Chapter 12
SAINT
“I wasn’t wandering around the city,” Isla says defensively.
She’s wearing a pink tee that hugs her tits and faded jeans that showcase her curves. Her gold hair is loose and wavy, and I want to sink my hand in it.
She’s fucking beautiful.
A fucking beautiful disaster.
I haven’t managed to get her out of my mind since I left the penthouse a few days ago, after we returned from St. Thomas. It hasn’t helped, knowing she’s in the same city. Or that I’ve had to check in on her via the guards posted here.
She gave me a scare with those texts earlier.
And now she’s going to have to pay the price.
I give Cid another slow, deliberate caress, holding her stare. He’s soft and purring. I don’t necessarily love cats, but cats have always loved me. In fact, I think he likes me more than he likes Priest, and you better believe I lord that shit over him every chance I get.
“You left the penthouse without notifying me,” I say, setting Cid down and rising to my feet.
Her eyes are wary, but she doesn’t back down. “I don’t need to notify you. I’m a grown woman.”
“Yes,” I correct as I stalk toward her slowly, “you do.”
“It was just the coffee shop across the street.”
“And someone followed you.”
“I don’t even know if he was following me—”
“He was fucking following you,” I interrupt her, my voice intentionally hard.
She needs to understand what she did. How close she came to being scooped up by a sadistic motherfucker.
Isla jerks her head back like I slapped her. “He was? You know for sure?”
“Yeah, I know for sure.”
“But he could have been waiting for the SUV that picked him up, and that’s why he went the same way I did.”
I take out my phone and unlock the screen, opening the picture I was sent. “Is that also why he snapped a pic of you?”
She goes pale, just like she was on the plane ride home. “How did you get that picture?”
“It was sent to me.”
“By whom?”
By Scorpion, who got it from an unknown number. I shake my head and tuck my phone back into my pocket. “You don’t need to worry about that part. All you need to know is that the man who took this picture is one of the most dangerous, psychotic bastards in the Bratva ranks.”
“The Bratva…”
“The Russian mob,” I elaborate, because she clearly has no fucking clue.
“Oh.”
I still don’t think she gets it. “The Russian mob is at our throats because we’ve aligned two powerful families, and we’re challenging their control. We’ve been expecting them to make a move any day now.”
But this hadn’t been the kind of move we’d expected them to make.
Going after Priest’s cat sitter, for Christ’s sake?
For all the Bratva know, Isla is an innocent bystander who has nothing to do with the Andrianis, aside from being hired to look after a cat.
Unless we have a mole who suggested she has stronger connections.
I’ll revisit that possibility later, when I’m not all but insane at the idea of something happening to Isla on my watch.
Either they’re desperate to go to war with us, so desperate that they’ll harm anyone in their path, or they know who Isla really is.
They know that she was Luna’s maid of honor.
That she’s someone they can get close to in a way they never could with Priest’s wife.
They know that killing or taking her would cause a hell of a lot of grief to the Andriani crew, Luna and my brother, in particular.
“A move,” Isla repeats slowly, like I just spoke to her in another language. “Are you saying Luna isn’t safe?”
“Actually, Luna is as safe as can be right now, thousands of miles away in paradise. The one who’s really in danger is you, Jane Austen.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Me? But what do I have to do with any of this? I’m only here temporarily. I’m not part of your Mafia underworld.”
“You’re staying at Priest’s house. You’re a soft target.”
I don’t bother telling her the rest of what I suspect.
That can wait for later, after I get some confirmation from Scorpion.
Hopefully, he’ll have the answers I need.
He’s got an insider in the Bratva, and it’s always helped us.
But lately, his insider information has been increasingly sparse.
He’s been tight-lipped about the reason for it too.
“I’m a target,” Isla repeats, her voice almost a squeak. “Me? But I haven’t even done anything. I don’t…I don’t know anything about your business, about your world. What could they possibly want with me?”
“Leverage. A show of strength.” I shrug. “Human trafficking. Hard to say with the Bratva. They’re a law unto their own, and it’s not pretty. You’re fucking lucky you got out of that shop with Marco today instead of finding yourself jammed into the back of an SUV and driven off to God knows where.”
“You were really serious about all this.”
