He knew.
The heat of the night turned stifling. I sucked in a sharp breath, but it barely filled my lungs. O dio mio, he knew. He recognized me.
“Breathe,” Liam growled. “You’ll need to remember how.”
Somehow his dark command penetrated the frantic energy holding me captive. I took a long, deep inhale. That was when I noticed his left ear was also puffy and deformed. I thought the other was from the burns, but seeing this brought clarity. The man in front of me was a fighter, his ears scarred to cauliflower.
“I’m twenty-two,” I countered. If he was used to sparring, then I would show him I could too.
“Congratulations,” he murmured.
The ass.
“If you’re planning to use the information to get out of this marriage, don’t,” he warned. “I’m not a man to be trifled with.”
The Made Men rumbled in the distance. Our soldiers were cursing and mocking in Italian, confident that the Irish couldn’t understand. I ignored them. Leaning against the table, I did what was probably the stupidest thing I could have done.
“What kind of a man are you, then?” I dared.
Taunting the beast wasn’t wise.
If thunder had a look, that was what flashed in his blue eyes. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“And make up my own mind? I see how it is.” I wished I had more to drink.
After a pause, he asked, “Your father said you took a trip abroad?”
I summoned my rehearsed response. The key to being convincing was having the details memorized beforehand. Why Papa bothered to tell him this was beyond me. It wasn’t necessary to make an alliance.
“I spent almost a year in Recanati, Italy,” I lied.
“Why?”
Cavolo! It was as if he could smell the deception.
I shrugged, trying for a casual approach. “There’s a famous language school there. I was able to teach a little English while perfecting my Italian.”
“You want to be a teacher?” Liam almost sounded pained to make small talk.
“No, I didn’t like that.” It was true. I would hate to be a teacher. “My family needed me here.”
“Eight months ago.”
I huffed and reached to spin the mug between my fingers. “Someone’s done their homework. What else would you like to know? My shoe size? My email password?”
He glared at me as if I were crazy.
Maybe I was.
“I’m not an interesting person,” I insisted. “No one notices me. I’m not heavily connected with the famiglia. I just work, sleep, and go to church on Sundays.”
The devil leaned forward. His presence swallowed what little air existed between us. “If you’re such a good girl, cailín, why were you lurking by the fence the other night?”
The copper mug I’d been fidgeting with clattered to the metal tabletop. I froze. Words died on my lips.
“Relax,” he said smoothly. “If I wanted you gone, this meeting wouldn’t exist.”
Was he admitting that he would have killed me?
