18
“Who are you?”
I glanced at her still figure in my passenger seat. She sat silently, eyes glued to the window, as if watching the city roll by, though we both knew she wasn’t sightseeing.
Amara was lost in her head, probably still debating whether she should put a bullet through my temple. Maybe I was desensitized to violence and death, or I had essentially lost my damn mind. Because seeing her tonight, covered in blood and handling business, awakened something primal within me. Never one to believe in fate, but I would have never imagined coming across anyone as perfect as this woman sitting beside me—even if, moments ago, she had her finger on the trigger and my chest in her sights.
I leaned my elbow against the door and bit down on my fist to hide the smile splitting my face in an effort not to provoke her any further.
For now.
“You know who I am,” she finally said, still searing a hole through the window.
“I know who I thought you were, but what happened back there—”
“ Nothing happened back there.”
“Right. But between us, I feel like that conversation needs to be had.”
She shifted toward me. “You mean the one where you’re stalking me? Watching me? Following me. That conversation?”
The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and I met her fiery gaze. “It’s my job to look after my dancers.”
“Bullshit, Santino. If that were true, you would have followed Cambri the night she left with that bastard—the night he almost killed her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, Cambri doesn’t have the fucking flu. She’s in the hospital recovering from a concussion and multiple fractures, courtesy of Tarasov.”
Her words reeled in my gut, not because I felt guilt over what had happened to her friend, but because I felt like I’d somehow failed her, and she’d hold that over my head and perceive it as a weakness.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What difference would it have made?”
Amara was right. I wouldn’t have lifted a single finger to avenge Cambri. But I would have torn Tarasov’s head from his body before he stepped foot inside my club and set his sights on her.
“Is that why you did what you did? Was it your goal to kill Tarasov tonight?”
Her narrowed eyes cut into me, hands clutching the hem of her skirt as she seemed to debate answering my question.
“He deserved it.”
“Agreed. But one doesn’t kill a man on a whim, Amara. Not in the way you did. That takes training, sharp instincts and reflexes—and a stomach made of steel to empty a mag into another human’s face.”
She looked away as I pulled into traffic.
“So I ask you again—who are you?”
“A woman with a lot of demons. And I don’t kill men on a whim, Santino. I kill them because I like it. Men like Tarasov deserve to die like dogs.”
She hadn’t given me a moment to process when the barrel of her gun was pressed to my head.
Again.
“You missed the exit. Turn around and take me to my car.” Her voice was tight.
“I’m not going to worry about whether or not you make it home.”
“I never asked you to drive me home. And how am I not surprised you know where I live?”
I released a slight chuckle. “I hate to disappoint you, but your address is on file, too. Although that’s not where we’re going.”
“Do you have a death wish, Mr. Leone?”
“Not particularly.”
She shoved the weapon with more force, asserting the threat. “Turn. Around.”
“Have you seen yourself? You look like you’ve slaughtered a man—or three. You’re willing to risk someone seeing you the moment you step foot inside your apartment complex?”
“I’m insulted you think it’s my first time.”
That earned a laugh. “Maybe not. But something tells me you’re not usually this— messy .”
“You really are fucking crazy, aren’t you? I have a gun to your head. I tell you that I enjoy watching men bleed; you saw what happened back there, and yet you still insist on helping me.”
“ I’m insulted you think I’m fazed by murder. I’m a Leone, preziosa. ”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me? And stop with the damn pet name.”
Squeezing the steering wheel, I leaned my head back and whistled out a breath. “If you trust that I won’t out you to the cops about what happened to Tarasov and his men, then you can trust that you’re safe with me.”
“Who said I trust you? ”
When I turned to face her, the hard barrel positioned between my eyes. “Because you would have already pulled that trigger.”
Annoyance pinched her face. Possibly because she realized I had a point. “I can count on one finger the people I trust. And I’m sorry to report that you don’t exactly make the cut.”
“Fair. But allow me to change that.” Taking a chance, I slowly reached for her hand, mindful of her quick reflexes. “We’re just ten minutes away. You get cleaned up, and I’ll get you home.”
“Why?” she asked as she finally lowered the weapon, the hard edges of her face and tone softening.
“What I said about you being stuck in my head, I meant it.”
She inhaled, ready to counter my confession, but I beat her to an answer.
“I have my demons, too. And maybe we’re more alike than you think.”
The remainder of the car ride to my property was quiet. I let her have her peace, unwilling to agitate her further. Amara might appear to be the pillar of steel and ice, but I was well-versed in trauma and the layers one needed to pile on to keep darkness at bay.
“You brought me to your home?” she questioned, sliding out of the car, gun still in hand. I followed and climbed up the steps to the front entryway as a sense of victory filled my chest when I felt her presence close behind.
“Just to get cleaned up.”
“Right.”
Keeping her in my periphery, I went about my routine of disarming and re-engaging my security system and powering on the monitors, feeding footage from every vantage point of my property. I’d admit I’d paid well over what the home was worth, but choices were slim when making a last-minute impulse purchase.
Amara’s eyes trailed me, assessing, hyper-aware of my every move.
Trained.
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” she replied dryly.
I acknowledged her vigilance with a nod and dared to approach. The recessed lighting above our heads was dimmed, but enough to highlight the parts of her that the dark had obscured. Red spatters painted her skin, deepening as they branched her forearms and hands, where the color saturated, closely resembling black.
Pushing the boundaries between us, I reached for her hand, and her tentative eyes shot up to mine.
“Are you okay?” I asked, flipping it over, roving the stained flesh, and finding only minor defensive wounds.
“It’s not my blood.”
“Good.” A strange spark of pride rolled through me.
Neither of us said another word for several beats in which she hadn’t relinquished her hand. I considered the act a small win.
“Where is that cleaning up you promised me?”
Her voice held a tinge of amusement, and she surprised me more when she slipped her gun inside the bag slung across her body. While she wouldn’t admit it, and maybe her trust extended only so far, she’d let her guard down enough, which was a step in the right direction—small as it was.
“Down that hall. In my bedroom is the ensuite.”
Again, her eyes tightened as they fell on mine. “Your bedroom?”
“Lock the door. And help yourself to my closet. Nothing will fit appropriately, but anything is better than being bathed in that son of a bitch’s blood.”
She shrugged and started down the hall. “It’s like a trophy.”
The door closed behind her, and I waited for the lock to click into place but heard nothing. I would have taken that as an invitation in any other circumstance with any other woman. But with Amara, I was learning that her inaction was more of an I dare you to try .
I wasn’t the type of man to chase or court—never had to—yet there I was, inviting a near stranger into my home, one who’d been ready to drop me in some desolate parking garage alongside Ivan and his men. If anything, I would have torn into her for merely contemplating pointing a gun at me with intent.
Letting out a slow huff of air, I sat on the couch, a glass of scotch in hand, and scoffed at my predicament. Everything I stood for and the code I lived and breathed by disintegrated because, damn it all to hell, I was fucking gone for this woman from the moment I saw her. My obsession only deepened now that I knew her heart was just as black as mine.