Page 14 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

My jaw clenches. “Your little games can get you killed.”

“Good. Because your attitude can get you fired,” she retorts with distaste, her red-painted lips pouting into a frown as she struggles to pry away from my grip.

Fuck.

I don’t let her. My thumb presses into the inside of her wrist with just enough pressure to remind her I’m not one of her admirers.

“There are four exits I haven’t cleared. Two faces I don’t recognize, and one man who’s been staring at you like he wants to strip you naked with his eyes,” I growl, voice low and hard. “Don’t fucking test my patience, Elena.”

Her gaze flicks briefly past me, then back, defiance sparking yet again. “You’ve forgotten once more, you do not get to control me.”

Something hot and reckless coils low in my gut.

This is the moment. The point where instinct takes over, where I want to haul her closer and silence her with my mouth, bruise her lips until she understands exactly who’s holding the reins.

I don’t.

I force my grip to loosen, fingers sliding from her wrist, even though every muscle in my body screams at me to do the opposite.

“Defy me again and I become the devil you swear you don’t believe in,” I say tightly.

Her lips fold into a sneer. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

I can. And I fucking will.

I straighten and dig my hands into my pockets. “If you intend to live longer to sell more glorified air fresheners, then you fucking stick with me.”

For a second, something shifts in her expression. And I can see the wheels spinning in her head, like she’s conjuring some annoying response. Then a smirk spreads across her face.

“Seems I unlocked the sarcastic Adrian. I thought you were all muscles and shit.”

I clench my teeth but don’t respond. And she doesn’t fucking drop it.

“Tell me,” she begins in a sweet voice. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? Since you’re being chauvinistic now.”

“Back to the gala, Elena,” I deadpan.

“Thought you wanted me to stick with you?” She smirks.

Then she can be my fucking guest. When I don’t respond, she huffs and steps back into the crowd.

It’s just day three, and she’s starting to drive me crazy. Heck, she makes me feel something other than cold efficiency, and that’s dangerous territory.

It’s been only thirty minutes since we arrived at the party, yet my phone keeps vibrating with text messages. Sighing, I pull it out. I shouldn’t be distracted by my phone when I have my hands full with Elena.

The sender stills me immediately. It’s Enzo. He’s never sent a text himself before. It’s only four words: My office, 9 p.m.

I glance at my wristwatch and lift my eyes to Elena, who’s laughing with a glass of champagne in hand. Unfortunately, the Don needs us out of here. I don't care about ruining her night.

“Come on,” I grunt into her ear. “The Don needs me back in his office.”

She turns to me with a mischievous smile, dropping her glass into a tray held by one of the waiters. I just know she’s going to piss me off. “You and the Don can kiss my ass.”

Not in the mood for any more bullshit, I lower myself, scoop her up by the thighs, and hoist her over my shoulder. She thrashes, punching my back, but I pay no attention to her—and the few onlookers—as I move toward the exit, only dropping her when we reach the car.

She wrenches herself from my grasp with a scowl, but doesn’t object as I hold the door to the limo open for her.

Surprisingly, the ride back is silent as she taps away on her phone, smiling. A quick glance at the screen and I see she’s texting Bella. Her twin sister. The one married to Dominic Moretti, the Don we used to do business with… until Mother got sick and I suddenly had to leave New York.