Chapter Twelve
Zahra
He was alone when the guard opened the door to the room where we’d discussed Dion Juan Pablo. It was the same as the first time I was here: way too clean with everything in its place.
When the door closed behind me without so much as a good luck from the guard, I turned my attention to Elio, who was placing an expensive bottle of red wine alongside two wineglasses on the table. He began to clean the two glasses.
I noticed he had discarded his jacket and tie; his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos on his left forearm again, but unlike the first time, there was a small bandage on the inner part of his forearm. It had happened sometime between the meeting day and now.
I hoped it hurt like a bitch.
He glanced towards me the moment I started making my way to him.
“Don’t touch anything; just come forward,” he said, then looked away.
“What’s with the command?” I asked, now standing opposite him, with the minibar counter separating us. “I was already coming without touching anything.”
Either he didn’t understand my statement’s double meaning, or he decided to ignore me, but his face showed no hint of discomfort.
“No one can tell with people like you,” he said, face void of emotion. “You think they’re going to go one direction, and they end up going the other.”
I eyed him, noting how he was entirely focused on the very unnecessary cleaning he was doing.
My gaze landed on his lips; they had that rich, attractive fullness that made me stare a little too long.
His face was—perfect. His eyelashes were full and pretty long for a man who was supposed to be wicked.
My stare trailed down to his neck, catching a glimpse of the tattoo there. I wanted to know—
“You’re staring again,” he said without looking up.
I placed my hand underneath my chin. “You’re a hot guy with a pretty face. I can’t help myself.”
He looked up at me, dark eyes filled with apparent surprise. I batted my lashes, giving him a sweet smile. He looked away again, dropping the glass, clearing his throat, and picking up the second glass. “Do you get off from annoying people around you?”
“No … but I could totally get off on that face of yours.”
His cleaning ceased, and our eyes locked again. “Stop,” he warned.
I smiled. “What? No one’s ever flirted with you before?”
“You’re making me uncomfortable.”
“Hmm.” I nodded. “Good uncomfortable or bad uncomfortable?”
He stared at me for a few seconds before shaking his head and returning to cleaning the glass, probably realizing he was going to get nowhere in an argument with me.
I got more comfortable. “You’ve been cleaning that glass for minutes now. Do you have OCD?”
He averted his gaze, cleaning delicately, while his rings clinked on the frame from time to time.
“Do you have—”
“No,” he answered.
“Then pour the fucking wine, and let’s talk business.”
He steadied both glasses in one hand while he used the other to wipe the counter slowly and delicately before placing both glasses on it; then neatly, he folded the cloth and tucked it away.
Fucking weirdo.
He poured wine into both glasses, pushing one towards me.
Reaching behind him, he pulled out a gun, and my eyes followed as he carefully placed it on the counter. He picked up his drink and swirled it softly as he walked around to stand right next to me.
“We apparently don’t like each other,” he stated, “so I’ll skip the necessary pleasantries I offer to people I have business with.”
“Oh, it wasn’t the wine?”
He leveled me with his stern stare, which quickly flickered to my messy hair before coming back to my face again. Ignoring my statement, he said, “I’ll consider renegotiating your case only when I know whom I’m negotiating with.”
“That wasn’t our deal.”
He took a sip from his glass. “Did we make one? I don’t remember signing any document or agreeing to anything legally with you. I think you must be confused; you did have a lot to drink tonight.”
I took a step closer to him. “You fucking bastard, I should have known your word meant nothing.”
“I never said it did.”
“Then what am I fucking doing here?” I hissed, turning to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. I tried to wrench my hand free, but his grip was firm.
“I didn’t dismiss you.”
“Oh, sorry, Principal Marino, I didn’t know I had to ask for your permission before getting the fuck out of your face.”
He let me go instantly. “I told you I would reconsider your case.”
“Yeah, I heard that part, but it came with a little clause I don’t think I want to fulfill.”
“So, you’d rather subject yourself and your friends to me for the rest of your lives than tell me who you are?”
“You already know who I am. I’m Zahra, a very rude and expensive thief who fucks your brother. What else do you wanna know?”
He placed the glass on the table and shoved one hand into his pants pocket; the other rested on the table as he drummed with his fingers. “What happened after you were sold?”
I flinched. He noticed, but didn’t say anything.
“Look who did his research,” I said. “Didn’t know I was so important. Honestly, I’m flattered. No one has ever cared that much about me.”
His stare remained blank, pointed, patient.
I sighed. “I can’t remember.”
“Liar.”
“It’s not a lie,” I snapped.
“From one liar to another, it’s best not to evade my question with a lie. I’ll spot it.”
I reached for my glass of wine, brought it to my lips, and downed it to the last drop before setting it back on the counter.
The silence stretched as he waited for me to speak.
I crossed my arms against my chest. “What would you do if I didn’t wish to disclose my life’s journey?”
