Blood immediately shoots to my brain from the mere thought of the two of them. “Stef, you need to stay away from him. He’s dangerous. He’s the son of our biggest rival,” I repeat, again, all the reasons why she needs to steer clear of him. “His father literally killed your entire family.”
“I know,” she lashes out at me. “But that was our parents’ fight. Marco and I are different. We were stolen from each other.”
My heart aches for her. It really does. Marco was her first everything. She has a soft spot for him, but that doesn’t mean you close your eyes and ignore the dangers that surround your clandestine relationship. “Stef, you’ve lost so much already. I just don’t want you losing anymore. You’ve worked so hard to bring back your family legacy. How do you know you can trust him?”
“I don’t.” She’s brutally honest. “But we’re like a disease with no cure. We feed off each other.”
Every instinct I have tells me Marco and Stefania are a bad idea. “If Raffi finds out about the two of you—”
“He won’t.” She cuts me off like a razorblade though the stem of a rose. “Gotta keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“So you’re just sleeping with Marco to keep an eye on Raffi?”
“It’s not as black and white as that, but yes, it helps knowing what Raffi is up to.”
“Just tread lightly, and don’t let your heart get too involved.” Although, I fear it might be too late for that.
“You’re always looking out for me, Palomita.”
“That was the deal, right? You got me, I got you?” I cross my arms and gaze back down at the dance floor where things are getting prepared for tonight. The bartenders are stocking the bar. The DJ is doing a sound check. And one Tate Donovan waits for further instruction from me. The inside of this nightclub is my whole fucking world.
“It was. And it is,” Stef confirms our agreement.
“Good. Now go get your pussycat scratched. I have actual work to do.” I elbow her lightly.
“Maybe don’t count outGuapodown there.”
“Out of the question.” I resign to leave the room. No more speak of pussycats orGuapos.
Striding across the dance floor, our eyes meet fatefully, the same way they did at the clearing in the forest. The same feelings crop up, aversion and intrigue. I don’t want to be attracted to the disgustingly handsome man, but it’s hard not to be with a nearly perfect face like that. Attraction is one thing. Desire is another. Action is the only thing that matters. As long as I don’t act, everything will be perfectly fine. I’ve already had one deceptively attractive man derail my life, I don’t need another one.
“You, follow me.” I stride past him, not even presenting the opportunity for small talk. Into the storage room we go. Steel door, no windows. Once we are alone and out of ear shot, I pull my gun out of the back holster and point it in his face.
“Whoa, darlin’.” He puts his hands up.
“Don’t call me darlin’.” First and foremost. “Why didn’t you kill Miklo when you had the chance?”
“Who?”
“Miklo, the guy you shot in the leg before you ran.”
Tate smiles this condescending smile, like the prospect of death doesn’t intimidate him. It totally pisses me off.
“Darlin’—"
“Dove. My name is Dove. That’s what you’ll call me.”
“Dove. Okay. Fine. I just sat up and shot, darlin’. I was on the ground. It was dark.”
“Just sat up and shot?” I don’t buy his bull for a second.
“I thought it was you. I didn’t want to blow that pretty little head of yours off. Thought you were coming back for a rematch.” He flashes his pearly whites at me, and I suddenly have the urge to knock one out of his head. “Why didn’t you shoot me when you had the chance?”
That is the question for questions. “I wanted to play with my food before I ate it.”
“Is that so?” He puts his hand on the barrel of the gun and gently lowers it. “I reckon you like me.”
“You reckon wrong.” I re-holster my piece. “You have potential. That’s all. Fuck up and I kill you.”
