Chapter 2
Romeo Yovanni
Even though I know there was nothing magical in sharing a cigarette with the pretty little doll, my lips tingle from the secondary kiss. I tell myself the sensation is just a byproduct of the adrenaline and dark excitement roaring through me, but an unfamiliar emotion plagues me.
Sienna is prettier in person than in the photos my mole sent me. She’s thinner than my usual preference in women, but her flushed cheeks and intense caramel eyes call to me on a visceral level.
I can’t wait to devour her.
Goosebumps rise on her flesh as I tease her arm with my fingertips. I smirk and hold eye contact with the leader of the gang as I slip my handgun out of my pocket while keeping it by my hip—and out of the little doll’s view—before shifting my muzzle to his chest.
He hesitates and looks beyond my fancy suit to the man underneath for the first time.
“Maybe tomorrow instead?” I mock.
My prey swallows and leans against my side.
Her boney shoulder digs into my ribs solely because I still lean back against the wall.
If I were at my full height, her shoulder would hit my midsection.
Despite her affectionate display, her rigid, trembling body tells me she’s nowhere near as calm as she appears.
José, the leader of the biker gang, scowls but takes the smallest step backwards. Indecision plagues him.
I saw him loitering outside the airport entrance waving her ID card around as he talked shit with his pals. I don’t know why or how he has it, but I knew stalking him would be my quickest route to her, so I hid in plain sight and waited.
“I feel you, ese.” He shifts furious eyes toward my prey. “See you tomorrow, puta.”
His dirty smirk claws at my insides. Violence builds within me.
“No, you won’t.” The strength behind my little doll’s voice surprises me. “Give me back my ID,” she demands.
He squints and tightens his grip on his knife until his knuckles turn white.
The man closest to my prey shifts. He must be the newest member. Jittery energy wafts from him. His brass knuckles glint in the sunlight. I keep my senses on full alert despite my laid-back air.
My balls throb with visceral need as my prey straightens, holds out her palm, and cocks her head in challenge.
“And my money,” she adds.
I hate her aiming her defiance at another man. All the righteous anger wafting from her should be mine. It doesn’t matter how well she hides her fear, the trembling of her fingers should be because of me. I should be the only one inspiring her terror.
Soon. Soon I will be the only horror in her life. I’ll be the master of her misery. The king of her fear. The puppeteer of her pain.
Her living nightmare.
My vengeance will be all the sweeter once she realizes the depths of my deception. I couldn’t have planned our first meeting any better. The little doll fell into my hands with such eagerness the most vicious part of me cheers with evil glee.
Sienna Luciano, the niece of the asshole who stole my bride, will be mine. All mine.
Even if it means killing these fools in broad daylight.
The resolve shining from my eyes solidifies José’s defeat. He snarls and yanks her card and a single bill from the inside of his leather coat. I shift my muzzle higher and flex my finger on the trigger, warning him against foul play, and enjoy the impotent rage simmering in his eyes.
He offers her the items between his thumb and pointer finger.
Instead of snatching them away, she sighs and shakes her head.
“No, José. All of my money,” she commands.
Holy fuck, I’m going to have so much fun taming her.
He growls and mutters profanities in Spanish as he reaches back into his coat and pulls out another bill.
She takes it without fanfare, slips it into her jeans’ pocket, and leans back against me.
Unease travels down my spine. He only gave her forty bucks. Certainly that wasn’t all the money he stole from her. She may not be a mafia princess, but she’s the only daughter of Alessio Luciano, who is, according to the rumors, the most feared mafia soldier in San Francisco.
None of this makes sense. Her father should be protecting her from local biker gangs and ensuring she has the funds to live a pampered life. Even if he has a son by his second wife, his first born and only daughter shouldn’t be this exposed.
Her father’s failures aren’t my problem.
If anything, they aid my revenge against her uncle—who I know cares about her since he and the bride he stole from me sent her an invitation to their wedding—so I brush off my concern and settle my arm over her shoulders again.
She’s so petite my long fingers close around her upper arm with ease.
“He leaves first,” I demand with a chin tilt toward the jittery youngster.
The idiot’s shock gives way to anger, and I read his intent in the shifting of his weight before he lunges. Sienna squeaks as I shove her straight downward by her nape—the ease with which she buckles is startling—and step into her place.
