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“Can I get you anything, Mr. Milazzo?” my waitress finds me, a bright smile on her face, but her eyes are dilated. She is high.
“No, thank you.” I tuck one hand in my pockets while I lean against the wall, finishing off my scotch. “I’m done for the night.”
“Hope to see you again.” She stumbles away in her too-high heels but giggles when a man catches her, and she falls into his lap.
I take a step into the darkened hallway, then another, leaning just outside the door when I hear the pop of gunshots. No one else can hear them. The music is too loud. I try the door handle, but it’s locked.
“It’s always fucking locked, isn’t it?” I mumble to myself, thinking of all the movies I’ve seen where the door has to be broken down. “I’m a cliché,” I grumble, shoving my shoulder into the door, once, twice, and it finally gives.
I see her standing over a dead body, a bloody knife in her hand, and she’s completely dazed. Her entire body is trembling, and her breathing is fast, reminding me of someone having a panic attack.
“Oh, what a mess you’ve made, Tesoro.” I close what is left of the door and stand in front of it.
She spins around, holding the bloody knife in front of her. Her bright blue eyes are round with fear and tears stream down her face.
“Woah. I’m innocent. I’m not going to hurt you,” I state calmly and as softly as I can muster. I take a step forward, but she swings the knife in front of her.
“Don’t come any closer.” Her voice breaks, absolute terror, hanging on her words.
I lift my brows, finding her comical. While afraid, she has fire in her eyes that makes them burn a brighter blue, more vivid and eccentric than I’ve ever seen. Her lips are pink and full. Her face, while delicate, is round.
She’s stunning even when she’s quivering in fear, and I have to find a way to make her mine. After the conversation I’ve had with my brothers today, which is another reason why I’m here to drown out my sorrows, I’ve been reminded of an obligation I have to the throne.
Just like Carmine did ten years ago.
It’s been so many fucking years. Why can’t they let this tradition go? Carmine was adamant when we spoke on the phone. Many things can change, but this rule cannot. It shows power.
As if I need more of that.
“I’m going to assume you have a little less than five minutes to decide what you want to do before your life is over,” I tell her, the reality crashing slowly down on her. Her big blue eyes water and the hand holding the knife is still quaking.
While brave, she shows her humanity.
Killing someone, taking a life, isn’t easy; but to do it more than once, it does get easier. I’m assuming this man deserved it, not that it makes it right in anyone’s eyes.
Except mine.
I believe you have to do what you need to in order to survive and make it in this world or it will kill you first.
Taking another step forward, my Tesoro slashes the knife in the air, still fighting for her life.
“You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name? I only want to help you. That’s it.”
“I’m not telling you anything about me,” she spits. “You’re with them. You’re probably one of them. One of the people who want to hurt my—” She stops speaking, rolling her pouty pink lips together that I want to ruin.
The urge to pin her against the wall, force her to drop the knife from her hand, and kiss her over the dead body still bleeding on the floor is intense.
“I promise, I won’t hurt you,” I try to reassure her but I know it isn’t going to work. She’s too nervous, too high-strung from the situation.
She tries to stab me instead of swiping it in the air; she lunges. I move out of the way with grace, dodging her poor attempt to hurt me. She stumbles in her heels, and I catch her, holding her in a tight grip against me. Her entire body is lined with mine, her skin hot to the touch, sweaty from fighting and killing.
“Let me go.”
“As soon as you promise not to attack me, Tesoro.”
“That’s not my name,” she seethes, trying to wiggle out of my grasp.
I keep a hand locked around her wrist so the hand holding the knife can’t get any ideas. It’s still dripping with the other man’s blood. We don’t have much time before someone comes in here, and if Bianchi catches one of his men dead by her hand, she won’t see tomorrow morning.
