Giovanni casually turns around, his dark eyes—they’re darkest green, I realize. Not black, like I’d thought. His expression hasn’t changed. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let on, but I suspect he’s not.
“Get out. Now,” I say, cocking my gun when he takes a step toward me. It takes all I have not to retreat.
“And here for a minute, I thought you were just an innocent girl caught in an ugly world.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”
His gaze sweeps over me. “I can see that,” he says, and I think he expected my retort.
“I’ll shoot,” I say, this time taking that step backward when he keeps coming toward me. “I mean it.”
His smile widens, and he stops, putting his arms up in mock surrender. Without looking away from me, he gives an order to his men. “Put your weapons away, gentlemen. Emilia is just protecting herself against this perceived invasion.”
“My name is Em. And it’s not perceived. You broke into my home.”
“Not true. Building manager was kind enough to lend me a spare key.”
“What?”
He ignores me. “Emil was your father, right? Strange he named his daughter after him and not his son and successor.”
“My family is none of your business. Get out, because if you think I won’t shoot, you’re wrong.”
His smile vanishes. “You and I both know you won’t, so go ahead and put down your gun, Emilia. I won’t ask twice.”
I swallow. Somehow, he’s walked me backward far enough that my back is against the wall. When did that happen?
“Please go. I won’t ask again either,” I say, nerves making my voice quaver.
“All right, then, we’ll do it your way.”
Something moves in my periphery, distracting me, and that’s all it takes for him to have one of his hands around both of mine and the other around my throat. He pushes my arms downward and pins me to the wall. When he squeezes my wrists, the pistol drops to the floor. It goes off, and I scream.
Giovanni keeps me pinned there, pressing his body against mine, almost shielding me with it. He’s huge, and I can’t move. My heart seems to be trying to beat its way out of my chest. All I can do is feel his hard shoulder against my face, smell a dark hint of aftershave while I try to hold back weak, frightened tears.
“Christ,” he says a second later, backing off me. “Fucking amateurs.” He steps backward and picks up the pistol. “You need a Drop-Safety on this. How old is it?” He’s inspecting it, turning it this way and that.
But I can’t speak because his men have their guns out again and they’re all aimed at me. Giovanni shakes his head, empties my pistol of bullets, and tucks it and the ammunition into his pocket.
“That’s mine.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself with it.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Really? And you thought it was a good idea to point a loaded weapon at me with five of my men surrounding you? That doesn’t seem like something an intelligent person would do, Em.” He puts the emphasis on my name, and it pisses me off.
“Fuck you. I know you, and I know your kind. Get out of my house.”
“Ballsy, considering your situation.”
He steps to me again, this time any laughter is wiped away from his face as he closes his hands around my arms, rubs them, then squeezes. He watches me as he does, and it takes everything I have to stand still, to keep silent while he hurts me. This is just a sneak peek of that hurt. A preview of what he can do. I know that.
“Honestly, though, I prefer women with a little fire. They’re much more fun in bed.” He leans in close to say the next part. “They’re the dirty girls.”
One of his men chuckles. It wasn’t a whisper at all.
He pulls back, and I look up at him. He moves a hand toward my neck and sets two fingers on my throbbing pulse. He doesn’t comment. Just wants me to know he knows.
“I want to talk to your brother. I don’t care what you have to do to get ahold of him, but you do it and pass my message along. It’ll be in your best interest that he turns up by next week, understand?”
I swallow, processing his words.
What I’m seeing here, this cool, collected side of him—it’s his most dangerous side. I get the feeling he’s at his worst when he’s speaking calmly like this.
“Eyes up here,” he says, giving me a shake. I realize I’d shifted my gaze downward.
I blink and look up at him.
“Do you understand, Emilia?”
I nod.
“You’re a big girl. Use your words.”
I fist my hands.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Yes, I understand,” I spit.
“Good. Because I’d hate to have to hurt you.” He releases me, cocks his head to the side, then turns to the stove. “I think you burned dinner.”