It’s the only answer, the best way to keep her safe.
And she’s going to hate me even more for it.
Chapter 13
ISLA
“No.” I shake my head adamantly, holding a purring Cid against my chest like he’s a shield and backing away from the six-foot-two wall of mobster muscle headed my way. “Uh-uh. No way. Absolutely not. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I’ve just started to settle down after this morning’s adventure at the coffee shop, and now Alessio has returned, grim-faced and dead-eyed, telling me he’s taking me and Cid somewhere we’ll be “safe” and that I need to grab my shit. For all I know, this is Mafia speak for he’s going to take me out to an abandoned warehouse, put a bullet in my brain, and bury me in a shallow, unmarked grave in the suburbs somewhere.
I have no intention of ending up on a Netflix cold case documentary, and I was already alarmingly close to becoming the star of one earlier today, thank you very much.
But Alessio follows me deeper into the penthouse, a lion stalking its prey. “It’s not negotiable.”
“Yes, it is. And I’m turning down your offer. Now, go back to racketeering and murder or whatever it is you Mafia crime lords do.” I wave a dismissive hand at him in emphasis, juggling Cid with one arm.
Cid takes exception to that and sinks in his claws.
“Et tu, Cid?” I grumble to him as I set him down on the floor, watching in dismay as blood beads up on the bare arm that was cradling him.
He wanders away to jump into a swath of sunlight on a nearby couch and curl up, no clue that we’re being threatened by the mobster who just invaded the penthouse. Oh, to be a cat. He’s living the good life and doesn’t even know it.
“Shakespeare,” Alessio quips smoothly, stopping before me. “Nice.”
I’m surprised he’s familiar with my play on the line fromJulius Caesar. “I wouldn’t have expected you to recognize that.”
A half smirk tugs at his beautiful lips. “My high school English teacher made us memorize the entire Marc Antony speech.”
I cross my arms over my chest, wiping at the blood. “I bet you don’t remember a word of it.”
“You’re bleeding.” He frowns down at me and then stalks away.
I watch him go, nonplussed, and also annoyed that the scent of his cologne lingers. It should be a crime for a man like him to smell and look so damn good. I wish I didn’t look at him and instantly think about the night we spent together. My ovaries are having zero chill, despite the fact that he stormed in here announcing he’s taking me to a mysterious location for a few days where I’ll be “safe.”
Safe, my ass.
Not with that man anywhere in the vicinity.
I blow out a breath and look at Cid, who’s eyeing me in that wise-cat way of his with seafoam eyes. He yawns, giving me a view of his sharp, pointy teeth and his pink tongue. If only I could be as calm and unaffected, nothing better to do than have a nap on a swanky piece of furniture.
Before I can contemplate how I’m going to get myself out of this mess, Alessio returns, carrying what looks like a first aid case. I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it. He opens it, extracting a small square that he tears open. The clinical scent of alcohol replaces his cologne.
“Hold out your arm,” he orders.
“Why? So you can break it?”
Yeah, I’m still thinking about what he did to Marco. The shock of the sick crunching of bone as it broke, the thwack of the mallet. The guilt over knowing it was my fault.
Alessio pins me with an icy glare and takes my wrist in a surprisingly gentle hold, unfolding my arm. My body reacts to his touch because she’s a traitorous bitch and she’s still insanely attracted to him, even if my brain is way too smart for that shit. The scores from Cid’s exceedingly sharp claws are dripping down my arm. Maybe it’s all the adrenaline coursing through me. I’m bleeding like crazy.
“This is going to sting.” He mops it up with the alcohol pad, and he’s not wrong.
It burns. I bite my lip and don’t say anything, allowing him to play doctor with my arm. It won’t make up for what he did earlier to poor Marco. And it definitely won’t improve my opinion of Alessio or make me any more inclined to leave this penthouse with him.
He gets out a packet of antibacterial ointment next and dots it on my skin. “Want a bandage? Looks like you’re a bleeder.”
“That’s right,” I say. “Just think about all the mess you’ll have to clean up when you kill me. You’re going to need some heavy-duty tarps to catch it all. Otherwise, you’ll be one blue light away from being caught when the cops come looking for me.”
