Chapter 9
Rico
“Isay we send a video over to her pa so he can see how well we’re taking care of her,” Pietro cheekily suggests.
“No.” My response is immediate.
Pietro slumps in his chair, faking a pout and crossing his arms. So very much reminiscent of a child. If he wasn’t so clever I’d be inclined to think his brain never developed.
“I hate to even say this,” Gino begins, already regretting his words before they’re spoken, “but the bastard is right.”
He becomes animated once more. Practically bouncing in the chair and smiling so wide it must hurt his face. Then he whips out his phone, turns on video and says, “Can you say that one more time, please?”
Gino gives him the middle finger before taking his phone and throwing it back in his lap. All the while Pietro just laughs.
“A fair point is made, Rico,” Carina tells me.
She sits on Constantine’s lap behind the desk.
His arm is wrapped around her waist and his hand splayed possessively on her bare thigh.
For the longest time I didn’t understand his need to have her by his side.
I still don’t. Not fully. But seeing them together it’s hard to deny how powerful they are.
I cock my head to the side. A mannerism I’ve seen Constantine do many times in conversation when he’s thinking. One I’ve adopted into conversation as well to appear engaging. “I thought you said you wanted no harm to come to her.”
“And this is true,” she agrees, tapping her bright red finger nail on the desk. “But perception is everything. We can’t have him believing we are keeping her cozy in a warm bed with full course meals served to her. Her pa needs to believe she’s in danger. And he won’t believe it unless he sees it.”
I remain silent.
She isn’t wrong. It’s uncharacteristic of me to disagree.
There’s just something about Imogen. I had a full blown conversation without feeling exhausted. And I don’t know what that means. I’m not sure I want to. Not when the one person who I didn’t feel drained from is the enemy’s daughter.
So, I find myself saying, “I only hurt those who I interrogate.”
“Perception, Rico,” Carina stresses the word. “I’m not saying for you to rough her up. We need Seamus concerned about the welfare of his daughter. Capisce?”
A command has been made by Donna Carina. “Capisce.”
Constantine eyes his wife with pride and lust. Knowing where this will lead without being told I begin to exit the office.
Witnessing once was already one too many.
“Going so soon, Rico? I don’t remember ending this meeting,” Constantine says. One can sense the chilling in his tone.
“Is there more to be said?”
He narrows his eyes, regarding me with suspicion.
“Si, there is. Seamus tried once more to intercept the distribution of Eden. Do you know what this means, Rico?” He pauses for effect.
Gently grasping his wife’s hips he props her on the desk as he rises from his chair.
With both hands on the desk he leans over with a menacing stare.
“It means sending Dougal back piece by piece didn’t scare him and his soldiers enough. ”
“We knew he would retaliate.”
“But not this soon,” he grits between clenched teeth.
“Thankfully Gino handled his goons before they could take off with our product. But this can’t keep happening, Rico.
He’s too brave. Too bold. Sending him a message with his daughter will cause him to pump the brakes.
To think before he reacts. That’s what we need. ”
I’ve thought of this. Of course I have. Over analyzing everything, nitpicking and nitpicking until what plan I have or what is being done is perfect. Because if it isn’t it’s ruined.
But when it comes to her there is no plan. I can’t predict her outcome. I can’t predict her. And while it frustrates me to no end I can also just breathe.
How the fuck do I explain that when I really can’t quite understand it myself?
“Consider it done, Constantine.”
“Excellente.” His shoulders loosen as everything about him becomes lax as he welcomes his wife back in his arms. His greatest strength.
His greatest weakness. What makes him. .
.him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important matters that need tending to.
” He grins salaciously as he parts his wife’s legs and places himself between them.
Her arms loop around his neck as her fingers tangle in the ends of his hair.
We all take it as our cue to leave.
Set to return to the safe house and Imogen I hear Gino say to Pietro causally, “I hear she’s quite the looker.”
For some odd reason my heart picks up its pace. Usually I’m not the man who concerns himself with eavesdropping. Most of the time it’s pointless conversation. But it concerns her. And wherever she’s concerned I find it’s unfortunately important to me.
“Even for being the enemy, I have to admit she’s a stunner.” He flashes Gino a wolfish smile. One that would eat little red riding hood whole. And that image. . .the image of Pietro marking her makes me feel almost feral.
“If you are referring to Imogen she’s ordinary.” Describing her as such tastes sour on my tongue. But it’s a necessary evil. The last thing I need is Pietro and Gino gawking with lustful eyes at my captive. The only eyes that belong on Imogen are mine.
Pietro snorts. He then playfully slaps Gino on the arm. “Says the man who’s hard to please.” He looks back at me, smirk on full display. “Seriously, when was the last time you got laid? If ever?”
“My sexual affairs have no business being discussed with you.”
“The fact that you refer to it as “sexual affairs” is telling me you don’t have one.”
Gino rolls his eyes at Pietro’s antics. “Or he likes to keep it under wraps. Unlike yourself.”
He clicks his tongue at him. “Or maybe Rico wants the Irish Princess all to himself.”
As much as a jester he is, he’s also too observant for his own good. It’s what makes him a great soldier. His eyes on the street are the best ones to keep watch. But it’s annoying when he starts to play detective with me. Especially when he’s right.
“She is a captive and nothing more. The key to end Seamus.”
Pietro’s mouth twists with humor as he eyes me suspiciously. “Right. Well, if that’s so you won’t mind Gino and I coming over to see how the captive is doing.”
The skin at the back of my neck prickles. An odd sensation that I can only akin to what must be like thousands of ants roaming along one’s flesh. It’s an unpleasant feeling. One I want to be rid of. Immediately.
“We could help with the video,” Gino suggests. “Perhaps her pa seeing her surrounded by three dangerous men will send more than just fear. It will cause panic. Maybe even desperation to get her away from the likes of us.”
My strategic mind agrees with him. It also berates me for not thinking of it myself. This is why we captured her in the first place. To be used as a tool to end this vendetta Seamus has against Constantine.
Then why does the thought of going through with the video, of making Imogen visibly uncomfortable, cause a nauseousness in my throat and my skin to boil? Why is perspiration beading at my forehead?
Why am I feeling like this? Why can’t I understand it?
Imogen Murphy is proving to be more trouble than she’s worth. Because if I have to spend more time with her than necessary it might just break me.