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Or is she? Is she going to hold a grudge because I hurt her precious feelings?
When two pairs of heavy boot steps sound from the hallway, I have my answer. What a vengeful little creature. She has more of a spine than I give her credit for.
Their footsteps draw closer.
Shit. I’ve made a mess for myself. While his goons might think twice about harming me, I’m not willing to risk it. Those thick-necked types aren’t exactly known for their reasoning abilities.
So, I draw the Ruger I always keep on me, lean casually against the sofa, and wait for them to enter.
One after the other, they step into the room and assess the situation. Slowly, by my standards. When the beefier of the two goes for his gun, I shake my head, giving him pause. Maybe he’s smarter than he looks.
“Your boss is drunk. He brought this on himself. Now get him the fuck out of my sight before I decide to finish the job.”
The goons scowl at me before doing as they’re told. I wait while they lift a moaning, semi-conscious Kozlov between them and carry him through the French doors that lead into the garden. No doubt they want to avoid being seen practically carrying Kozlov’s intoxicated, battered body away from his own engagement party.
Will there be hell to pay for this later? I sure hope so. I want Kozlov to come at me with everything he’s got. Even though it won’t be enough to stop me, it will make getting my revenge even more satisfying.
Now all I have to do is find my way back to Pontrelli’s office and claim my prize—and the first domino to fall—Sophia.
CHAPTER3
Sophia
Silently fuming, and more than a little shook up, I walk through the crowd of guests toward my father’s office. Roman’s voice haunts me with each step. ‘I didn’t do it for you.Are you an idiot?’
Why I thought, for even the briefest of moments, that Roman De Luca was my white knight, I haven’t a clue. This first encounter with him has told me everything I need to know. He’s rude, arrogant, and ruthless. I honestly believed he was going to kill Nik. But he wasn’t doing it for me, which begs the question: Then why? What does he have against my fiancé?
Nik. A shiver runs down my spine and my gut twists in a way that makes me regret the couple glasses of champagne I’ve had this evening. I’ve never seen Nik act like that before. He was extremely intoxicated, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior, no matter what I said to Roman.
My arms hurt where he dug in his fingers and shook me. Does Nik often get wasted? Will he come at me like that once we’re married?
I fix a polite smile on my face for those who pass by, but inside my heartbeat pounds against my ribcage as I consider the horrors married life with Nik will bring. He was rough, hurting me and seeming to enjoy it. That’s what scares me the most—his enjoyment. If Roman hadn’t come in when he did….
Taking in a steadying breath, I rap on Papa’s office door and enter when he calls out.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask, curious, quietly latching the door behind me before striding toward his desk. I’m curious why he’d send Roman to come get me, as well as why he wants to see me in the middle of this party. Any business seems like it should be able to wait until morning.
“I did.” Papa gestures for me to sit.
I move toward one of the leather armchairs, then halt when the door opens and in strolls none other than Roman De Luca. My breath catches in my throat, pulse whooshing in my ears, as I stare at his blood splattered shirt.
What is he doing here?
My eyes widen as he stalks towards me, and I have to tilt my head back in order to hold eye contact. Which I boldly do. All the while the rest of my body is frozen in place, except for my glare. He isn’t worth the effort of my good manners.
He stops in front of me. His stony hazel yellow eyes scrutinize my features as I unwittingly inhale his scent. My nose drinks it in spicy bergamot, sweet tobacco, and something more subtle, like vanilla. The mixture goes straight to my brain, momentarily addling my mind. If I didn’t despise this man so much, I might find him intoxicating. Addicting.
Then cold, harsh reality sets in. He’s here for a reason. I fear it has something to do with me.
Finally, I find my voice. “Papa, what’s going on?”
He rises from his smooth leather chair, glancing at me then Roman in turn. “Sophia, this is Roman De Luca, a colleague of mine.”
“We’ve met,” I say dryly.
Papa shoots me a warning glance for my tone, then clears his throat. “Sit down. Please.”
We sit, and I awkwardly perch at the edge of my seat. Whatever this is about, it can’t be good. The tension in the room is palpable, and my brain is contorting itself with the numerous scenarios of why I’m here with Papa and Roman. Not a single one of the reasons I come up with makes any sense.
