Chapter One #2
After seeing her today, despite the glass separating me from her, I have a strong desire to see what’s beneath that lab coat and do all of those things and more to little Evangeline Hart.
My cock strains against the zipper of my slacks when I think of the ways I could take her.
On her knees, in her pouty lips, with her sweet mouth swallowing every bit of my cum down her throat.
Focus, Dante. That’s not why I’m here. Taking a breath, I will my hard-on to go down before she can see what she does to me.
Wearing faded jeans, a Hello Kitty tee shirt, and pink Converse shoes, this woman might be mistaken for a teenager if not for the white coat with the embroidered letters of her profession. She’s so very fucking young, but obviously not a teenager.
I point my finger at her and motion for her to join me outside her lab. Not a request, but a demand in a simple gesture.
She hesitates just long enough to show she’s not used to being summoned.
“Yes? What do you need?” Her brows are raised, and she’s impatient for me to answer.
I don’t know her yet, but I like this side of her.
The pride, the stubbornness, the sass. I really hope she’s bratty because nothing is more rewarding than taming a brat.
She continues to look at me, trying to look me straight in the eyes. It doesn’t work. Most people can’t stand my eyes for more than a second or two because I’m told they’re too dark, without feeling, enigmatic. No one ever bests me in a staring contest. Just ask Luca. Pisses him off every time.
She lasts about five seconds longer than most.
Then, finally deciding I’m not going away anytime soon, she unlocks the door and steps into the hallway, shoulders back, arms crossed. “Look, my uncle’s not here. If you want to leave a message . . .”
“I’m Dante Vescari,” my voice comes out in a low rasp.
“Okayyy?” she says, almost sarcastically, drawing out the word like that name should mean something, like she’s trying to place me, wracking her brain. “Should I know who you are?”
Hell, half this city knows who I am, but this girl clearly doesn’t. That’s shocking, but then again, she’s never met me. It’s probably a good thing, because seeing me in person doesn’t usually bode well for people.
Any previous dealings my family had with the Harts were through my father, her father, and our fathers before them.
I rarely, if ever, make an appearance in the neighborhood, so that might explain why she’s been in the dark.
The businesses under my protection usually deal with those working for me, such as Luca or my soldiers on the streets.
Today, however, required my personal attention.
“Again, Mr. Vescari, I’m not sure if I can help you…” she trails off, unsure what to say. For the first time, I see unease in her features.
“You’ll do,” I cut her off abruptly, using few words. “You run this place?” I gesture towards the front, never dropping eye contact. The gravelly tenor of my voice adding to her nervousness.
Most people hear my voice and look away, unsettled, the gravelly rasp making them uncomfortable. I know they whisper about its origins behind my back, trying to figure out how it got that way.
Where did the scar come from? There are many theories floating around the city, some crazier than others, which amuse me. They want to know if it was a knife that ripped my throat and tore my vocal cords and how I survived such a horrible injury?
Rightfully, I should have died that night. There are even the very superstitious who think that perhaps I’m immortal. Reborn from the grave to walk the earth, completing unresolved Vescari business, and haunting those who have ever crossed my family.
They can take their pick. I let them wonder. Only my closest associates and Luca know the truth of what happened, but the truth doesn’t matter. What matters is that they fear it.
That they fear me.
Already knowing the answer to my question as to who runs the place because I’ve done my research, I ask it anyway to get verification.
She shakes her head. “It’s my family’s pharmacy, and I’m the licensed pharmacist, but my uncle handles most of the day-to-day business.”
I move to step in close enough so that she must tip her head back to look up at me.
Total asshole move on my part because I’m much larger and taller than she is, but she holds her ground, even as her pulse hammers in the hollow of her throat.
For some reason, this makes me proud. She’s got a backbone.
“What’s being made here?” I nod my head toward the lab.
She blinks. Her eyes are wide, clear, na?ve, but not dumb. “Prescriptions,” she says matter-of-factly. “We compound for hospitals and physicians...”
I make a noise in my throat, the kind that warns people to stop talking. She stops.
“Not here for the legal prescriptions,” I say impatiently. Not willing to reveal any more, letting her fill in the blanks herself, gauging her reaction.
She looks perplexed at my response. A wrinkle formed between her brows.
I know I should get to the point. Should tell her exactly what her uncle has been doing to piss off the wrong people, and to anger me, but I don’t. There’s something about her, a streak of pride mixed with her fear that makes me want to see how she plays this, if she reveals anything.
The doors whoosh as Luca pushes through them and strolls over, flicking his switchblade out of habit, mouth quirked in a half-grin as he takes in the scene.
“Boss doesn’t look like Hart’s here. You want me to find and fetch him?
” His eyes gleam in anticipation, hoping I’ll say yes.
“You know I’m very persuasive. Didn’t think you’d want a wasted trip. ”
But I wave him off, not taking my eyes off the girl. “No. She can answer my questions. Can’t you?”
She straightens her shoulders. Her lips tremble, finally sensing the danger she’s in, but she’s not going to cry, not in front of me. And I respect that.
