Chapter 16 #2
“I’m so fucking sick of these games,” she sneers, stomping closer to me.
“I’m so sick of you. I don’t need you to find Vince’s killer.
I can do it myself. And if you want to ruin my life, go right ahead.
Fuck—if you want to go after Keith or Dante, be my guest. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to figure out a way to destroy you. ”
“You think you’re vindictive? Well, think again. I’ve spent a lifetime burying my rage deep down and I’m ready to unleash it all on you, Leo DeLuca.”
“That was so incredibly sexy, anima gemella,” I say, my tongue skirting across my bottom lip.
The redness puffing up her face seems to fade as she takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes. And when she opens them, I swear I see lust glittering there. “What’s it going to take for you to leave me alone?”
I take a step forward and pause, testing the waters before I get closer. Her gaze drops to my feet, but she doesn’t move. I take that as my opening and reach up to tuck a wild curl behind her ear and drag my hand down the side of her face before cupping her cheek.
“There’s nothing you can do,” I explain, rubbing my thumb in gentle circles. “You should’ve never walked into my life.”
I don’t offer any more context than that.
Instead, I use her softening stare as an opening.
“I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but I’m not your enemy.
I know you can take care of yourself, but I still want you somewhere I know you’re safe.
There are many reasons I’d like to keep you alive, but more importantly, Dante won’t work with me if he knows I put you on Enzo’s radar. ”
Mia glares at me, chest rising and falling with every breath like she’s trying hard to squeeze out the frustration expanding in her lungs.
“Fine,” she says. “But I’m only agreeing to hear what happened that night. Once I get what I want, I’m gone. I’m not staying with you and I sure as hell will never trust you,” she adds, bringing her hand up and affirming her statement by firmly pressing a finger to my chest.
I peer down at the finger digging into my suit jacket, fighting the smile that wants to crease the flat line on my lips.
When I look back up, those dark eyes are waiting, and a warm feeling wraps around me.
Something that almost screams home, but in a very faint voice that sounds like it’s coming from a distance.
I step away.
“You negotiate like you have a choice,” I say mildly, smoothing my hands over the lapels of my jacket.
Her eyes flash, and a ghost of a sleepy grin appears. “I have a gun. That’s leverage enough for me.”
“I don’t consider that leverage,” I say, stepping a little closer and lowering my voice. “For me, it’s an invitation.”
Her smile drops, and color creeps up from underneath her collar. And this time instead of an icy glare, I receive open-ended silence that’s starting to feel less like a no and more like a maybe.
“God, you’re an ass,” she mutters, turning away from me. “Let’s get this over with. Show me where your lair is.”
“With pleasure, Cara Mia,” I smile, brushing past her and up the sidewalk. I don’t hear her footsteps at first and I’m tempted to turn around to see if she’s still there, but then the reaffirming sound of rubber against cement fills my ears.
Agreeing to come inside was a bad move on her part. If she thinks she’s going home tonight, then she’s obviously still underestimating me.
“If I didn’t already hate you, I definitely do now,” Mia mutters, standing in the foyer of my townhouse. It’s similar to my parents’ home, but there are fewer family photos and trinkets cluttering the place.
Correction, there’s none.
The only thing I use my home for is to fuck and sleep. All the senseless decorations and minimalist grey and black shades are all thanks to some interior designer I hired simply because I wanted to sleep with her.
She got a blank canvas, and I got a nice pair of tits to come on regularly, so it worked out in the end.
Except seeing the frown line on Mia’s face as she dissects every nook and cranny of the open floor concept makes me wish there was more of a welcoming feeling. I want her to feel at home. I want her here, period.
“If I didn’t already know you hire someone to do everything for you, I’d assume you were a serial killer,” she snorts, walking deeper into the space.
I toss my keys onto a random table and follow closely behind. “The best kind of serial killers find someone to take the fall for them,” I say. “If they’re good at it, then they won’t get caught.”
“Right,” Mia says unconvinced. She walks toward the couch but doesn’t sit. Instead, she brushes her fingers along the back of the barely worn leather, still carefully observing the space.
But even with her assessing glare, it feels unnervingly intimate to see her in my space. With other women, I want them out as soon as possible. With this one—I’m racking my brain on ways to try and get her to stay that don’t involve kidnapping.
“Sit,” I say, clearing my throat and heading toward the bar cart that Georgia keeps stocked.
She immediately purses her lips. “I said I’d stay if you started talking. I’m not hearing any talking, Leo.”
My hands clench around the glass decanter when my name falls from her lips. I shake the urge to coax it from her mouth again and shakily pour the amber liquid into my glass. “I told you I needed a drink first. Do you want anything?”
Come to think of it, I don’t even know if she drinks. “I’ll just take whatever you’re having,” she says, her eyes glued to my hands.
“Relax. I’m not going to poison it, Emilia.”
“I’ve already walked away from one predator unscathed, so excuse me for being extra cautious,” she snipes, her words dripping in malice and the tiniest bit of fear.
My chest expands as my entire body stiffens. It’s hard to know whether my anger is pointed at the man from the club or the fact that Mia thinks I’d drug her. Either way, I took care of at least one of those things.
I count the steps it takes to walk over to her, desperately trying to keep myself from touching her. I could easily walk over and take up all her space. But I don’t.
After I hand her a drink, she takes it and finally sits down. I force myself to sit across from her and ignore the dull longing in my chest.
“I didn’t kill Vince. I have no idea who did. But I promised you the truth and I’m going to tell you what I know. But it doesn’t start the night of his death. It started a few months before that.”