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“You should stay here,” I say and reach across her to pull a gun from the glove box.
Her eyes widen. “What do you need that for?”
“Insurance.” I shove it into my waistband. “I’ll have a talk with your ex-husband, make sure he understands how things are, and we’ll head back when it’s over.”
Based on the look she’s giving me, she assumes I’m about to murder Conti in cold blood. And I’d be lying if the thought didn’t occur to me.
I don’t know the details of what he did to her, but I understand it was bad enough for Camille to run away with nothing to her name but some stolen credit cards and the clothes on her back.
That’s something only a truly desperate woman would do.
Conti deserves a bullet in the skull, but I’ve learned the hard way that diplomacy is sometimes the best first option.
I can punish him later, once he’s no longer expecting it.
I open the door and step out. To my great frustration, she gets out too. “I’m coming with you.”
I glare at her for a long moment. This girl has been nothing but a problem since the moment I met her. Again and again, circumstances have come together in a such a way that Camille makes my life that much fucking harder—and yet I keep coming back to her.
I don’t understand it. She’s abrasive and angry and strangely naive. She’s married to a mobster—a fucking ruthless Capo within my enemy’s organization, no less—and she doesn’t seem to have the common sense to stay far away from trouble.
Yet all I can think about whenever she’s around is the taste of her lips, her moans as she comes, the feeling of my cock buried between her legs.
And the smile on her face when she’s working, and her laughter as Ophelia tells her some joke, and the pride she exudes as she gets her life together.
I turn to the house and nod once. “Stay close then and keep your mouth shut.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen,” she mutters as we cross the street together.
I should wait for backup. Lycus would murder me himself if he knew I was going to Chris Conti’s house without at least a half-dozen soldiers at my back. But I don’t have time for that, and bringing more men would only guarantee trouble.
I want to handle this quickly and quietly.
Although nothing is quiet with Camille.
I ring the bell and wait. Camille stands at the bottom of the stoop looking around at her former neighborhood, nervously shifting from foot to foot. I can tell she wants to leave, but I ring the bell a second time and knock loudly.
“Maybe we—” she starts.
But the door opens, and there he is.
Chris Conti is tall, though a couple inches shorter than me. Dark hair, dark eyes, decent build. I’m bigger by twenty pounds at least, and I use all my height and weight to tower over him and stare into his face.
His eyes widen, and I know he recognizes me.
“Mr. Conti,” I say and greet him with my palms open and facing out so he knows I’m not carrying anything. “I was hoping I could have a moment of your time.”
To his credit, he quickly recovers. “Evander Kazan. I never expected you to show up at my door.” His eyes flit past me and he spots Camille standing on the sidewalk. They narrow dangerously. “And with my wife. Did you come to return her to me?”
“I came to make you understand that Camille is no longer your property, but maybe we can discuss this inside.”
He ignores me and talks over my shoulder. “Camille, what are you doing with this Greek man? Get back in the house where you belong. I understand you’ve been having fun pretending like you aren’t my wife, but you know your place and the games are over. Come inside, right now. Your parents are worried.”
“I’m not your wife anymore,” Camille says quietly, staring at the ground. I realize she’s facing her abuser right now, and I can only guess at the feelings coursing through her body.
I put myself between the two of them and hold up a hand to forestall more arguing.
“We’re here to make one simple request. Camille isn’t interested in being married to you anymore, and I would appreciate it if you could let her go without making trouble.”
