“If you’re threatening me, Mr. Vescari, just say it.” She says, tilting her chin up at me, a challenge in her eyes, gone is the trembling voice from earlier.
I smile darkly, moving in and completely invading her space just enough to remind her who’s in charge. I don’t normally smile, so it doesn’t feel natural. Smiling is for liars or politicians, but I do it now, because she’s earned it.
“If I were threatening you, cara mia, you’d know.” Taking my thumb, I give in to my urge and swipe at the dust on her cheek, hovering a split second too long, then I softly brush a finger down her jaw to her neck, pausing to wrap my large hand around it. I can feel her pulse beat beneath the smooth, tender skin. Lingering briefly, I squeeze just a little, to let her know I could break her if I wished.
What I really wish to do is leave my mark, my handprint on her throat, so she remembers me, my power over her, and to let others know she’s mine. Under my protection. But I don’t because that day will come.
For now, I know I’ve made my message clear, so I step back.
Her eyes widen in shock or fear, and there’s a long silence. She stands there, tiny in her lab coat, fists clenched at her side. Her chest heaves, and she’s taking deep breaths in an effort to keep her panic at bay.
“I’m going to need you to gather information for me without alerting your uncle, bella,” my voice is low and commanding, no room for questions. At this point, I’mconfident her uncle is responsible for the rumors I’m hearing about Hart Pharmacy, not Evangeline.
She just looks at me, but she’s heard me. I can tell she’s a good little rule follower and will do exactly as she’s told.
Backing away warily, she says, “I have work to do, and it’s time to close. This conversation is over. Good evening, Mr. Vescari.”
I laugh at her dismissal. Her skin is ghostly white as she turns and walks into the lab, leaving me and Luca on the other side. We stare as her lab coat flaps in her wake, shoulders stiff.
My gaze follows her for a beat, then I turn to Luca. He’s grinning wider now, giving a low whistle, pocketing his blade, and rocking on his feet.
“She’s a tough one, boss. Smart, too. I think I kinda like her,” he says in admiration.
I grunt, pushing through the swinging doors and stride back to the front of the store, ignoring him. “She’ll be useful and do as she’s told.”
“You sure about that? Looks to me like she’s gonna be a problem,” he says, trailing after me.
“She’smyproblem,“ I reply, and even I can hear the possessive note in my voice.
The truth is, I’m not sure of anything except that I want to see her again. No, Ineedto see her. I also feel the powerful need to protect her.
And I don’t want to think about what that means. Right now, my anger is no longer directed at her, but at whoever is pulling the strings behind the curtain.
Whoever it is, I will eliminate them. Painfully and quickly because I am the only puppet master allowed on this side of Chicago.
Chapter Two
Evangeline
Iinhaleaslow,shaky breath as the door clicks shut behind Dante and his equally dangerous companion. At last, the tension drains from the air, and I can feel the adrenaline pulsing through my body. Their dark presence had been like a vacuum, pulling warmth and light from the room.
Here in my laboratory, with the cold steel countertops under fluorescent lights, the hum of refrigeration units, and the sharp, antiseptic scent, I feel safer, anchored. The white walls and the tick of the wall clock help calm the panic in my chest.
After the mysterious conversation with Dante Vescari, I’m a mess. His dark eyes stared right through my soul; his chiseled jawline and the jagged scar on his throat gave him an intense, dangerous, but devastatingly attractive appearance that made my body react in a way I’ve never felt before.
I know I shouldn’t have stared at him, at his scar running across his throat, but when he spoke, I could feel it. The words scraped against my skin before they even reached my ears. His voice was low, rough, uneven, as if it had been broken once and never healed right.
Pharmacists notice details, and that was what I did, catalogued things, matched symptoms to causes. And his voice … it wasn’t just deep. It was damaged. I could almost see it, the violence it must have taken to carve that sound into him. The long jagged scar on his throat is proof of the violent life he apparently leads.
The beautiful giant of a man doesn’t appear human; he looks carved from stone. A handsome statue in an expensive Brioni suit, but everything about him screams danger. His size, the dark hair casually styled with a hint of silver at his temples, that dark stubble on his jawline that only a man like him can pull off successfully. Theexpensive clothes, his scar, even the tattoos I noticed peeking from beneath the cuff of his crisp white shirt as he reached to wipe the powder off my cheek.
Up close, I could make out the flash of colorful ink wrapping around his wrist. A hint of a winding pattern, intricate and deliberate, that must travel up his arm. It’s hidden from most eyes, meant to be seen only by those close enough or who dare to look.
And I have an insane desire to look, to trace those tattoos beneath his shirt, wanting to see where they lead and what else they reveal about the man that’s Dante Vescari. I feel they could expose the secrets he hides from the world.
Thinking about the way he gently stroked my cheek makes my pulse quicken and my cotton panties wet with desire for a man I don’t even know.
What is that about?The man is a criminal.What does that say about me?Does it take a criminal kingpin to turn me on?
