My emotions are swirling in a way they never have before.There’s anger at his presumption, fear of what’s coming, a reluctant curiosity about the man behind the mask.He’s not just brute force.That I could deal with.But there’s intelligence in his actions, calculation and patience that makes him potentially lethal.
“Intercepted chatter.Dallas fronts moving pieces the night before.”
“There’s always chatter.And our business is always in motion.”He knows that as much as I do.
“And then there’s you, Valentina.”His voice drops lower, confiding almost, as if testing my reaction.
“Me?”
“You were in Houston.Walking down the streets as if you owned the turf.Testing the waters?”
Frantically I shake my head.“I was at a gallery opening.”
“Mmm.”
God, I am coming to loathe that response.
“Just as I was having a casual drink last night on a rooftop terrace in Dallas.”
“But—”
“Cut the shit, Valentina.”
His words hit me like whiplash.
“You had men with you.”
“Two.”And only because my father insisted.But he was with me the whole time.
“Five.And they were staking the territory.”
This time his words are more like stones, rippling through my thoughts.
Five?
What the hell?
I know our operations, the careful dance my father orchestrates.If there’s truth here, it’s buried deep, but doubt creeps in, cold fingers along my spine.Did someone in our ranks betray us?Or is this fabricated, nothing more than an excuse for his terrible actions?
I shake my head slightly, the motion limited by his hold.“That’s not enough.You’re starting a war over rumors.”My heart pounds harder, the reality sinking in—my family will be tearing the world apart looking for me, but if he’s moved me far enough, it might take time.“Why would we do that?”
“Why, indeed?”His expression hardens, and his eyes go dead.
Abruptly he releases my wrist.The absence of his touch leaves my skin tingling, but his forearm stays in place, keeping me pinned.
I flex my fingers, and blood rushes back in a pins-and-needles sensation, the feeling a reminder of my failed escape.
“This is all a mistake.”My voice is steady despite the storm raging inside me.“Don’t start a war, Moretti.No one will win.”
“On the contrary.One of uswillmost certainly win.And the other will pay.”
He steps back finally, his thigh withdrawing, leaving a cool void between us that I feel acutely.My body adjusts to the sudden freedom with a shiver.
He wipes the blood from his jaw with the back of his hand, smearing it across his skin, unconcerned.The cut has stopped bleeding, and there’s only a thin line now.
His motions controlled, he straightens his shirt, but the fabric is still rumpled from where I gripped it earlier.
He runs a hand through his dark hair, composing himself with effortless control.
