Chapter Two SANTINO #3
I looked at her for a long second. At the annoyed little wrinkle between her brows. At the stubborn lift of her chin. She kept inching toward me without realizing it. Then I smiled slowly beneath the mask. Smart little thing. Very smart. But not smart enough. Because she still hadn't walked away.
She'd shift toward me while arguing. Shift toward me while glaring. Then realize she'd done it and straighten like she'd caught herself committing a crime. A slow smile pulled at my mouth beneath the mask.
"One last game," I said.
Her eyes narrowed. Immediate suspicion. "You've said that before."
"This one is different,” I winked.
Silence. She stared at me. I stared back. Beside us, the bartender looked between our faces with the exhausted expression of a man witnessing something unfortunate unfold in real time.
"What happens if I say no?" she asked suspiciously.
I smiled slowly. "You keep sitting here with me anyway."
Silence. Then outrage. Absolute, offended, deeply personal outrage. "I am not sitting here with you voluntarily."
I looked around dramatically. Looked at the bar. Looked at the stool beside mine. Looked back at her.
"Excuse me, did I cuff you to the bar?" I chuckled. “You’re free to leave any time you want.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Jesus Christ. I was enjoying this way too much.
The bass beneath us pulsed through the floor in slow waves while amber light slid across her face and dark hair. Somewhere behind us glasses clinked. A woman laughed softly. Shadows moved across velvet and leather and gold.
I barely noticed any of it. Because I was busy watching this tiny, furious woman look at me like she was deciding whether murder was legally justifiable.
She folded her arms tightly over her chest and glared. "Fine. One game."
I leaned against the bar lazily, crossing one ankle over the other. "If you win, I walk away."
Her eyes narrowed harder. Suspicious little thing. "And if you win, Devil?"
I tilted my head. "I get a kiss."
Silence. The music kept rolling around us. Somewhere deeper inside the club, a curtain shifted as people disappeared into shadows. And she just stared at me.
"You are unbelievable,” she hissed.
"No," I corrected calmly. "I'm generous."
She scoffed while I spread my hands. "You have a fifty percent chance."
"A fifty percent chance at disaster,” she muttered.
I grinned beneath the mask. She kept staring another few seconds. Then something changed. I saw it happen. Saw the exact second the gears started turning behind those dark eyes.
Oh no. I knew that look. That was plotting. That was dangerous. Slowly, she uncrossed her arms. Slowly, she turned toward me.
"No," she said sweetly. "I'm guessing something now."
I stared at her. "What?"
"You've been playing detective all night." She lifted her drink casually and took another sip. "My turn."
I stared. Then laughed softly. Adorable.
Completely impossible. There was absolutely no fucking way.
No chance. I'd spent my whole life controlling what people saw.
People saw money. Charm. Danger. The Devil.
They saw exactly what I wanted them to see.
No random little brunette was about to psychoanalyze me over lemonade. I leaned back against the bar.
"Fine." Confidence settled over me easily. "Go ahead."
She looked me over. Her eyes moved over my shoulders. My hands. My suit. The cuffs at my wrists. The mask. Then stopped. On my wrist. I frowned.
"The watch." Her eyes dropped toward my wrist again. "That's not yours."
I stared at her. Because I hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected anything even remotely close to that. My hand moved unconsciously. Just slightly. Toward my wrist. Toward Angelo's watch.
Four years. Four fucking years. Four years since I picked it up from his corpse. Four years since I put it on. Four years since I'd taken one look at it and decided if I couldn't have my brother back, then I'd take whatever pieces of him I could keep. I'd never taken it off. Not once.
Her eyes lifted back to mine. And the smug little smile faded. "You looked surprised."
I said nothing. She studied me quietly for another second. Then pointed. "It's too big."
My throat tightened. "...Too big?"
"A man like you." I frowned beneath the mask. She gestured vaguely toward me. "Everything matches."
“Suit. Shoes. Watch. Cuffs. Mask.” She was right. Then her gaze dropped toward my wrist again. "And a man like you would've had it altered."
I was speechless.
"But you didn't." Her voice softened slightly. "So it must be sentimental."
Christ. For the first time all night, I forgot how to speak. Because I wasn't standing in my club anymore. I wasn't hearing music. Wasn't seeing amber lights. Wasn't smelling perfume and whiskey and smoke.
I was twenty-six again. On my knees. Blood everywhere. Snakes. Chaos. Angelo lying there while the entire fucking world collapsed around me. His watch in my hand.
And when I looked back at her, she wasn't smiling anymore. She was just looking at me. Like she'd realized she'd accidentally found something I never let people see.