“A real man doesn’t need a gun. His body is his weapon,” I say to Mario, my tone a clear indication this is not a threat. It is a promise. “It’ll be in your best interest to remember that.” When I come knocking, he’ll have no choice but to answer for his insolence. You do not get to intimidate a woman in front of me and get away with it, not to mention one as enchanting as Isabelle.
With that in mind, I grip Isabelle’s wrist, spin her on her heels, then walk her to my car. If Hugo and Hunter are still watching, they’ll follow Col’s depraved stalk of New York, so I’ll know exactly where to find him once I’ve made sure Isabelle is out of his reach.
29
Our trip back toMummo Kotidoesn’t strip the annoyance from my veins in the slightest. In some ways, it worsens it. My exchange with Col filled Isabelle’s head with questions I am not sure I’m ready to answer just yet. If that isn’t already troubling, it once again has her looking at me as if I am a criminal, like my morals are as poorly misguided as Col’s and her father’s.
Just the thought doubles my annoyance, and it adds a touch of grouchiness to my voice I shouldn’t be directing at Isabelle but am too worked up to fully acknowledge that, even more so when she disregards my numerous requests for her to exit my car.
Despite what she now thinks of me, her life was threatened tonight.
That is inexcusable.
“For the final time, Isabelle, get out.” My last two words are spaced by big, frustrated breaths. I am beyond angry about tonight’s turn of events, and I’m done pretending as if I am not.
When Isabelle relatches her seat belt with a stubborn shake of her head, I treat her as if she’s a member of my staff. “For once, do as you’re told and get out!”
My shouted words scare her but not enough to get her feet moving. With her teeth bared and her nose crinkled, she shakes her head for the second time. “No.”
A growl I can’t contain rumbles in my chest when I throw open the driver’s side door of my borrowed ride and stomp to Isabelle’s side of the car. I’m not solely irritated about her ability to disobey me and not suffer the consequences of her actions. I am furious that the more time I waste wrangling her out of the car, the more chance Col will have to evade me for the second time.
I let Cormack guide me out of the warehouse like an insolent fool the night of Ophelia’s accident because I was shocked by her anger and subsequent mistreatment that stemmed from it. I can’t use the same excuse this time around. Isabelle may be refusing my numerous demands for her to exit my vehicle, but her hands are balled in her lap. They’re not skimming across my cheek on repeat. Her ability to keep a cool head ensures mine is clear and sound, and I am far wiser than I was six years ago, but I have the means to stand up to Col, so I refuse to once again walk away from the fight he’s instigating.
After tossing open Isabelle’s door with enough force to pop its hinges, I lean in to unclasp her belt. The sweet smell slicking her skin boosts the arrogance thickening my veins. We were set to have the night of our lives, then a foolish bastard reminded me that rarely does anything in life come easy for me. I fought for everything I have, and it appears as if that will continue long after I’ve hung up my gloves. When I place Isabelle in a wicker chair on the front veranda ofMummo Koti, she springs to her feet in preparation to sprint back to my car.
“Stay here,” I snarl out in warning, the dominance in my voice unlike anything I’ve ever heard.
It has the effect I’m aiming for. It pins Isabelle in place, her eyes the only part of her body moving while watching me stalk back to my ride.
I slam Isabelle’s door shut, noticing it is a tighter fit than it was earlier, before slipping behind the steering wheel and flooring the gas. I’ve barely skidded out of the long driveway when Hunter’s cell phone number flashes up on the console of Cormack’s flamboyant ride. Even conscious he is most likely going to advise me against approaching Col, I hit the connect call button on the console. My veins are already littered with adrenaline, but there is no such thing as too much hype.
“Bos—”
I cut him off, my blood too hot to pay the caution in his tone any attention. “Where is he?”
“Mixing in shit you should not be near.” I’m about to tell him I can take care of myself, but his next set of words steal my concentration. “Especially with Callie’s auction coming up.”
“He’s at an auction?”
His lack of reply has me wringing the steering wheel as if it is Col’s neck.
“Yes or no, Hunter?”
I hear him scrub at his beard before he mutters, “He’s in the process of organizing one.”
“With whom?” I question, my interests uncontained.
My jaw grits when he utters a name that should have automatically been on my list of suspects. “Dimitri.”
“I thought he was trying to steer his name away from the shit, not douse it in it?”
“I thought the same,” Hunter admits. “But there’s only one way to transcribe the text conversation between Dimitri and Col the past hour. It ain’t pretty.”
“And neither will be Col’s face by the time I’m done with him,” I mumble under my breath.
I realize my whisper wasn’t as soft as hoped when Hunter replies, “Then kiss your chances of winning Callie goodbye.”
I shake my head, incapable of backing down even when I should. “I don’t have to play by their rules because I am not one of them. Furthermore, he threatened Isabelle.” When he attempts to interrupt me, I reiterate. “Hethreatenedher, Hunter. That tosses mafia etiquette on its head. The rules no longer apply.” There’s an edge of arrogance to my tone when I mutter, “Besides, you need proof of a crime to arrest someone for it, and you’ll ensure there’s none of that. Because you always make sure my hands are thoroughly cleaned.”
