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As if he has nothing to lose, which I’m well aware is far from the truth.
“Have you thought about Gwen in your little plan to become besties with the mafia?” It’s that tone again, harsh but with a hidden softness that pisses me off.
He raises a brow. “Have you? I thought you intended to conquer the title of her mother, but that won’t be happening if you end up in a body bag, whether by pissing off Nicolo or by your father’s gun when he gets out of jail.”
I jolt, my eyes growing in size.
This…he didn’t just say what I think he did, did he?
“What?” He steps closer in that charged way that leaves me on my toes. “You thought I wouldn’t find out the truth if you hid it well enough?”
“My truth or the lack thereof has nothing to do with you.”
“On the contrary, it has everything to do with me, considering you intend to bring your messy past and bloodied family ties into my daughter’s life.”
“I would never do that. I’d protect her with my own life.”
“That won’t be possible if your father kills you and moves on to your next of kin.” He steps toward me, his height and personality metaphorically expanding to fill the horizon. “Listen here, witch. I’ll personally put you in a body bag before your chaos affects Gwen. I didn’t raise her all these years so you could fuck it all up with your past mistakes.”
“I’ve only made two mistakes in my life. The first was meeting you and the second was not suspecting my daughter was alive. Putting away a murderer doesn’t belong on that list and I won’t let you or anyone else make me feel otherwise.”
He pauses, narrowing his eyes in pure contemplation. Kingsley has an unnerving way of looking at people as if he’s able to read the deepest minds and the darkest desires.
I’ve always prided myself on being above his stupid games, but something is different now.
His hands are metaphorically around my throat due to the piece of information about my father.
In the past, his disdain toward me was illogical, but he’s now found all the logical reasons to separate me from Gwen.
And that scares the shit out of me.
“You do realize that Nicolo’s protection is neither absolute nor infinite, right? The moment you’re no longer a useful dog, he’ll euthanize you.”
“Worry about yourself.”
“I hold toys over his greedy head. You hold fucking zilch.”
“I’ll find a way to stay in his good graces. Just do me a favor and stay out of my business this time.”
“I’ll only consider that if you pay for such a favor.”
I release an exasperated sigh. “You’re richer than oil princes and just as hedonistic. Why the hell would you need more money?”
“Money is not the currency I was envisioning.” His gaze drops to my Louboutins, then slides up my blue slacks, to my beige button-down, and stops at where the first button is undone.
I’m surprised I don’t catch fire from the charged way he looks at me.
It’s intense and absolutely disarming in its novelty.
He just looked at me as if he wants to devour me for lunch, dinner, and tomorrow’s breakfast.
The image sends my heat up a notch and I regret not having more coffee-tequila this morning.
What. The. Hell?
The need to run out of his watchful gaze and asphyxiating atmosphere hits me like a need.
And that in itself is also a what-the-hell moment. I don’t run from men, situations, or my fears. I’m the type who stands right in the middle of a storm with the determination of a buffalo. Either I survive or I die. No in-between.
