“Down!” he hissed and the dogs in all the kennels laid down obediently. He stopped beside me but only had eyes for the girl inside the cage.
“Marcella Vitiello, finally we meet.”
“Am I supposed to know who you are?” she said haughtily.
I had a feeling she knew very well who we were. Her reaction to seeing the cut had been too strong. She couldn’t be that oblivious. Though I was sure Vitiello did his best to turn her life into a fucking fairy tale. Yet even her shopping-fixated princess brain had to know the stories about our club and the Famiglia.
“Maybe you don’t,” Earl said with a shrug. He turned, showing her the logo of the hellhound with our script. “I’m the president of the Tartarus MC, and we have to settle a score with your father. Unfortunately for you, we intend to settle it with your help.”
Marcella crossed her arms. “I won’t help you settle anything. Your plan is doomed. My father will butcher all of you like he should have done a long time ago.”
Not blind to what had happened obviously. Suddenly seeing her in the cage didn’t bother me quite as much anymore. Maybe it would do her good to sleep with the dogs for a while.
“Let’s see how long you can keep up that arrogance. Enjoy our hospitality,” he said with a throaty chuckle. With a nod at me, he turned and headed back to the building.
Marcella didn’t move. She still brandished that one shoe in her hand. Her feet were bare, so she must have lost one shoe along the way.
“You won’t need fancy shoes around here, trust me,” I said, leaning against the bars.
She glanced at her high heel then back at me. “I don’t trust you, or any of the other hillbillies.”
“Hillbillies?” I smirked and calmly took a cigarette from the package in my jeans. “Not a very clever thing to insult the people responsible for your safety.” I lit up the cigarette, never taking my eyes off the girl.
Even her feet were immaculate. Her toes were painted red, probably by some fancy beauty salon in Manhattan. Girls like her didn’t do their own nails, or hair, or anything else. They were used to having people do everything for them. Spoiled to the very core.
I finally tore my eyes away from her feet, not wanting to look like some pervert who was into sucking toes. Marcella was watching me like I had been watching her. Her face was a mask of control, but her eyes couldn’t hide her fear. It didn’t give me the amount of satisfaction I’d hoped for. Her father was who I wanted in my hands.
“I don’t even know your name,” Marcella said as if formal introductions could be expected.
“Maddox—Mad Dog—White.”
I watched her reaction to my name, especially my nickname, closely. If she recognized the name, she didn’t show it, but my middle name definitely caught her attention.
“Mad Dog,” she said, shaking her head with a bitter smile. She flicked her manicured fingers in the direction of the dogs. “So they are yours?”
I scoffed. “You think they call me Mad Dog because I’m mad about dogs?”
“How would I know about biker etiquette, if there even exists any kind of etiquette among your kind.”
I gritted my teeth. “Mad Dog because I know no fear, like a mad dog.”
“Then you’ve never met my father.”
I laughed quietly, shaking my head as I shoved the toe of my black boots into the dirt. If only she knew. She tilted her head in curiosity but I had no intention of telling her more right now.
“Why am I here?” she asked almost haughtily.
I had to admit she surprised me. I’d have thought she’d be begging and crying by now, but so far she kept up the cold mask she was notorious for. Maybe Marcella had more of her father in her than my uncle and I thought. “Like my uncle said, because of your father and the score we want to settle.”
She shook her head. “Whatever you want from him, you won’t get it.”
“We want his life, and I’m sure we’ll get it considering we have his precious daughter.”
Marcella glanced over to the kennel on her left where Satan, Earl’s favorite dog, sat behind the bars and watched her like her next treat. I’d never understood why he’d called a female dog Satan but understanding Earl’s reasoning was wasted time anyway.
She swallowed and dragged her eyes back to me. “My father is the cruelest man you’ll ever have the misfortune of meeting. The only thing he cares about is the Famiglia.”
I chuckled. “You really think I believe that? Your father is good at keeping up his cold-bastard face in public but you and your mother look at him with love. If he was an asshole to you behind closed doors, you wouldn’t look at him like that.”