Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ANNA
My pulse pounded. Being in his house, his office, was an adrenaline rush.
It felt like riding a never-ending rollercoaster.
Except there was no relief at the end when you stumbled out and touched the ground with shaky feet.
Only more questions awaited me, hitting me at random intervals, until I could succumb to my knees under the weight of them.
I stared at the drawer. It was obviously locked.
Why I kept on trying was a mystery. I had to know what he’d stashed away in that drawer.
Maybe it was the beginning of the reveal of all his dirty secrets?
I wanted to lock him in a room, barrage him with all my questions, and come out with answers and a dead body.
Only I wasn’t so sure I’d make it out in one piece.
My words in my diary the night before made so much sense.
Es una partida. él es el maestro. Y yo soy su presa.
It's a game. He's the master. I am his prey.
How did he still remember Papá? That had been the first question in my mind when I opened my eyes.
The Mafia must kill a lot. Like once a month at least?
It couldn’t be less than that. That’s at least one hundred and thirty-two murders in the eleven years since Papá’s.
But he remembered Papá’s out of all of them?
I wanted to know why, as much as I didn’t.
Because deep within me, another doubt magnified.
One that had bloomed eleven years ago and grew larger like a cancerous tumor as each day passed. Was Papá not a good man?
I stepped away. Wrapped my hands around my cold midriff.
The thump thump of my heartbeat raced. I would not go down that path.
I couldn’t. In my mind, Papá was larger-than-life, even if I couldn’t remember him anymore.
Some days I yearned so much to know how he had been before the day he died that it was a tangible ache.
I’d known him. Loved him. But my memory was a concrete roadblock cutting me off from him.
If I could just shove it away. Dare to drive over it to clear the haze.
I wanted nothing more than that. A desire that stood so close to me that I felt I only had to stretch far enough to be able to touch it.
But other times… I feared knowing the past. I was terrified I wouldn’t like it.
No normal person got a knife in their throat on a mid-Monday morning.
Three men had walked into his home and killed him.
Was he really a thief? The constant battle inside me was exhausting.
Giving up, I grabbed hold of the duster and set to work. But my mind was far from it, and my work showed it.
If only he’d just had his damn dinner. I wouldn’t need to be in this house then. The memory of his words from the night before soured my stomach.
You are no coward, Anna Vales.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my bed, fully dressed, with the faint smell of teak and cedar clinging to me.
I had no memory of getting into bed. If Magda or Isidora had found me and dragged me to my room, they would have mentioned it in the morning.
Which only left… no. It was clear. I was losing my shit.
“Joder, this can’t be happening.”
Who wasn’t losing his mind was Niccolò Martello. He was more trouble than ease. Seriously, Anna! You’re such an idiot.
Luck was clearly on his side because he’d known all along who I was. The idea was absurd. But I was pretty sure I was his current entertainment. The asshole was so confident I wouldn’t be able to do it that he was comfortable keeping me under his roof.
But you didn’t kill him when you had the opportunity.
That was because he called me out as a coward for trying to take the easy route.
So?
I’d avenge Papá. An eye for an eye, like he’d told me.
I needed to put a knife in his throat. Why I even followed his request like a command, I didn’t know.
Why I was even thinking about it when I couldn’t handle my finger bleeding was another mystery.
Maybe he wouldn’t bleed… maybe I could get out before the blood spilled…
what kind of knife should I even use… a bread knife won’t do…
meat… just the thought of it… I blinked.
Froze. I didn’t have to turn from his desk to know he’d entered the room silently.
The night before, I’d tried to poison him. Now he had me alone. A part of me wanted him to end it. Put a knife to my throat, bury me alive, call the police, let me go… the other part vibrated in suspense. Waiting for his next move. It was a game. His game. But I wanted to take part in it.
I didn’t hear a single sound, but I knew he was walking toward me. The duster in my hand was useless. My other clawed and came up with his paperweight. Cold marble. Heavy enough to be a weapon. Hopefully.
My spine tingled. The edges of his coat skimmed my back. He was close. Too close. He wasn’t giving me any space to turn and attack. I turned myself into stone and flattened my front to the desk.
His heated breath above my head ruffled the curls on my crown. A reprimand spilled from his tone. “Really, Anna. A paperweight?”
Two weeks ago, the gilipollas hadn’t spoken a word to me. Now he spoke my name, as if he were familiar with it. As if he’d used it with every emotion ranging from distaste to desire.
He shifted, and one hand came to rest next to mine. His big hand, strong and rough. Capable of taking a man away from his family. Mine soft. Too fucking fragile. They trembled around the marble, showing him how weak I was.