“I’ll try to,” she says.
Leaning casually against the glass window of the lab, with my hands in the pockets of my dark wool overcoat, I let the silence stretch. “What about back there?” I ask, nodding my head toward the back of the large, older building where several people are preparing to leave for the day.
None of them is looking our way; their heads are down, and they’re scurrying out the back exit, obviously nervous. From here, I can see boxes stacked on long tables that appear ready for shipment.
“What exactly are you packing and shipping?“ I growl, getting more specific in my line of questioning.
“That’s another part of our business, not the medical pharmacy, but where we ship special orders of lotions, essential oils … things you might see displayed in the front or in our online retail store.”
“And what if I were to tell you that wasn’t all you were shipping?” I ask, reeling her in, testing her reaction.
She opens her mouth, then closes it. “That’s not possible,” she says, but I can see her logic wheels start to turn. She’s a scientist, which means she wants to disprove me. That’s good. If she were the type to panic, I’d already have her by the throat. She would be guilty.
“Do you sign off on every shipment?” I ask, pressing for more.
Her mouth goes flat, and her eyes narrow suspiciously. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating. What we do here is entirely legal, Mr. Vescari. Besides, why do you care?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest. “You don’t look like the FDA or the authorities.”
Luca snorts and rolls his eyes and gives a derisive scoff. “Sweetheart, the police only wish they had our budget or manpower.” He continues to play with his knife, not even bothering to look at us.
I ignore him, still watching the girl. “I care because your uncle has made promises to people who don’t like to be disappointed,“ I say, deliberately vague. “And because those people know how to send a message.”
“And,” I straighten and once again step close to her, “my family made a promise to yours a long time ago. One I intend to keep.”
The implication is clear. Her livelihood is threatened, and she doesn’t know what’s happening beneath her very nose.
She should be afraid, so I can tell she’s listening. Noticing. Paying attention to my words and my voice.
Smart girl.
She’s taking in my message, because this is her family’s shop, but she’s also studying my mouth. I can tell she’s trying to trace the damage to my voice, put together what broke me, and why I survived.
Her curiosity is dangerous. It makes me want to lean closer, to drag my words across her skin until she shivers for me. Me, a criminal with a throat full of gravel whispering dirty promises in her ear, wanting to make her beg.
Piccola Strega. What a sweet little witch.
“If you’re threatening me, Mr. Vescari, just say it.” She says, tilting her chin up at me, a challenge in her eyes, gone is the trembling voice from earlier.
I smile darkly, moving in and completely invading her space just enough to remind her who’s in charge. I don’t normally smile, so it doesn’t feel natural. Smiling is for liars or politicians, but I do it now, because she’s earned it.
“If I were threatening you, cara mia, you’d know.
” Taking my thumb, I give in to my urge and swipe at the dust on her cheek, hovering a split second too long, then I softly brush a finger down her jaw to her neck, pausing to wrap my large hand around it.
I can feel her pulse beat beneath the smooth, tender skin.
Lingering briefly, I squeeze just a little, to let her know I could break her if I wished.
What I really wish to do is leave my mark, my handprint on her throat, so she remembers me, my power over her, and to let others know she’s mine. Under my protection. But I don’t because that day will come.
For now, I know I’ve made my message clear, so I step back.
Her eyes widen in shock or fear, and there’s a long silence. She stands there, tiny in her lab coat, fists clenched at her side. Her chest heaves, and she’s taking deep breaths in an effort to keep her panic at bay.
“I’m going to need you to gather information for me without alerting your uncle, bella,” my voice is low and commanding, no room for questions. At this point, I’m confident her uncle is responsible for the rumors I’m hearing about Hart Pharmacy, not Evangeline.
She just looks at me, but she’s heard me. I can tell she’s a good little rule follower and will do exactly as she’s told.
Backing away warily, she says, “I have work to do, and it’s time to close. This conversation is over. Good evening, Mr. Vescari.”
I laugh at her dismissal. Her skin is ghostly white as she turns and walks into the lab, leaving me and Luca on the other side. We stare as her lab coat flaps in her wake, shoulders stiff.
My gaze follows her for a beat, then I turn to Luca. He’s grinning wider now, giving a low whistle, pocketing his blade, and rocking on his feet.
“She’s a tough one, boss. Smart, too. I think I kinda like her,” he says in admiration.
I grunt, pushing through the swinging doors and stride back to the front of the store, ignoring him. “She’ll be useful and do as she’s told.”
“You sure about that? Looks to me like she’s gonna be a problem,” he says, trailing after me.
“She’s my problem,“ I reply, and even I can hear the possessive note in my voice.
The truth is, I’m not sure of anything except that I want to see her again. No, I need to see her. I also feel the powerful need to protect her.
And I don’t want to think about what that means. Right now, my anger is no longer directed at her, but at whoever is pulling the strings behind the curtain.
Whoever it is, I will eliminate them. Painfully and quickly because I am the only puppet master allowed on this side of Chicago.