His pals have better reaction time than I expect. Cursing and grappling, they drag him back the way they came with a teamwork only those facing death can acquire.
Right before José turns the corner, he sends me a glare over his shoulder. I give him a sardonic half-wave before sliding my pistol back into my pocket.
Sienna’s sharp inhale divides my attention between her and the corner. I may have scared them away for now, but there’s no guarantee the hotheaded punks won’t return.
Without turning around, I squat, reach behind me, grab her arm, and haul her to her feet.
She weighs less than I expect, so she jerks upright with a hiss of pain from the force of my exertion.
I ignore the foreign sensation of guilt invading my chest and hold her behind me, shielding her with my body for a few moments before turning to face her.
No one will steal my revenge from me. Not a biker gang, this sexy little doll, her father, or her uncle.
The moment I release her, she shuffles out from between me and the wall, rubs her arm as though to rid it of filth, tucks her hair behind her ear, and drops her hands to her sides before meeting my gaze.
“I’m sorry and thank you,” she says.
Not expecting an apology, recognition, or her soft, honest tone, I quirk a brow and give her a more in-depth once-over. The little doll is a good liar. She plays the part of rescued damsel well with her honeyed eyes, delicate features, and petite figure.
An odd mix of emotions swirls behind my hunger as I continue down her body.
With red patches on both palms, a bleeding scrape from catching herself on the concrete with her left elbow, and bruises already forming on her nape from my shove, she proves more delicate than I imagined.
I’ll have to pace myself so she survives long enough for me to carry out my revenge. I can’t wait to parade her around New York City covered in my marks.
She needs fattening up first. The winds in New York will definitely blow her away.
She clears her throat, checks her watch—a cheap monstrosity not worth the battery inside it—and takes a step backward.
“Listen, I won’t tell anyone about any of this, so don’t worry about me ratting you out. I just—”
She freezes when I reach into my pocket, but I pull out my custom-designed titanium bolt-action pen. Her eyes widen in shock then narrow in disbelief. Even after I click-click the writing device, she remains skeptical for a few moments before slapping on a relieved expression.
Despite the heavy, smooth, metallic sound, it doesn’t quite carry the same weight as pulling back the hammer of my pistol.
She knows it wasn’t the sound she heard earlier but plays along like a true survivor.
“What a relief! I’m glad it worked. You helped me out of a tight spot. I—”
“How much did he really steal from you?” I ask.
I don’t realize the hidden connotation of my question until she pales and scans the area for an escape.
She may have said he hadn’t caught her, but the lowlife terrorized her for two years. The caged panic in her eyes tells of a traumatized soul desperate for escape.
I grit my teeth in fury. Her fear belongs to me and me alone.
She straightens her shoulders and shakes her head.
“Honestly, this is more than I was expecting. I’m just glad I have my ID back,” she says in a faux cheery voice. Like a true Cali girl—or someone well-versed in customer service—she dons a slightly absent expression and smiles.
“Thank you, sir, and sorry to run, but I’ll miss my flight if I don’t head to security now. Thanks again,” she finishes over her shoulder as she bustles out onto the busy sidewalk.
I smirk as I watch her stride away. Although she’s short, her legs are long, and I bet her body is killer in a bikini. Even though her jeans are high-waisted, loose fit, and wide legged, the sway of her ass has me fully hard while standing in the designated smoking area at the airport.
I’ll make her pay for the discomfort.
By the fear shining from her depths as she scurried away, she knows she can’t escape me, but she also can’t stop fighting for freedom. It’s cute.
I wait until she passes through the airport entrance before I pull out another cigarette. This one isn’t as sweet and doesn’t hold the same appeal as the last one, so I snuff it out and slip the butt into the disposal before heading to the employee entrance.
A few nods and the occasional wad of cash get me to the tarmac without going through security.
After confirming the new seating arrangement with my contact inside the airport, I nod to the luggage crew and wait in the shade under the boarding bridge until the worker at the end opens the door and gestures me up.
I take the stairs and step aside as they begin transferring the baby strollers and gate-checked bags down the ramp.
