“Actually, Luna is as safe as can be right now, thousands of miles away in paradise. The one who’s really in danger is you, Jane Austen.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Me? But what do I have to do with any of this? I’m only here temporarily. I’m not part of your Mafia underworld.”
“You’re staying at Priest’s house. You’re a soft target.”
I don’t bother telling her the rest of what I suspect. That can wait for later, after I get some confirmation from Scorpion. Hopefully, he’ll have the answers I need. He’s got an insider in the Bratva, and it’s always helped us. But lately, his insider information has been increasingly sparse. He’s been tight-lipped about the reason for it too.
“I’m a target,” Isla repeats, her voice almost a squeak. “Me? But I haven’t even done anything. I don’t…I don’t know anything about your business, about your world. What could they possibly want with me?”
“Leverage. A show of strength.” I shrug. “Human trafficking. Hard to say with the Bratva. They’re a law unto their own, and it’s not pretty. You’re fucking lucky you got out of that shop with Marco today instead of finding yourself jammed into the back of an SUV and driven off to God knows where.”
“You were really serious about all this.”
I look her in the eye, unsmiling. “Deadly. This isn’t the world you’re used to. That’s why I warned you to stay inside unless you were with me or one of the guards. Instead, you sweet-talked your way outside on your own. And now, there’s a price to be paid for what happened.”
I move past her, intending to deal with Marco. He saved her ass by getting to the shop in time, but he’s also the reason she was there in the first place. And he was under strict orders not to let Isla out of the penthouse without my approval.
“Where are you going?” she asks, following me and grabbing my arm, a new note of fear lacing her voice.
“To show you what happens when you disobey me.”
I shake her off and go to the penthouse door, calling for Marco.
He steps inside, giving me a look that says he knows what’s coming.
“Yeah, boss?”
I nod toward the massive eat-in kitchen. “Come with me.”
“What’s going on here?” Isla demands, chasing after me like a dog nipping at my heels.
I turn to her. “You don’t get to ask questions. Have a seat.”
I gesture to one of the stools at the white marble countertop. Without waiting for her response, I head to the drawers, openingthe nearest one. Nothing but plastic wrap and bags. I open another and find kitchen gadgets. The third reaps results—a metal mallet for pounding meat. I grab it and shut the soft-close drawer, turning back to Isla and Marco.
“Which one?” I ask him.
He’s left-handed, so I already know he’ll choose the right. He confirms, holding it up without a word, like he’s about to swear on the Bible. But that’s not what’s going to go down.
“On the counter.”
Isla steps between us, a shocked expression on her face. “What are you doing with that mallet, Alessio?”
“Stand back,” I order her instead of answering.
“No.”
I get in her face, furious with her for what could have happened, pissed at the fucking Russian who was stalking her, and enraged with Marco for letting her go in the first place. “Get out of my fucking way, Isla.”
“You’re not going to hit him with that, are you?”
I’ve had enough, so I pick her up and carry her to the counter, setting her ass on it. “Are you going to stay here, or do I need to handcuff you to a fucking stool?”
Her lips part. She’s eyeing me like I’m a monster. She’s not wrong. But I am the man this world has made me. The man I have to be to survive in it.
“Stay put,” I bite out.
Then I go back to Marco, gripping the mallet’s cold metal handle. “Put it on the counter.”
