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Damian Cavallo nodded, held out a hand to the blond man she now knew was Cole Grant, his underboss.
Cole handed a folder to Damian. He opened it, pulled out a stack of papers, and gave them to Primo. Then he leaned back in the banquette, his affect somehow even easier than Malcolm’s in spite of the fact that he was in enemy territory.
Aria had gotten used to the posturing of men. Had gotten used to the mannerisms and ticks that spoke to insecurity and fear.
She knew Damian Cavallo felt none of those things, and she was suddenly sure that even if Primo’s hidden men came out with guns blazing, Damian would end them in a heartbeat and walk out without a speck of blood on his perfectly tailored slacks.
The knowledge sent a rush of heat to her sex, and she rested her hands on the bar, then poured herself a shot of bourbon to calm her nerves.
She glanced at Malcolm, recognized the tightness of his features, the narrowed eyes as he took in Damian Cavallo’s relaxed demeanor. Fear was the highest compliment you could pay Malcolm. Anything else was an insult.
Primo flipped through the papers, threw them onto the table that sat between him and Damian.
“You should have had your man tell us when he set up the meeting,” Primo said. “I could have saved you the trip.”
“It’s a good offer,” Damian said.
“Maybe if I were accepting offers,” Primo said. “But I’m not.”
A ghost of a smile touched Damian’s lips, and Aria was immediately afraid. Not for him. He seemed impenetrable, a fortress unto himself.
But few things set Primo off like being mocked. Cavallo was holding a lit match near an oil drum. Once it caught fire, Primo would be on a collision course with a man who wouldn’t let him leave the room breathing, and she had a feeling even Malcolm wouldn’t be able to save her brother then.
“Do you find this funny?” Primo’s voice had gone up an octave the way it did when he was losing control, when he was dangerously close to the precipice of reason.
Aria grabbed another bottle of vodka and rounded the bar, hurrying toward the table, hoping to distract Primo long enough for the danger to pass. She was almost to the table when a hand clamped down on her wrist.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Malcolm said.
“Just keeping you in the liquid courage.” Aria stared him down, daring him to make a scene in front of Cavallo and his underboss. “In case you need it, I mean.”
It was a slight she wouldn’t have dared if they’d been alone, but here in the same room with Damian Cavallo she suddenly felt bold.
Go ahead and hurt me,she thought.Show them what a coward you really are.
His jaw grew tight as he clamped his mouth into a thin line and she wrenched her wrist free of his grasp. She set the bottle of vodka on the table, touched Primo’s arm.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked softly.
He shook his head, too intent on the man across from him to be concerned with the altercation between Aria and Malcolm. But when Aria glanced at the men across the table from Primo, she was surprised to find Damian glaring at Malcolm, his eyes like black ice. She was even more surprised when he spoke.
“Where I come from we don’t manhandle women,” he said.
Malcolm tossed back the vodka in his glass and refilled it. “Lucky for me, we’re not on your turf.”
Damian narrowed his eyes, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. It was a smile that said he wouldn’t forget.
A smile that said he was going to enjoy hurting Malcolm when the time came.
If Malcolm had been anyone else, she would have felt sorry for him.
Damian turned his gaze on Aria, and she had to resist the urge to look away. His eyes were like a spotlight on her soul. She felt illuminated.
Seen.
“Aria, is it?” he asked.
She nodded.