“I’ll kill you for wasting my time.”
“Earlier tonight you promised Devil you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I promised I’d never leave him, and I did.”
My gaze flicked to the gun on the counter, and he mirrored my action.
Our eyes locked again.
He read my mind, and I read him, and then we were both diving for the gun, but I was faster. I grabbed the weapon, flicked off the safety, aimed it at him, and pulled the trigger.
He knocked the gun from my hand before the shot faded, the weapon clattering away into a corner.
He gripped my arm and twisted it. A raw scream of panic escaped me as a sharp pain shot right through my wounded shoulder.
He took that opening to grab my other arm, twisting it behind me and swiftly flipping our positions, shoving me against the counter, my back to his front, the wood digging tightly to my ribs.
Before he had pinned me, I caught a glimpse of blood on his upper left arm.
His dress shirt was torn, and a flicker of satisfaction flowed through me because the bullet had grazed him just like I intended.
I was still in his hold—locked between the hard plane of his chest and the unforgiving sharp edge of the counter, the wound on my shoulder burning with pain.
“Let go of me!” I let out almost breathlessly.
“That was an idiotic move, Sport. You’re lucky I instructed my people not to interfere no matter what they hear—you’d be dead if I hadn’t taken that precaution.” His breath brushed my ear.
Close.
I pushed back, ignoring the pain. “Let me fucking go!”
“What could be so important that you would try to kill me?”
Too close.
I thrashed, pushed back, bucked my hips, anything to squirm free of him—the dark was closing—I was fighting.
He pushed me further into the edge of the counter. “Keep that up and you’ll break all your ribs.”
“Fuck,” I voiced breathlessly, blinking rapidly as I felt the stitches on my shoulder tear open.
His hold remained strong, tethering me back to the here and now, but I was slowly falling, zoning out, stuck.
I felt stuck, suffocated, trapped—“Let me go!” I screamed, but he only tightened his grip on my wrist.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t escape; I had no control, no space to breathe.
My chest tightened, my breathing quickened. “Let go of me, Elio!” My voice shook.
I was winded, trapped by the walls of his body. No, not walls … cage … he was morphing into a cage.
No. No.
I threw my head back, hoping to knock him in the chin, but somehow, I missed, I was trapped. And there was no escape. No escape. I couldn’t breathe.
“Let me go!”
He released his hold but kept his arms on both sides of me. “Stop fighting me.” His lips were right by my ear.
My chest heaved. “Let go or I swear to God … I swear to God—”
“Breathe.” His voice softened, but he still held me, and alarm bells rang in my head.
“Just let me go!”
“Not until you remember how to breathe.”
“Fuck you!” I heaved, collecting air into my lungs, and realized I wasn’t entirely pressed into the counter anymore.
“Breathe.”
My pulse was still racing, and I was trying to regain control of my ringing ears, but I was breathing, trying to calm my racing heart, breaking down the iron walls that had quickly mounted themselves around me. I wasn’t pressed to the counter, his hands weren’t almost breaking my wrists.
Space.
There was a lot of space.
“Are you calm?” he asked.
“No.”
It took four minutes until the ringing stopped, until I could breathe properly again.
I drew in a breath and released it with my response. “I’m calm now. Let me go.”
He did, and I wasted no time turning and pulling back my fist to aim at his face.
My fist slammed into his stupid fucking perfect nose, and I was disappointed that I didn’t hear a crack, but I must have hurt something because he swore, stumbling back while cradling his nose as blood poured from his nostrils.
Good.
I held my shoulder, the pain making my knees weak.
He hissed, swiftly wiping the blood away. “You throw a good punch, I’ll give you that.”
My eyes shifted to the bullet graze on his arm before looking at him again. “I aim to please. I’ll also ensure I don’t miss the next time I shoot you.”
“Your aim is pitiful. I’m not worried.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I never fucking miss. The only reason you’re alive is because Devil fucking cares if you’re breathing.”
“Amazing, because that’s the only reason you are breathing.”
“Yeah, you can try to kill me; I promise you won’t succeed.”
“You’re so certain.”
“Oh yes, I am.” I took a step back. “I was shoved in a room with twenty horny armed men, and I was the only one who came out breathing. My luck doesn’t end with gambling.”
His face hardened. “Who the fuck are you?”
A smile curved at the side of my lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then I turned, opened the door, and walked out.
He didn’t stop me.
I walked straight ahead, hearing the door close behind me as I rounded the corner.
I spotted Casmiro walking towards the room I’d just left, and I didn’t stop when he spotted me, complete shock and horror in his eyes.
He’d heard the gunshot and probably thought it meant I was dead.
My smile widened as I brushed past him. “Hey, Cassie, you might wanna check on your boss,” I threw over my shoulder without stopping. His curse and footsteps as he rushed to his boss resounded in the hall. “Amateurs.”