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I spend a second studying him, picking up on the nuances of his behavior. Often you can detect the signs of a liar. Even the most experienced ones have their subtle tells. My instinct tells me Giorgio just might be telling the truth—at least in part. He himself didn’t order any attacks on Delphine. Anyone else in his family is another matter.
But then helaughs. He lets out the laugh he’s been holding in and reaches for his drink.
“Anyway, who cares if I did?” he says. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to her or anybody else who crosses me. If she keeps trying to throw me behind bars then I just might come after her for real—HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT!”
Giorgio’s screaming as I bound across the table and slash him in the throat. His chair tips over backward and he lands with a thud. I’m over him, pinning him down as blood spurts everywhere, and his panicked eyes meet mine. He opens and shuts his mouth in disbelief, producing a gurgling noise that’s pleasing to my ears.
“I told you I was in no mood.”
I plunge my knife into his throat a second time. He dies gasping and choking on his own blood. It gushes out like a fountain, soaking the front of his clothes. Mine too. I’m covered in it when I stand up and stare down at my work.
The razor-sharp blade has pierced his throat so deeply, I can see inside—the severed veins and tissue that once connected together. The exposed cartilage and ring-like tip of his spinal cord showing through. One of the most morbid sights I’ve ever seen.
Giorgio Belini may not have been the one who had Delphine assaulted, but it sure as hell wasn’t above him to attack her in the future if she pissed him off. He was a loose end, a looming threat so long as she’s a prosecutor. He deserved to die.
“Kill the rest of them,” I say.
My men shoot Giorgio’s crew in a hail of bullets. They drop like crash test dummies. Dead and bleeding out on the floor of the fine dining establishment. I don’t hang around for the aftermath. My guys can take care of it on their own. The cleaners we’ve hired will arrive soon to scrub Grimaldi’s spotless.
Killing Giorgio will incur Hector’s wrath, but it’s heat I’m willing to take.
We cover our tracks like no other. I’ve already set into motion a story about Giorgio and his crew taking a much-needed vacation out of the country. Hector won’t catch on for a few weeks.
A few more weeks plus that for him to trace it back to me.
I emerge among the hazy smoke and twitch of dying bodies and head for the exit. But though it’s a victory to have eliminated a potential threat to Delphine, I’m no closer to solving who the hell is targeting her.
Which means today’s another failure.
21. delphine
Salvatore walksthrough the door bloody. It’s smeared on the dark wash of his jeans and staining his fair skin. The expression on his face reads as tense and vicious, the swirl of blue and green that make up his eyes several shades darker.
He’d mentioned this morning he had a busy day ahead of him. It must’ve been code for a violent one.
I’ve spent most of the day at the loft, relaxing with Salt and Pepa. I read books and practiced some of the maneuvers he’s taught me. The only time I left was for a brief jog around the neighborhood—my security detail within the area every step of the way. It was my first run in weeks, and though I wasn’t technically alone, it felt nice to be able to do something that was once such a normal part of my day.
I hadn’t known how much I needed this time off until I stretched out on Salvatore’s couch with a book and spent the rest of the afternoon turning pages.
Last night came to mind even as I read. One moment Salvatore and I had been swept up in a storm of passion, the next I’d been shaken to my core by memories of my assault. He’d understood, but that didn’t make the moment any less frustrating and humiliating. The trauma hangs over my head in constant reminder.
I’ve waited all day for him to get home.
For the chance to take back my control.
I sit up as he strides through the loft, his current of dark energy a shadow. Whatever it is that’s happened today isn’t something he wants to talk about. A couple seconds later the shower starts up and its steadyshhhshhhhsound trails down the hall.
I close my eyes and build my nerve. The flutter in my stomach only intensifies. It’s a reaction that’s involuntary as I shut off thoughts of what happened last night. I focus on what I want to happen right now.
All the ways I want Salvatore. The dirty things I want to do to him... and the even dirtier things I want him to do to me.
Soon I come alive. My pussy pulsates at the thoughts running through my mind. Nothing is going to stop me this time—no fears, no freeze ups, no flashbacks.
This moment is mine.
I get up off the sofa and head to the bathroom on a beat of confidence. I’ve never been the seductress type, but with Salvatore, it’s easy to assume the role. I can be sexy and uninhibited with him, turn my brain off, and swim in desire.
He’s out of the shower by the time I stop in the bathroom doorway. Droplets of water cling to his clean skin as my gaze roves over his magnificent physique—lean muscles and sculpted abs and scars from many battles he’s fought over time. Several of which he’d told me about just last night.
