Umberto gave me a deep dive into who she was—all the things Gio’s bartender had found out by lifting her fingerprints, but even more.
From the main facts of her life, I was starting to piece together who she was. I could see how her situation had made her desperate.
Not desperate enough to steal from me, though.
“A woman stole from you?” Gio whistled, setting his hands on his hips. “Besides ordering her to a life of servitude for stealing, what else are you going to do? This takes creativity, Big. It’s like deflowering a virgin. The rest of her experiences are going to be measured by this one. To steal or not to steal…”
Instead of chopping her hand off, maybe I’d shackle it with an engagement ring, depending on how disagreeable she was towards becoming my wife. If she loathed the idea, she might be spending her forever with me as her husband. Maybe she’d see it as the death sentence I couldn’t dole out.
I kept the thought to myself as I headed toward the holding room.
A guard stood outside of it, a hand to his cheek. Blood trickled down.
“What happened?” Umberto asked him.
“That bitch clawed me!”
He was a lower-ranking guy who did as he was told but had some anger issues. A little of that went a long way. I wasn’t paying a bunch of Bugsy wannabes to fuck everything up for me.
There was a reason I kept a low profile. To keep what I fucking had.
I nodded to Umberto, who gave me a subtle nod back. It was simple—keep an eye on him until I say otherwise.
Ms. Kallistos was sitting in a chair, her arms wrapped around herself, when I looked through the one-way mirror. She was shivering. Probably because Umberto kept it as cold as the arctic as a torture technique.
“Turn the AC down in her room,” I ordered. “And bring a blanket in.”
I would have kept it on, let her suffer some, but she reminded me of such a warm place… I couldn’t see snow on a beach in Greece. When I thought of her, I thought of night-blooming jasmine, or lady of the night, wilting from the cold.
I hated that I harbored any warm feelings for this thief, just as much as I hated that she chose to steal from me.
She startled when I opened the door and walked in. She jumped from her seat, her entire body tense, goosebumps puckering her skin.
“Where’s Mr. Big?” she demanded. Then her eyes lit up with recognition for a split second before she took a deep breath and released it.
Fuck. She was even more stunning in bright light. Everything I’d noticed about her before was made more exceptional by it. Her flowing hair was the color of honey mixed with caramel. The color of her eyes, crystal blue, came from the Mediterranean. And her olive-hued skin looked like it had just been warmed by the sun—except she was wilting before my eyes.
I could still smell her in the air—night jasmine and herbs.
A few things I hadn’t noticed earlier, though. The angry red mark on her cheek that would no doubt turn into a bruise. Red welts splotched her arms. Hand marks.
“Where is he?” she pressed. “I was told Mr. Big was coming. He personally handles these types of situations.”
I took a step toward her, and she took a step back, her eyes darting to the door and then to me.
“You’re looking at him.”
“Bullshit!” She balled her hands into fists. “I know what Mr. Big looks like. He looks like a mixture of one of those head guys in New York, the one who always had a cigar hanging from his mouth, and the guy from the drink in New Orleans—Big Shot. You’re not him.” She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on my crotch. She blinked and then met my eyes, not ashamed in the slightest. “You’re not a bull, more like a lean jaguar.”
That was a fucking good way to describe me. “You’re looking for the old Mr. Big. My grandfather. And unless you’re able to reach out to the other side, you’re not getting in touch with him. Right now, he’s sitting on my grandmother’s mantle—turned into the thing that fell from his cigars. Ashes. And Mr. Big was his name. You can call me Mr. Bigatti.”
She looked flabbergasted. Absolutely stunned.
“What happened to your face, Ms. Kallistos? Your arms?”
She unconsciously touched the spot on her arm and opened her mouth, but I gave her this warning before she spoke.
“Don’t lie to me. Unless you don’t care if a man’s life is taken for it.”
