The sudden vibration of her phone broke the silence, startling her, an embarrassing yelp leaving her mouth before she could stop it. Her heart racing, Morana took a deep breath, shaking her head at herself. Walking back to the table where her phone continued to vibrate, she glanced at the caller id. It was unknown.
Hesitant, she picked it up, pressing the answer icon, and stayed silent, waiting for the person to speak.
There was silence for a few beats.
"Ms. Vitalio."
Stunned, she inhaled deeply, ignoring the slight shiver that ran down her spine, ignoring the way her heart started to pound, her eyes closing as the memory of his thumb stroking her jaw washed over her, her muscles clenching. She hated it. She hated her traitorous flesh reacting to that low, husky voice. She hated the extra breath she took because of the way it washed over her. She hated that he'd caught her off guard again.
But she had learned this game in her cradle.
"Who is this?" she asked, keeping her tone flat, bored.
There was a pause for a few seconds, and Morana could feel the tension across the line. She sat down on the chair, glancing at the number, and quickly typed it into her laptop, running it for details.
"Good to see your sharp tongue doesn’t follow a clock," said the voice, laced with nothing, absolutely nothing, the tone as deliberately flat as hers had been. The result on the laptop was scrambled. Sneaky bastard.
"Says the man calling me at midnight," she retorted, typing in another command to overrule the older one, tracking the number. "How did you get my number?"
Something entered his voice. "You really don't know who you are talking to, are you?"
Arrogant jerk. But resourceful. She knew that. The headache was pushed to the back of her mind as the trace progressed to 89%.
"The thing is..."
If voices could be drinks, his was a centuries-old vintage whiskey, rolling off the tongue, down the throat, leaving a trail of fire inside, making every cell in the body aware that it had been consumed. Morana closed her eyes, taking a sip of the whiskey, before suddenly realizing what she was doing. She was on the phone, at midnight, with the enemy, savoring his voice. What the hell was wrong with her?
Before he could utter another word, she cut the call, putting her phone on the table, exhaling loudly. Control. This was ridiculous. She needed to stop letting him throw her in the wind. Or next, he'd be throwing her to the wolves.
Her laptop pinged with the completed trace results. She opened her eyes.
And gasped in shock.
The call had originated from her property. From outside her wing, to be precise. What the fuck was he doing there?!
Scrambling to her feet before she could stop herself, Morana took out one of her knives from the drawer, the very knives he had turned on her. Picking up her phone in the other hand, she slowly slid next to the window where she had been standing moments ago. Peeking outside, Morana let herself glance around, trying to see into the shadows.
Her phone buzzed again,
and she bit her lip, before picking up.
"Don’t ever cut my call," he said, his voice menacing, hard.
Morana gulped but spoke lightly. "Sorry, I must have missed the memo. Did I bruise your gigantic ego?"
Hard pause. "As much as I detest this, I'm here to talk business."
"Since when does the Outfit does business with the daughter of the enemy?"
"Since she created codes that can destroy both sides."
Morana grit her teeth, anger flushing her system. "And you're here to what? Make me agree with your charming personality? Should have sent Dante for that."
She could feel the tense silence pulsating between them, the urge to cut the connection again acute.
"I would have but he can't do what I'm about to."
Before Morana could blink, the line went blank. Frowning, she put the phone in the pocket of her bunny shorts, gripping the knife hard with the other, and looked out again, confounded as to what he'd meant.