Sliding on my favourite dove-grey jumpsuit – because it boosted my confidence, and my sister Jacinta called it my Boss Lady Suit – I re-tied my hair in a tight bun and slid my feet into three-inch heels. I hadn’t taken off my make-up when I returned from the team meeting, so I snatched up my purse. Then stopped. My gaze went to the nightstand once more.
Bringing my gun was prudent. But… was it even worth it?
I’d be amazed if Cesare’s people didn’t pat me down and relieve me of it. And even if they didn’t… was there a scenario where I saw myself shooting the Salvatore heir?
I bit my inner cheek, now wishing Sofiya was here. Among her many talents was sharp, accurate shooting. The memory of her coldly aiming her rifle and downing a buck in the woods near our Connecticut family home whistled across my brain before I shook my head free of it and turned my back on the bed.
The Mancinellis and Salvatores had clashed many times over the years over many issues, but I didn’t really see Cesare killing me over a suspected mole within my racing team.
And if that thought was more in hope than expectation, I guessed I’d find out soon enough.
Stepping out and seeing how effectively Fist had immobilised my soldiers, I grimaced. Heads were going to roll for this. But that was tomorrow’s problem.
I was relieved when the elevator reached the ground floor and I saw Fist had left these soldiers alone, even though their eyes widened when they saw the giant striding one step behind me.
‘Good evening, Doña, we going somewhere?’ one soldier asked.
I curbed a grimace at the hollow honorary title. ‘I am. You’re not. I have some business to take care of. I’ll be back in an hour,’ I said briskly, not slowing my stride.
Roberto, the oldest and most senior of the secondary team, stepped closer with a frown. ‘We really should come with?—’
‘I’ve given you an order, soldier.’ I hardened my voice. ‘Do I need to repeat myself?’
He slowed his roll, although mutiny lurked on his face. ‘Uh, well, no, if you insist, Doña,’ he said.
The knot in my middle eased a fraction but didn’t dissipate altogether.
There would be a reckoning, or at the very least a few questions needing answering. Unless I managed to turn the debacle upstairs to my advantage.
Ignoring Fist’s hulking presence behind me, I paused and faced Roberto. ‘You might want to check on your buddies upstairs. And I suggest you keep whatever you find there under wraps. You don’t want to find yourselves suddenly unemployed,I don’t think? Or for word to get back to my grandfather about your levels of incompetence?’
Nowhe froze, his mutiny morphing into mild anxiety as my words sank in. If any of them planned to tattle to my father or Bonafacio about my little late evening excursion, they would be equally in the shit for their abysmal performance tonight.
His gaze remained on me for a beat or two before he turned and barked orders at his men. They were rushing towards the elevators when I walked out the front entrance with Fist.
The drive ended three short streets away, at the equally stunning Soraya Baku Hotel. Not nearly enough time for me to reach deep inside for the yoga technique I used to steady my breathing.
Instead, I had to rely on years of hiding distress from the men in my family who loved to pick on the weak.
I was almost thankful Fist wasn’t the conversational type, having seemingly lost interest in me as I hurried to keep up with his giant strides across the foyer to the private elevator that whisked us up to the Presidential Suite.
The actual suite was at the end of a long corridor with small anterooms dotted with a dozen soldiers.
A female soldier, built like a Mack truck, stepped forward as we approached, then conducted a very thorough search, including an X-ray of my heels. It would’ve been amusing if not for the imposing, gold-handled double doors standing ominously before me, behind which I knew Cesare waited.
The second I stepped back into my heels, Fist swept the doors open and stood to one side, giving me a clear view of Cesare Salvatore.
He prowled towards me, a breathtaking vision in navy.
He was wearing a dark navy shirt open at the throat, exposing a hint of his intricate tattoos, with his sleeves folded back to display deliciously brawny tattooed forearms, darkerbespoke tailored pants that hinted at lean hips and powerful thighs. Polished Italian shoes.
His impact was immediate and catastrophic, and it took serious composure not to stumble back from the force of it.
‘Any problems?’ he asked Fist while he conducted a head-to-toe scrutiny of his own, his eyes lingering for a fraction longer on my breasts and hips.
The head soldier stared unblinking at his boss. ‘Nah. Her security could use some serious upgrade, though. It’s almost as if someone doesn’t care that any schmuck can walk in and have access to her with minimum fuss.’
Fist ignored my glare as Cesare’s eyes narrowed. After a moment, he nodded. ‘Noted. Thanks.’
