Page 99 of Savage Ambition

My silence was answer enough.

“Maybe you’ll give this bastard up when you see him for the whore he is,” he continued.

I lunged for his throat. Ishi clamped a hand down on my shoulder and hauled me backward with force that defied her slight build.

I pulled against her hold. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

Jace scoffed. “I’m doing this for your own good. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Dante stepped up beside me. “It’s fine. We have unfinished business.” The vulnerability from moments ago had vanished from his face, replaced by an unnerving lethal calm.

Jace stiffened, but his sneer remained fixed. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then you’re even dumber than I thought.”

Ishi’s grip on me tightened. “Mr. Hardwin, please.”

I resisted her pull, staring at the casual cruelty settling over Dante’s features.

“Please, Jace,” I tried one last time. “Don’t do this.”

“Too late.” Jace pushed past me into the room. “Time to teach your boyfriend a lesson.”

The door closed between us with an ominous click.

Instead of taking me to the lobby, Ishi guided me down the hall to the fifth-floor VIP lounge. I let her drag me inside and dropped onto a black leather sofa, feeling sick from imagining what was happening in that bedroom.

She pressed a glass of water into my hands, which trembled so badly I almost spilled it.

“Can’t you stop this?” I asked. “Please.”

She shook her head. “No, sir. Nobody interferes when President Dragon handles matters personally.”

The phrasing carried a lethal weight in a place run by the Gennaro family.

I set the drink on the coffee table and buried my face in my hands. “This can’t be happening.”

The lounge door swung open. A tall man entered with a menacing air. Beside me, Ishi bowed her head, her gaze locked firmly on the floor. Her docile submission drained the blood from my face.

I recognized him from the news. Salvatore Gennaro, the man who had seized control of the city’s underground by eliminating the former Don and three rival families in a single bloody weekend.

I forced myself to stand. Staying seated might be interpreted as a fatal insult. Salvatore studied me, dissecting my reaction in a matter of seconds.

“Respectful,” he noted smoothly. “I appreciate that quality in a young man. It’s so rare these days.” His appraisal was entirely clinical, searching out points of physical and emotional vulnerability he could use against me.

“I’m not sure I understand, sir,” I managed, fighting the urge to look at Ishi for guidance. Looking away from Salvatore felt like a death wish.

“It seems your earlier rudeness was only a temporary lapse in behavior.” He offered me a thin smile. “That boy always brings out the animal in people. Makes them forget themselves.”

My throat tightened. “Boy?”

Without answering, he extended his right hand. “How careless of me. I’m Salvatore Gennaro, proprietor of this establishment. And Dante’s father.”

The words hit hard, but I mechanically accepted the handshake. His grip was dry and punishingly tight, designed to crush bone. I refused to give him the satisfaction of a wince.

Instead of lying about the pleasures and honor of meeting him, I chose a more tactful approach. “I apologize for the incident upstairs,” I said, extracting my hand.

Salvatore gestured to the sofa with the casual authority of a man who owned not only the furniture but everyone who sat on it. I obeyed, watching him settle into the opposite chair, crossing one leg over the other.