I look her in the eye, unsmiling. “Deadly. This isn’t the world you’re used to. That’s why I warned you to stay inside unless you were with me or one of the guards. Instead, you sweet-talked your way outside on your own. And now, there’s a price to be paid for what happened.”
I move past her, intending to deal with Marco. He saved her ass by getting to the shop in time, but he’s also the reason she was there in the first place. And he was under strict orders not to let Isla out of the penthouse without my approval.
“Where are you going?” she asks, following me and grabbing my arm, a new note of fear lacing her voice.
“To show you what happens when you disobey me.”
I shake her off and go to the penthouse door, calling for Marco.
He steps inside, giving me a look that says he knows what’s coming.
“Yeah, boss?”
I nod toward the massive eat-in kitchen. “Come with me.”
“What’s going on here?” Isla demands, chasing after me like a dog nipping at my heels.
I turn to her. “You don’t get to ask questions. Have a seat.”
I gesture to one of the stools at the white marble countertop.
Without waiting for her response, I head to the drawers, opening the nearest one.
Nothing but plastic wrap and bags. I open another and find kitchen gadgets.
The third reaps results—a metal mallet for pounding meat.
I grab it and shut the soft-close drawer, turning back to Isla and Marco.
“Which one?” I ask him.
He’s left-handed, so I already know he’ll choose the right. He confirms, holding it up without a word, like he’s about to swear on the Bible. But that’s not what’s going to go down.
“On the counter.”
Isla steps between us, a shocked expression on her face. “What are you doing with that mallet, Alessio?”
“Stand back,” I order her instead of answering.
“No.”
I get in her face, furious with her for what could have happened, pissed at the fucking Russian who was stalking her, and enraged with Marco for letting her go in the first place. “Get out of my fucking way, Isla.”
“You’re not going to hit him with that, are you?”
I’ve had enough, so I pick her up and carry her to the counter, setting her ass on it. “Are you going to stay here, or do I need to handcuff you to a fucking stool?”
Her lips part. She’s eyeing me like I’m a monster. She’s not wrong. But I am the man this world has made me. The man I have to be to survive in it.
“Stay put,” I bite out.
Then I go back to Marco, gripping the mallet’s cold metal handle. “Put it on the counter.”
Without his expression so much as shifting, Marco flattens his right palm on the marble, waiting for me.
I know from experience that the faster this is over with, the better for everyone.
So I raise the mallet quickly and smash it down on his fingers as hard as I can.
The familiar crunch of breaking bones accompanies the thwack of the mallet hitting its target.
Marco grunts in pain, but that’s his sole reaction. He knows the score.
Behind me, Isla gasps. “Oh my God.”
“You’re going to be on Lucky’s crew until the breaks heal,” I tell Marco, looking him in the eye. “You’re fortunate I didn’t chop them all the fuck off.”
He nods and lowers his head. “Sorry, boss. It’ll never happen again.”
This isn’t entirely his fault, but he’s the one who’s going to bear the brunt of it this time. I can’t break Isla’s fingers. Not without having a lot of explaining to do to Priest. And besides, I don’t have the stomach for physically hurting her. But she doesn’t need to know that.
“Have Donny tape them together for you,” I tell him. “You can go now.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Marco hightails it out of the kitchen. I toss the mallet onto the counter with a clatter and wait until I hear the penthouse door close before I face Isla. She’s sitting right where I left her, mouth open, her eyes wide.
“You just broke that man’s fingers.”
I shrug. “Like I told Marco, he’s lucky I didn’t chop them off.”
It’s a small price to pay for putting her in danger and allowing her to circumvent my orders. A really fucking small one.
She shimmies off the counter and lands on her bare feet. “Chop off his fingers? Are you kidding me?”
When she tries to go around me, I step into her path, forcing her to look at me.
“What do you think the Russians would have done to you if they’d been able to take you off the street today? Do you think they would have had a polite conversation with you? That they would have invited you over for tea and fucking scones?”
She winces like I hit her. “I have no idea what they would have done, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”
“You’re right. You don’t want to know.” I get in her face. “Listen to me, and listen good because I’m not going to say this again. If you leave this penthouse without my permission, I’m going to chain you to your bed until Priest gets back from his honeymoon.”
Actually, that idea has some merit, and for all the wrong reasons. This is not an opportune time for my dick to wake up, and yet, here we are.