Page 81 of Revenge on the Mafia

Joel turned around in the doorway. He was as much of an idiot as he was eleven years ago. He looked behind me, and whatever he found in Nico’s gaze gave him a false sense of bravery. Joel grabbed my hand and yanked me closer to him. “I was serious, Anna. Let’s have dinner together and—”

“A Dios, qué idioto eres,” I groaned.

“I’m not an idiot. You are. Did you fucking marry him?”

“No.” I flung open the door and shoved him out. He stumbled from the force of my push. “Did you not hear me when I told you he’s missing a screw?” I pointed to my head. “I’m just his maid.”

“So let’s meet—”

I flung the door shut in his face.

The sound reverberated in the room. I had to stare at the door for three long breaths to calm down. Just my luck. That I had to handle an idiot and a murderer at the same time. Three long inhales and even longer exhales. Only then was I ready to turn around and face him. Leaning against the wall, he almost looked bored. I’d built it up in my head. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to do Joel any harm. What had I even thought? My shoulders sagged with relief.

His apathetic tone confirmed it. “I didn’t take you for a liar, Anna.”

I didn’t either, but sometimes it was a necessary evil. Like saving Mamá from gossip.

I gave him my silence and walked away.

“You know, in case it wasn’t clear, I expect you to stay faithful to me.”

A shiver moved through my body at the subtle menace in his tone. I steadied my nerves and turned around with a confidence I didn’t feel. “I thought you said my pussy wasn’t addictive?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Maybe some men might disagree.” Why would I even say that? I turned around. Walked away.

“Anna.” My name was delivered as a command. Within it, an icy chill that froze me in place. “You go anywhere near another man; I will rip his fucking heart out and serve it to you.” My heart lurched. Stomach dropped. “Do you understand?”

Fear came crawling for me. Slowly, I turned around. What I found in his eyes terrified me even more than his threat. I took a step back. Two. Three. Then, spinning around, I walked… no… ran from him. But not before his words echoed in the hallway.

“Four hundred and ninety-eight hours.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

NICO

As I watched her run away from me, an obsessive thought planted itself in my mind. I’d rather take her with me to my fucking grave than let another man have her.

She was mine.

Her breath. Her pulse and her fucking heartbeat.

All mine. Mine. Mine.

The thought alone of another man having her made me want to racket like a gorilla in a cage.

In the darkness of my office, I struggled to lose myself in numbers, but the only thing I lost was time. It ticked away beyond my control. Each silent tick was a second I lost with her. Magda’s shadow in the doorway. Coffee on my desk. Words that fell from her lips. A barricade in my ears. Then she was gone, and I sank into my dark thoughts again.

I couldn’t take her life. I was incapable of it, just as I had been with her father. The thought of it alone made the air sneak out of my lungs. I didn’t deserve to live. But she did. She deserved so much more. If only the thought of another man with her didn’t make me want to burn the world and leave her behind in the ashes. Out of all of them, fucking Joel… He took her away from me once. And he’d do it again.

Fate was playing a goddamn game with me. I’d yearned for her for so long. But he was the one who would get the girl in the end. My fucking girl. The idea drove me insane. Made me want to put my gun to his head. I’d already killed two men for her. My conscience insisted thrice was the final count.

I shouldn’t do it. She’d have someone after me. But would he know her favorite color or sonnet? Would he know that even though she’d been avoiding music, she’d been humming along to the piano notes floating out of the speakers? That even though I’d amplified the volume one decibel at a time, she’d stopped crossing the room to switch it off or walk out of the room? Would the fucker know that? Would he know that she loved to play Asturias with her father? That she rubbed her chest when she thought of him? As if her heart physically hurt at the memory of him. Would he know how to distract her? Fuck. Would he know how much she loved to be pinched on her nipples?

This was bullshit. Life was fucking bullshit.

Somewhere between midnight and one a.m. I celebrated my fucking life by pouring a glass of whiskey and calling the idiot who shared my genes.