She’s the reason why I have a blackening eye, a broken nose, bruised ribs and lacerations on my arms.
Why they have her penned as the Irish Princess I have no clue. La mia gazzella should be penned as the Irish Warrior.
Perhaps giving her such a name would cement her as equals amongst the men in her crime family. And recognizing her worth? That’s something the Irish Mob won’t do.
“She’s trained very well.”
Constantine hums. Over the years of knowing him I’ve been able to tell apart his hums. This one is humorous. “I would imagine to stand toe to toe with you.” There’s another expression I’ve never quite understood nor liked. “Is she going to be a problem?”
Turning in my seat I peer back at her. Through the opened door she lays on the bed. Somehow even drugged unconscious she doesn’t appear peaceful. Her hair once wild and askew from the fight is now in a braid from my hands. I even went as far as to clean and bandage each of her wounds. She has a few cuts here and there from the branches. I tell myself I cleaned them for no chance of infection. But something about cuts on her alabaster skin didn’t sit quite right with me.
“I’ll handle her.”
He hums once more. “You sure you’re the man for the job? Gino could?—“
“I said I’ll handle her.” There’s a significant pause. I realize my error. “Apologies, Don. I did not mean to offend.”
“You’re my consigliere, Rico. It’s always been your opinion I value most along with my wife. And to be honest with you, Carina is adamant on you being the one to keep her.”
I think of our small conversation before I left. Replaying it in my head there was no indication Carina would be happy to leave Imogen in my hands. Matter of fact she seemed quite apprehensive.
I wonder the sudden change.
Not that it particularly matters. I would have convinced the both of them for it to be me and not anyone else.
The thought of her alone with either Pitero or Gino isn’t one I like. And I don’t know how to feel about that.
“I trust you, Rico. And I trust this plan will make that father of hers come begging on his knees to bring his daughter back. It’s about time Seamus knows exactly who he’s fucking with.”
“He’ll know.”
“Bene,” he breathes. “Text when you land and when you are settled in at the safe house. Anything else can wait as I will be busy for the remainder of the night.”
“Plans, Don?”
He chuckles. “Do you really care for this small talk?”
“No.”
“I thought so,” he laughs and ends the call.
Before I settle in my seat I chance another glance at the sleeping beauty. Something stirs in my gut.
“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Pietro says. I break my stare to find him staring at her as well. That something in my gut twists to a burning. He whistles lowly. Looking at me he says, “Too bad she’s the enemy.”
My eyes return to her. The enemy. The Irish Warrior. La mia gazzella.
“Si,” I agree in a bored tone. “Too bad.”
CHAPTER 8
Imogen
The severe dryness of my mouth causes me to stir awake. I try to pull on my own saliva to regain moisture but it is of no use.
Before my eyes can even open I feel a straw prodding at my lips.
“Drink. Slowly.” The deep voice says in a commanding tone. I listen. Except I greedily begin to drink down the water. “Slowly,” he repeats, “or you’ll only bring it back up.” My still dry mouth and throat say otherwise. I could drink a whole lake and it still wouldn’t be enough.
