It’s the way a man looks at a woman.
He clears his throat and shifts his gaze to my eyes. “I’m not a liar, Mara. I did listen.”
“But you never planned on taking what I’m saying seriously.” I try to tug free, slip away, but he tightens his grip, his jaw tensing. “Let go.”
“Stop fighting me.”
“Let me go and I’ll stop fighting.”
He chuckles at that, and for a moment, his expression is lighter. But when I wriggle again, he fixes his face, leaning closer. “I’m not going to let you go. Hear that and hear it well.” He dips his head down so his face is inches from mine. “Do you remember what I told you last night?” he asks more quietly so only I’ll hear him.
I stare up at him, feeling him shift his grip from my wrist to my hand. His thumb rubs the inside of my palm as his fingers weave together with mine. No one’s ever held my hand like this. Ever.
“Do you?” he asks.
I bite my lip, nod.
His gaze falls to my mouth again and he has to clear his throat before he continues. “I mean it. I’m going to kill Ivan Petrov for what he did to you.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“I won’t be—”
“What if you don’t come back?” I feel my eyes mist.
He shifts one hand to my face, cupping it, his touch gentle. “I will. I promise.”
I find myself leaning into that touch. I want to believe him. I want so much to believe him. But I know the man he’s up against. “You can’t kill him. He’s unkillable.”
He comes closer and with his chest touching mine, he presses my back to the wall. I breathe in his aftershave. Feel his heart beat against his chest. Feel my nipples tighten in response to having him so close. It’s so strange. My body’s reactions are so different than they have ever been with any man ever.
I lick my lips and look up at him. The green of his eye has darkened, and his breathing is tight.
“I’m going to kill him,” he says, voice low and gravelly. He takes my hands in his interlacing his fingers with mine again. He leans his cheek close to mine so the scruff on his jaw scratches my face. His mouth is at my neck and when I turn my head a little, his lips graze me. He doesn’t pull back, not right away.
I suck in a breath and hold still when he brings his mouth to my ear, lips brushing the shell of it.
“I’m coming back to you. I promise you that,” he whispers, and his breath sends a shiver down my spine. I feel myself curl into him. It’s like a magnet, like we’re two magnets drawn to each other by forces outside of our control.
I lick my lips. Can he hear how hard my heart is beating?
He takes another deep breath in, and I wonder if he can smell his aftershave on me. If he knows I put it on. If he understands why I did it. He draws back then, and I look up at him.
“Do you trust me?” he asks after a long minute.
I nod. Because for some reason, I do. For some reason, I know if anyone can kill Ivan Petrov, it will be Dante Grigori.
14
Dante
I swear I can still smell her scent if I concentrate. My aftershave on the throbbing pulse at her neck. And I know I need to stop this. Because this isn’t how this is supposed to go. But somewhere in the years as I planned to rescue Mara, the girl, she has become Mara, the woman. And it’s the woman I can’t get out of my head.
I’m three blocks from Red’s. My head not quite in the game because it takes me a minute to register the two men approaching me as Petrov’s soldiers.
“Gentlemen.” I look them over. “I use that term loosely.”
Neither of them even meets my gaze. An SUV screeches to a halt near us. The front tires bump up onto the sidewalk. I’m thrown against it. After searching me and relieving me of my pistol—I didn’t bother bringing anything else—they shove me into the backseat, and one climbs in beside me. There’s another one already in the vehicle so I’m sandwiched between them.
“This is cozy,” I say as we head toward Red’s. At least I hope that’s where we’re headed because I don’t have a backup plan. Matthaeus will be tracking me though. The benefit of having this patch. A phone they’ll take from you. But the tracker is embedded into the patch itself.
Cristiano doesn’t know I’m doing this. Charlie is buying me time but taking a chance. If things go wrong, he’ll be the one answering to my brother.
A few minutes later, we drive past the entrance of the high-end private club. The vehicle comes to a stop at the mouth of an alley. I’m ushered out, met by two new men, one of whom zip-ties my hands. I’m grateful the idiot does it in front of me and not at my back. They each take an arm and walk me toward the alley entrance. From here I can see the sealed exit of the cellar at the far end.