My insider didn’t complain about changing seat assignments since I sent her more than she makes in a year, but maybe the chaos of an overbooked flight helped hide the last second change.
I duck through the door, meet the pilot’s eyes, and maneuver through the tight space until I reach the aisle.
Every seat has an occupant. Even the last row near the shitters—where Sienna’s original seat was located—is full.
The old man sitting in my original first-class seat still looks baffled, but he buckles in and reaches for a magazine.
Sienna sits in the middle seat of the center row. I contemplated moving her to first class beside me but decided it would be too big of a tip off to her about my intentions. The longer she doesn’t suspect me of fowl play, the sweeter my revenge.
Already fastened and ready for takeoff, she leans over the armrest toward my empty seat to avoid the man sitting on her other side. He may be bulky, but his size is nothing compared to mine, so his overtaking of the space is purely his attempt at dominance over the tiny slip of a woman beside him.
She looks up and meets my eyes. The world narrows and I enjoy the shrinking of her pupils and widening of her lashes.
As I stalk toward her, a myriad of emotions flashes across her dainty features, and by the time I stop beside the empty seat, she tucks away her disbelief, fear, and dread, and shifts toward the center of her seat.
Resignation shines from her expressive light brown orbs.
Unlike most of the pampered bimbos who throw themselves at me, Sienna’s quick mind churns at an impressive speed.
Her quick wit adds a special thrill to this cat-and-mouse game.
Her body may be weak and easy to break, but not her will.
I can’t wait to watch her struggle both underneath me and by my side in polite society.
Her shame and humiliation will be the most epic revenge, especially since her uncle won’t be able to help her.
Without a word, I fold myself into the seat, willing to accept the discomfort for approximately six hours of close proximity with my prey.
Despite her best attempts at avoiding my touch, she’s so sandwiched between me and the man on her other side that even pressing her knees together and folding her hands in her lap isn’t enough to stop our shoulders and thighs from brushing.
The flight attendants finish their last round of checks before buckling in for the prerecorded safety brief. Sienna closes her eyes but remains rigid. When she jerks at the tiniest bump, I study her face and worry over her paleness.
“You’re not going to vomit, are you?” I ask.
The man on her other side stiffens. She scoffs and mumbles under her breath.
“There’s nothing in my stomach to vomit, so no. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” I reply.
“That’s a really nice thing to say. Thanks.”
Her deadpan delivery is so unexpected I stare at her for a moment before forcing a bit of concern into my tone.
“I only meant you look like you’re in distress. Is this your first time flying?”
She gives the tiniest shake of her head.
“No, but it’s been a while.”
“You better not throw up. I’m not sitting next to your stink for six hours if you do,” the asshole on her other side grumbles.
Other than her knuckles whitening in her lap, she doesn’t react. I meet the man’s eyes over her head and wait until he shrinks back before lowering my gaze to her face.
“I heard gum helps. Do you want a piece?” I offer.
I reach into my breast pocket. She grunts as my elbow jabs her arm, the space smaller than I estimated.
“No, I have candy. I’m fine,” she says.
“Where is it? It’s best to start before takeoff,” I say.
She slits her eyes and studies me through her lashes.
“I can manage myself just fine, thank you,” she says in a clipped voice.
“You look like you’ll shatter if you so much as move a muscle. People with anxiety usually medicate before they get on a plane,” I chide.
“I don’t have anxiety. I’m—”
“Fine, yeah, you’re repeating yourself, bambolina.”
She stiffens impossibly further at my use of an Italian nickname. By her incredulity, she understands the meaning—little doll—and how it’s usually used as either an endearment for a lover or a cherished little girl, and doesn’t appreciate the sentiment.
“I don’t know you, sir. Please leave me alone,” she says loud enough for everyone around us to hear.
The blockhead in our row does a poor job hiding his smirk, and the lady in front of me shoots a glare over her shoulder.
I allow her the win and settle back in my chair. One small victory won’t go far. She’s trapped beside me for the next six hours.
Vengeance takes time, but with her as my prey, I’ll savor every moment of the conquest.
Sienna Luciano will be my perfect little doll. My plaything. My revenge.
I can’t wait to break, tame, and ruin her. She’s mine.
And there’s nothing her uncle can do about it.