italian, but my mom is Irish.” My teeth grow envious of hers when she drags them over her plump bottom lip. “I look very much like my mother, but I have the personality of my father. Probably doesn’t help that I have four older brothers, so I’m a little bit of a tomboy.”
“From what I’m seeing, you’re all woman,Ahren.” I’m not lying. Her tits alone would have the strongest man’s knees bowing.
Her smile turns blinding. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw my childhood pictures. I wore boys’ clothes and even had a boyish haircut.”
A grin curls my lips. I saw the photos. I’m aware of the travesty.
Justine proves she is as smart as she is beautiful when she asks, “But you already know that, don’t you?”
I drag a napkin across my mouth to hide the tick in my jaw before locking my eyes with hers. “I know many things, Justine, but I prefer hearing them directly from the source.” Her chest expands when her name leaves my throat in a gravelly whisper. “You’ll never believe how quick a fact becomes a lie when it’s passed through many lips.”
Not an ounce of panic resonates in her tone when she asks, “Exactly how much do you know about me?”
She knows I’m not a threat to her.
Not physically, anyway.
Needing to occupy my hands before I use them to peel down her shorts and eat her for dessert, I dig a pack of cigarettes of my pocket, place one between my lips, then offer one to Justine. When she shakes her head, I light the cancer stitch balancing precariously between my lips before tossing the packet and lighter onto the tabletop holding leftovers of the meal we just shared.
I’ve always been overly cocky, and it’s displayed in an unfavorable light when I mutter, “How’s this for knowledge? You’re the youngest of five siblings. You were born and raised in Hopeton. Your mom works as an engineer, and your father is a pilot. Unlike three of your older brothers, you didn’t follow your parents’ footsteps. You first branched out into the world of architecture, but your third year in college saw you changing your career path to the corrupt and dangerous world of law.” I start at the points that don’t make my blood boil before moving to the big stuff. “Your peers were shocked by your decision. All they saw was a shy little mouse. No one thought you would grow into the woman you have become. Not even Dimitri.”
She rapidly blinks at the mention of my arch enemy, but remains as quiet as a church mouse. I don’t know if her silence appeases me or pisses me off. It could be a combination of them both. She doesn’t give off the vibe of a scarlet woman, but she’s fucked with my head so well in an impressively short time frame, I’m not even sure if I should trust myself, much less my instincts.
I strive to keep anger out of my tone when I ask, “How long have you known Dimitri Petretti?” I fail like a fucking loser.
Justine licks her quivering lips before answering, “I’ve known Dimitri all my life… But we only becameacquainteda few years ago.”
The way her tone dipped when she said ‘acquainted’ reveals she classes him as more than a friend. I wouldn’t necessarily say they’ve fucked, but there’s more to them than a casual familiarity.
With my blood hot with anger, our conversation switches to an interrogation awfully quick. “Dimitri has always had a fascination with redheads, so I’m not surprised you caught his eye. I just can’t work out why he’d ever let you go.”
“It wasn’t his choice.” The anger slicking my skin with sweat triples when moisture floods her eyes. “A man can voice his interests all he likes. It doesn’t mean his feelings will be reciprocated.”
Although I agree with her, I know that isn’t how things work with the men in my profession. “That’s not the way things work in this industry,Ahren. When we say jump, you’re supposed to ask ‘how high?’ It isn’t about what you want. It's about what we crave.” The anger burning through her impressive eyes reveals more than her words ever could. “Your brother saved you from Dimitri. He fell on the knife to remove you from Dimitri’s radar.”
I’m not seeking confirmation, but Justine answers me as if I am. “Yes, but I don’t have proof. Maddox won’t talk. He refuses—”
“He will die if he talks. If not by the hands of a Petretti member, by one of my own crew.”
I’m not meaning to be a brute. I just want her to know her ideas on the life her brother is living in isn’t close to what she thinks. If he sided with the Petretti’s then goes against them, he will die. This isn’t a possibility. It is a fact. That’s how the underworld works.
The dishware rattles when Justine slaps her hand on the tabletop. “The Petretti’s are rivals of the Popov’s. Why would you side with them?”
“A snitch is a snitch; he belongs to no team.”
Justine pushes back from the table, her face disgusted. “Maddox didn’t do what he is accused of. He’s innocent.”
I stare up at her, hating the disappointment in her eyes, but determined to show her the way things truly work before she’s thrown in the fire with Maddox. “He may not be a murderer, but he is not innocent. When you play with fire, you risk getting burnt. He got burnt.”
The first chink in Justine’s shield blisters when she snarls, “Maddox is in jail because a man as vile as your family didn't understand the word ‘no.’ He didn't play with fire. He protected his baby sister from a monster! Wouldn't you do the same for your sister?”
My face reddens with anger when I recall the punishment I faced when I placed myself between Vladimir and Lia during one of his many tirades. It is heard in my reply when I quote the words he spoke to me that day almost twenty years ago. “That is not the way things work. Everyone in this industry has a place, and the predicament of one woman should never fracture the order.”
Justine glares at me with the same disdain Vladimir’s eyes held that wintry afternoon. “Your mother should be ashamed she raised such an abhorrent, heinous, worthless man—”
“My mother is dead.”
With her mood as erratic as mine, Justine shouts, “Lucky her!”
