Doors clanked open. Hands gripped my arms and tugged me up and out of the car. Their grip was not as rough and unyielding as expected, which gave me hope, until the hood came off with a harsh tug, taking the rest of the duct tape along with it. Then I got a good look at the villa towering over us and at the man in the overpriced suit, glaring down at me from its front steps.
A flash of shock streaked across my worst nightmare’s face. It was there and gone, making me wonder if I’d really seen a bit of emotion from the indomitable Renzo Iannelli.
Well, shit.
Chapter 8
RenzoIannellilookedlikethe mob bosses in movies—standing tall and arrogant, looking down on the crowd below, in a fancy suit that would probably cost me more than a year’s worth of salaries I wasn’t old enough to earn. Normal people like me were like bowling pins to men like him. Our purpose was to be knocked down or bulldozed aside to make room.
I scanned the area. If I was going to run, this was probably my chance. However, aside from this mansion, the size of the White House, there was nothing around for miles except for sweeping hills covered with vineyards, all of it exposed. Nothing to hide behind to avoid getting shot down. Nowhere safe while my hands were tied behind my back. I could head back down the street to the next mansion over, but from the sprawling size of the estate, they’d probably catch me before I made it there.
“Someone tell me what the fuck this is.” Renzo Iannelli gestured at me as though I were an inconvenience. His voice was just as I remembered it: thick and resonant, making you listen despite yourself, yet so low and deep, so you couldn’t help but remember the way his words vibrated.
“What do you think this is, asshole? It’s not like I asked to get tied up and dragged here.”
He gave me nothing more than a stray glance before deeming me as worthy of attention as a pebble in his shoe. After seven months in the system, I was used to that by now. Short, underfed, and paired with ill-fitted clothing, most glances I got weren’t favorable. I wasn’t big to begin with, but I’d lost nine pounds in the last four months. The clothing the Hayeses gave me definitely didn’t help either—old in style or with frayed seams, always a size or two too large or small, and shoes with the sole unglued.
“Who is this? Vinny, where is Ms. Burch?”
“ThisisMs. Burch.” It was the voice of the man who’d spoken my name while coercing me into the vehicle. The guy had no right to be the type of good-looking the girls at school giggled and gossiped about, all brown-haired and rugged, with dark eyes as soulless as his boss’ on a face made for scowling.
Iannelli frowned, looking me over from head to toe. “She’s a kid, Vinny.”
“I’m fifteen. Not a kid.” I jerked in Vinny’s grip.
“You’re underage. Means you’re a kid.”
“And you’re a twat who murders people. Doesn’t mean you liked to be called it.”
One of his brows jerked up before he turned back to my dear captor, Vinny, with a death glare. Vinny looked completely unaffected.
“You didn’t want to hear it,” Vinny said. “Had to show you instead.”
“Wonderful.” Renzo glared down at me. “Get her out of here.”
Dirtbag two, tall and gray at the hairline, pulled me backward by my wrists. With a soft snip at my back, my arms were free despite his tight grasp.
I tried to wrench myself away. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m not a freaking sack of potatoes.”
Renzo pulled his gun from the back of his pants. He didn’t raise it, but the threat was there all the same. “You seem not to realize your predicament.”
“She’s feral, boss,” said dirtbag two.
“No, I’m angry.” I lurched, twisted, and thrashed.
Renzo lunged. He fisted my shirt and hauled me forward so harshly that I dangled from his grip on my tippy-toes.
“Enough!” A muscle twitched in his jaw. From this close, his eyes gleamed in the sunlight. I got a nose full of the citrusy yet earthy scent of his cologne. “You need to learn when to shut up, kid. Anyone else, and you’d already be dead.”
I gritted my teeth. I wouldn’t thank him even if he pulled me out of a burning building. “Then why aren’t I?”
“I don’t hurt kids, no matter how much they annoy me.”
Bullshit, he didn’t hurt kids. I was hurting. I was in pain. Hurt wasn’t just physical.
“I swear I’ll annoy you so bad, you’ll take that back.”
He huffed, as though amused. “You want to die?”
