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I try my voice again. “Please. Where are you taking me? What do you want?”
I’m once again unanswered and pushed into another cement room. At least this has a chair and a small table by the door. The man backpedals me until he flings me into a seat.
Anger flares.
“Quit manhandling me!” I shout at the man.
He stands there for a minute, his eyes glaring at me, before lifting with his smirk. Turning on his heels he leaves the room and slams the door.
As soon as I’m alone, I bring my bound hands to my teeth trying to chew the plastic cuff. But before I can make any significant progress, the door flies back open, and I jump from the chair stumbling back.
My mouth gapes open.
Him.
Icy blues find mine, and my breathing intensifies. His memorable jawline is accentuated by rugged stubble. His dark hair is perfectly in place, and he is wearing a tailored dress shirt and suit pants that exude unnatural confidence and commands attention.
No.
He opens his mouth, and my eyes find that little scar I noticed before.
“You,” I manage to say, shifting back.
His lips thin and he mutters one word, “Da.”
Chapter16
Luka
Kate is staring at me, wide-eyed, and I can see the sweat seeping from her pores.
“You,” she says, her voice stammering and unsure. I watch her swallow and have to stop myself from smirking at the fear.
When Nik got word that Antonio Buscetta was in Lake Mead, I knew having Kate tailed these past few weeks had finally paid off. She is involved with the Italians. When Antonio left her mother’s home, I had men follow his car for a short while before he evaded them. The next best thing was Kate. She made it all too easy to get to her at that vacant gas station.
Her striking blue eyes possess a depth that draws me in. Her hair is disheveled, pulled into a bun, strands sticking up every which way. I make the mistake of glancing at her mouth. The once soft, inviting curve of her lips I saw while she worked has been replaced with a cracked, dry frown. Tears have dried on her face, and I find her ruin captivating. I fight the urge to lift my hand and brush her cheek.
“Da.”Yes. It is me.The man you had a hand in almost destroying. “Sit,” I command. I watch her nostrils flare and her gaze narrow. She tilts her chin up in defiance. There’s something about her—despite her tattered appearance, and working for Antonio—that makes my heart pound. “Sit. Or I willmakeyou sit.”
My mouth tugs up a millimeter at that thought.
Her resistance melts away, and I watch fear creep onto her face. Her throat moves as she moves to the chair.
“Please … I don’t understand. What is going on? Why am I here? Why have—”
I scowl, cutting her off. I can’t listen to her pleas. Her voice is mesmerizing, and I hate it. I reach into my back pocket and Kate flinches back in the chair. Pulling out the black and white security photo of Antonio Buscetta leaving her mom’s house, I thrust it in her face.
“The question is a simple one; answer it and live. Lie”—I lower the photo enough that I can watch her response—“and you won’t like the consequences.”
We don’t hurt women and children on principle; they’re off-limits. However, based on the shock plastered on her face, I doubt she knows this. The Cosa Nostra does not share this belief. Her eyes blink at the photo, then widen even more.
“Why do you have a photo of my mom’s house? Please don’t hurt her, she—I’ll do anything.” Her voice cracks, her hands shaking, as tears fill her eyes. I’ll admit, I’m surprised by her plea. The sinister part of me wondersjusthow much she would beg—on her knees, perhaps.
“How long have you been working for Antonio Buscetta? Were you part of their plan that night?” I bark out, control wavering. Her nose scrunches and her expression morphs into one of confusion.
She’s good.
“I have no-no idea who that is. That’s—that’s Tony, my mom’s boyfriend. I only met him today—or yesterday.” She fumbles through her answers, eyes are darting back and forth as if she is trying to determine how long she has been here. When I don’t respond, more words start tumbling out of her mouth. “Listen, please, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but that’s my mom’s boyfriend Tony, and I just met him. He owns a bunch of restaurants in the city. That’s all I know about him.” Her tears fall down her face, leaving streaks in their wake. “I don’t know who Antonio Buscetta is …”
