“You’re so like all the others. Italian men, all men, only care about getting their dick hard and sticking it in as many women as possible.” I practically spit the words at him as I vent my anger when I should have saved my breath.
Misery loves company and a miserable person loves to spread it like a contagion. I’ve said too much and given too much away with my words.
I shouldn’t have revealed my weakness, but anger drives my thoughts and actions when it comes to the Micheli family. Or is it just me supplanting the anger I have against my own family?
“I think you need to get outside and walk off some of that hostility,” he comments before his phone rings.
One swift nod to Matteo and I’m tied up again. My brief respite is over as he abruptly stands up and leaves the room.
Damn it.
I can’t think straight in the presence of this man and when he’s gone, I fantasize about him—the man with the haunting, hungry, grey eyes.
Eyes strong enough to pop into my head while I lay here, wanting to hate him but finding I want to touch him. Even with my strong discipline and years of training I have a difficult time pulling away.
When he returns, I throw an angry look in his direction, knitting my eyebrows together and sending him a death threat with my eyes. He’s still the enemy. My dad was an ass, but he was blood.
I hate men, I hate Dante, I hate Sal, I hate the world they have created.
I owe the Michelis nothing. I know they killed my father, and they don’t get a pass on that, not from me. I might not know everything in the criminal world, but I do know that it is an eye for an eye and justice hasn’t been served.
“You’re in a pickle, Francesca. Your family is broken, they don’t want you back. In fact, they just offered us money to keep you,” he gloats. “You are safe for now, we used sources for the information. But you tend to cause trouble.” His eyes are summing me up as he puts his hands in his pockets.
He’s feeling comfortable around me. Not good.
“Please untie my hands, they hurt, and my back hurts,” I ask trying not to sound weak. It’s just a matter of time before I start begging because the pain has been constant for over twelve hours.
“We need to come to an understanding. I don’t trust you, and I’ll never trust you, but you have skills I can use.”
“Like what?”
“You can read people. You’re quick and skilled with your hands and I assume proficient with knives and guns.”
“Are you sending me into a war or are you in the business of giving compliments? Really?” My sardonic voice hurts even my own ears.
“Neither. Merely stating my observations. You need a home and money. You’ve made it abundantly clear I need better security.” He pauses, pulls his hands out of his pockets now that he’s not walking, instead he sits back down next to me.
“Let’s make a deal. You head up my security and be my bodyguard and in return, you not only get to live, but you’ll also live in my house. I’ll even pay you so you can get on your feet. Who knows, I might even find a way to use your skill sets in my business.”
“So, I’m at your beck and call?” I sneer.
“Yes, unless you like living here in the basement, staring at these four damp walls as life goes on.” He looks around, punctuating the reality we both know to be true.
“How do you know I won’t kill you in your sleep?”
“I have other guards.” He smiles and stands up. “And I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He’s trying to be coy, and it’s working.
Now he has me thinking about what he’s capable of doing in business and in the bed. No doubt he’s a skilled lover judging by his looks the charm that rains on me even through I’m his prisoner.
He drips sex appeal like a candle drips wax. Right now, that warm wax is coating me like a glove of lube. But I’m so wet it’s the last thing I need.
My eyes are drawn to his crotch, and it’s impossible to miss the bulge from his massive hard-on. I know it’s only a matter of time before he’s overtaken with lust, and I begin to think that might be the in I need to gain valuable information on the girls' whereabouts. Maybe he can be useful to me, as strange as that sounds.
“Fine, but after six months, I’m free to go,” I offer. After all, we’re negotiating.
“Fair enough,” he agrees. “Help me get her to the car, and follow us to the house,” he gives the order to Matteo. “After that I assume you need some rest.”
“Grazie.” Matteo bows his head out of respect and helps with the restraints around my ankles.