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“Upstairs,” Nicolo commands, directing me to which staircase he expects me to use.
“Seems to me the club isn’t open for visitors,” I counter, though I do as he says.
I know that every step I take carries me further into danger. But I don’t see an alternative. All I can bank on is that they won’t kill me because they don’t want to start a war. Finally, we make it to a balcony decorated with a white couch and a modern table.
“Party’s back there,” Nicolo explains, gesturing to a door near the back of the balcony that must lead to an interior room.
I snort, picking up on his thinly veiled threat. Then I turn the handle and step into the quiet back room.
The lounge area has classy, angular, modern decor. It’s filled with a comfortable-looking sitting space consisting of several couches and a glass coffee table. A pool table occupies a corner of the room with a wet bar along the opposite wall.
“We heard you’ve been waltzing around Rosehill, trying to mark your territory and threatening our sister,” Nicolo states flatly as the club door shuts behind him.
The brothers encircle me, their expressions flat and deadly, as I turn to face my accuser.
“Hardly,” I sneer. “But apparently, you Chicago types don’t give a shit if your women go around thinking anything goes. She’ll be my wife, and she needs to understand what I expect of her. Or is that because you’re Italian?”
I know I shouldn’t needle him, but I sense that a fight is inevitable. So I refuse to go down without getting in a few barbs.
The twins move quickly, closing the distance between them and me. Grabbing my arms in an iron hold, they twist my wrists behind my back. I snarl, jerking violently as I fight to keep my freedom. But they’re strong and skilled. I know it from their vise grips. Still, I manage to free my left arm for just a moment. Lashing out, I catch one of the twins on the jaw, making him stumble back.
Then Nicolo’s in front of me, burying his fist in my gut. I double over, wheezing, my gag reflex threatening to divulge my lunch as my lungs fail to suck in air. The one twin holds me fast, keeping me on my feet as the Marchetti heir comes within inches of my face.
“You don’tevertouch my sister. You don’t talk to her. You don’t look at her. In fact, you can just stay the fuck away from her completely if you want to live,” Nicolo growls as the second twin regains control of my left arm.
“Fuck you,” I hiss. “She’s not yours to give away or take back on a whim.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not going to be yours.” Nicolo throws a left hook that connects squarely with my cheek, the force snapping my head to the side.
Stars explode across my vision. But I refuse to give him an inch of satisfaction. Releasing a deep chuckle, I meet his eyes with cold mirth. “That’s not what your father sounds like.”
“I don’t give a fuck what our parents think. You’re a piece a shit who won’t deserve my sister on the best day of your life. So get it out of your head. Silvia’s not marrying you.”
“No? Well, you’ll have to kill me if you want to stop the wedding from happening,” I challenge. It’s stupid. I know. But I either need to stand my ground or yield, and giving in will only show weakness.
Nicolo doesn’t hesitate, drawing the same Colt he pulled on me in the parking lot. He recocks it and presses it to my forehead. “I’ll do that with pleasure.”
The glint in his eye tells me he would pull the trigger without a second thought. And though I know it would be a stupid maneuver–that his father would probably be furious and my mother would definitely blast a hole the size of Texas through the Marchetti family if he killed me–I wonder if he might actually end me right here and now.
For the first time, my pulse quickens a notch as my survival instincts kick in. Not that I’ll beg for my life. Or back down. I would rather die than give Nicolo Marchetti the satisfaction. But for a hair-raising second, I’m sure he’ll pull the trigger.
“No, Nico,” one of the twins says–the one I punched, who now sports a bloody lip. “Killing Pyotr won’t save Silvia, and you know it. It’ll just throw our family into a war.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Nicolo snarls, pressing the barrel harder against my skin.
I glare at him, daring him to do it.
“He fucking deserves it,” hisses the other twin. “You should have heard Sil. She doesn’t cry over nothing.”
“Cassio,” warns the twin I punched–Lucca, it would seem.
From the look on Nicolo’s face, I’d wager Lucca’s worried his twin might have pushed their brother over the edge. Nicolo’s anger grew exponentially at the mention of Silvia crying.
This time, I keep quiet, knowing my life could be forfeited over the smallest wrong step.
“We can find another way,” Lucca presses. “We agreed to make a point, but killing him won’t do anything but make things worse. We need to let him go.”
Nicolo’s jaw works furiously as he thinks it over. Then, finally, he drops the gun from my face, uncocking it in one fluid motion.