Pick it up and smash it on his head, for heaven's sake!
But the marble wasn’t a paperweight. In my hands it became a two-hundred-pound raw block pulled up from an open pit.
He accentuated it by caging my hand in his.
The touch burned through my skin. My grip slackened instantly.
The paperweight rolled into his palm like a child’s plastic toy.
He curled it in his hand and tossed it up.
It landed effortlessly back in his palm.
“I thought Andalusian girls were firecrackers. Where’s your fire, Anna?” Anger coiled in my veins. Eleven years of being numb. With two sentences, he’d smacked it flat to the ground. Fury ramped up my body. I spun around, my breathing heavy.
“?Crees que tengo miedo?”
His eyes flashed. They weren’t hidden behind cold crystal anymore. “Sí.”
I choked through my breathing. ?Joder! He understands Spanish?
With his gaze on me, he confirmed it. “I do think you’re afraid.”
Joder.
I was drowning in him. I tried to rationalize my fear. It shouldn’t have mattered, anyway. The only thing I shouldn’t do is show him my fear. I forced myself to lean forward, and I put my face right in front of his. “Eres un puto gilipollas.” There. He could understand that.
His entire body went rigid. My fear melted away into a satisfied smirk.
“Calling me a fucking asshole is only going to get me harder, Anna.”
I froze.
He exhaled.
Awareness sizzled through my veins. I’d pushed myself into him.
He hadn’t backed off. But held on to his place, tensed.
Rigid. A block of stone that I was feeling from head to hip.
Especially around the hip. I stumbled back.
My breathing stuttered as I tried to catch up with the change.
He stared at me for what seemed like an hour, when it couldn’t have been more than a minute.
Then, slowly, he gave a shake of his head.
Glanced to the side. Like he couldn’t believe what he’d said.
I felt the heat of his presence in every fiber of my skin.
When his eyes came back to me, the shutters were down to his soul.
“Let’s not get distracted, shall we?” His tone snapped like a whip.
Like I was the one who’d said those inappropriate words.
I didn’t get to tell him off before he shut me up.
“Stop being a coward and get on with it.” He grabbed my fist. I fought him, taking the desk back a few inches with me. But his grip was unyielding. Made a mockery of my mission, proving each sharp word snapping out of him. “This is the way to hold it.”
?Qué pasa? I couldn’t follow him. When he dropped his gaze to my hand, I followed it. My breath snagged in my throat. Curled in my fist was a knife. Small. Sharp. Deadly.
My hold relaxed. A sound of irritation rolled from his throat. “Tighter. You need more force.”
What the hell is this. “?Qué demonios es esto?” I choked out.
“It’s a knife.”
It might as well have been a rattlesnake. I knew it was a fucking knife. The handle was wood. Warm to the touch. Like someone had held it for a long time before pressing it into my hands.
“?Qué demonios es esto?” My voice broke.
“Consider it a gift.”
A gift? The thing in my hand was a gift?
My fingers shook. He steadied my hand, keeping the sharp edge away from my body. His gaze burned on me, and I knew he was studying me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look. Did he know I was about to lose my shit? That I’d need to be put down like an animal then.
“Look at me,” he demanded. I didn’t know why, but I did. It was easier to follow instructions than to take control of my thoughts.
His gaze was loaded, and If I looked too long, too hard, he was going to pull me into his eclipse. A touch brushed my inner wrist. Soothing along the width of it. It was rough, yet soft. My pulse slowed gradually, and with it, my staggering breathing eased.
“I expect you to do your best and make your father proud.”
I blinked.
A low whistle came our way from the doorway. I jerked my gaze over his shoulder. Stefano leaned against the doorway, hand rubbing his jaw and his gaze full of interest. “Well, well, well.” His tone dripped with ease. “Is this the reason you stood me up?”
Niccolò was still a block caging me. Nothing had changed. Not his breathing. Not his stance. Except for the slight tightness around his jaw, he might as well have been discussing the cleaning routine with his maid, not teaching her how to kill him.
He answered his brother in Italian. His tone got under my skin. A light intonation of irritation carried with it.
Whatever he’d said only made Stefano chuckle. I’d tried to catch familiar words, but he’d spoken too fast.
I felt the heat of Stefano’s gaze. We were clearly under his microscope.
After a beat, Niccolò sighed. It was almost unnoticeable, but I could tell from the scent of mint on his breath.
Like he’d just brushed his teeth, even though it was long past noon.
Then he stepped away from me. The knife was heavy in my hand. He rushed a hand through his hair.
“Don’t be a fucking coward, Anna.”
Then he turned and walked away.