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“Oh.” At least her pallor decreases when her cheeks pinken slightly. “Yes. I’m sorry about that. If something is meant to be a secret, you should probably let me know that in the future.”
“No harm done. He arrived too late to have any impact on the outcome.”
I hold the door for her, and we reenter the ballroom.
“The outcome of what?” Her hands clench on that purse; she seems to be using it like a shield. “I mean, sorry, it’s none of my business.”
For some reason, her thinly disguised curiosity amuses rather than annoys me. I decide to allow her a bit of slack. “Revenge is a dish best served cold, they say. I have received confirmation of something I have long suspected in relation to Carlos Rossi and his men, and I have arranged a little quid pro quo.”
She stops dead. “But…are you saying you’re going to…killhim in retaliation for something he did to you?”
“I did not use that word, little one. You do not need to know more. Except to be aware that Rossi, like all of us in this world of ours, knows the consequence of going up against the Agosti family.”
She recoils slightly, and I decide to soften my words with a touch of humor. “Besides, he did not want me to win the bet we had in play. He is a sore loser, it would seem.”
“You mean the bet overme? My name. My family’s money.” Her voice flattens all of a sudden, not hesitant or horrified as she was moments ago. Her fingers whiten as she clutches at her purse.
My gut is telling me again that something is up.
I nod at Danelli who steps forward. “Search her purse.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Wait, no, I…” She tries to draw back, but my second easily removes the purse from her reluctant fingers.
He makes quick work of the search, then hands it back and shakes his head.
Nothing untoward.
“Does your man get off on studying my lipstick and tampons now?”
I ignore her childish taunt and hold out my hand. “You owe me a dance, Bianca. Presuming you feel up to it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be up to it?”
I raise my brows. “You said you felt unwell. And there is a tone in your voice. Slightly antagonistic.”
“Well, you know how it is. Talk of hits and death.Searchingme. But my feeling unwell was temporary. I’m fine now. Let’s dance, Rio.”
She places her hand in mine and allows me to lead her out onto the dance floor, but when I take her in my arms, she is stiff and unresponsive.
“Relax,” I command as the music changes to a slower beat. Her scent wafts up and wraps itself around me, and I tighten my hold, shaking her a little when she remains impassive. “I’ve a good mind to put you over my knee, little bird.”
After a moment, whatever tension is holding her rigid begins to ease.
“Promise?” Her tone has become seductive now rather than belligerent.
She seems to be over whatever strange mood she was in minutes earlier.
“If you want it, then it isn’t true punishment.”
“I guess not.” We circle the floor in silence, and then she speaks again. “You haven’t called me that much lately.”
“What? Little bird? Do you dislike the term?”
She shakes her head. “I should hate it. What it means; what it stands for. A caged bird. Trapped.”
“But you don’t hate it?”
