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“Really? Outside?”
“Romy,” he says seriously. “I’d rather risk you pushing me in front of a speeding car than eat that shit again.”
* * *
An hour later, I’m click-clacking down the hall in a pair of Louboutins, a backless Saint Laurent dress, and a leather jacket. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Donnacha is cutting a more casual figure in a fitted black sweater and jeans. Before I can question it, he drags me into the waiting elevator and pins me against the velvet wall. “You look amazing,” he growls against my bruised throat, sparking fireworks in my lower stomach. His thumb finds my nipple like he’s committed every curve of my body to memory. It instantly stiffens under the thin satin fabric. “It’s freezing out there, though. These will be hard in no time.”
My lips brush against his cheek. “Better keep me warm then,” I say huskily.
This is part of my plan. I’m gaining his trust.
But the hypnotic state this man puts me in makes my plan sound like a lie.
As we reach the lobby, all of his men stand to attention, straightening their spines and tilting their heads when we pass. One of them grabs an umbrella and follows us out. Donnacha takes it from him, and says, “We won’t be needing backup tonight, Jon. Tell the others to stand down.”
The guard nods diligently and disappears inside.
Donnacha shields me from the never-ending storm with the umbrella, holding me to his body as we descend the stairs. When we reach the sidewalk, I dig my heels in and turn to him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” My eyes flick up and down the street, like Belsky is going to come around the corner at any moment. “You know, with everything that’s going on?”
Annoyance lights his face for a beat before he stoops low, placing two fingers under my chin. “You don’t think I can protect my wife?” he asks, his blistering gaze daring me to challenge him.
I don’t doubt that he can. The question is, would he want to if he knew the truth?
We’re outside. Not a guard in sight. Tonight presents the perfect opportunity to do what Belsky wants me to do.
But it’s easy to ignore the swell in my chest when his big paw rubs over my shoulder in an attempt to keep me warm, and when he tightens his grip and lifts me over puddles so I don’t get my feet wet.
The silence feels natural, but I have to break it in order to interrupt my intrusive thoughts. I might as well ask him something I’ve been dying to know since he folded me into the car outside the ball.
“So, uh. What happened last night? With Belsky, I mean. Did you sort it?”
His eyes slash sideways to me. He purses his lips as if he’s about to tell me to mind my business, but then his shoulders sag. “We shook him up a little, sure. But he’s still breathing, unfortunately.”
I can’t ignore the disappointment sinking in my chest. “Is he a threat?”
Briefly, he looks weary. “Honestly? Yes. He’s not just some low-level gangster with delusions of grandeur.”
“You can’t just kill him?” I whisper, unable to keep the hopefulness out of my voice.
With a wry smile, he says, “If it was up to me, his bones would be rattling through a meat grinder right now, sweetheart. But Lorc wants him alive until we dig up more info on who he’s working for or with. He’s the boss. I’m just the trigger finger.”
I can’t shake the feeling of wanting to help him. A five-minute monologue from me is all it’d take for Donnacha and his family to defeat Belsky.
But where would that leave me?
With just a bullet in my head, if I’m lucky.
Instead, I chew on the inside of my lip as we round a corner until a question I can’t keep down any longer works its way up my throat. “Do you like killing?”
He glances at me with caution, strumming his beefy fingers against my hip. A few moments pass, then—
“Yes, Romy. I do. Does that make me a bad person?”
A clap of lighting illuminates the sidewalk. A few seconds later, thunder rolls above our heads.
“I think it depends on your reasoning.”
“Wrong answer,” he drawls. Suddenly, we come to a stop, and he turns to face me head-on, bringing the umbrella down closer around us. Rain hammers on its thin fabric, but underneath, we are dry and warm, living in our own little world, like figurines in a snow globe.
