“You can’t protect her forever,” Vincent says. “It’d be in your best interest to hand her over. She means nothing to you.”
I remove the gun from under Natalia’s dress. “Oh, she means everything to me.” I run the gun over her cheek, and she trembles as I cruelly stare at Vincent. “I will marry her.”
“The fuck you will!” Vinny roars, and that cord finally springs free as he charges toward me.
My guys step closer to the enemy, but I hold up my arms, stopping them.
I want to see what his next move is.
Antonio snatches the back of Vinny’s shirt and tugs him back to his side.
“You have something else to say, Vinny?” I yell. “Feel free to attempt to murder me. Until then, Natalia will become my wife. The longer I have her, the more info I’ll drag out, detail by detail.”
The night is getting later, and it seems no one will take any action tonight.
I jam the tip of the gun into her cheek before drawing it back and playing with it in my hand. “Until next time, gentlemen.”
“You’re nuts if you think I’m marrying you,” Natalia shouts as soon as Rocky throws her in the back seat with me.
I point out the window. “Should I hand you over now then? He offered fifty thousand dollars for you, but you’re worth more than that to me. But if you’re going to have this attitude, then we can make the exchange with them, and I’ll at least be richer.” I relax into the seat, proud of myself for my good behavior and not putting a bullet in Vinny’s head. “I look forward to fucking you on our wedding day.”
“You won’t touch me,” she spits.
“Then, I look forward to fucking another woman on our wedding day.”
She winces at my response. “Why do you want me to marry you? I thought you wanted me dead.”
“You see, Vinny put Vincent in a dangerous predicament. Vincent knows the longer you’re with me, the more I’ll know. He wants you dead, and I want Vinny dead. That can happen in two ways. Vinny kills you, which is a way for me to start a war with the Lombardis, or Vincent grows sick of his shit and asks me to hand you over in exchange for his son. But you will not be loose until I have Vinny.”
“Why do you want him so bad?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“You’re using my life to get it.”
“Should have stayed away from men who can kill you.” I tap on the seat for Rocky to drive. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 9
NATALIA
The bastard planned to hand me over to the Lombardis as if I were nothing but a rat.
Technically, I am one since I gave Cristian information on Vinny, but I didn’t rat Cristian out.
I thought the monster sitting next to me was deceitful before, but now, it’s clear that his word is that of Judas Iscariot. Under no circumstances can he be trusted.
I rotate, resting my back against the car door, and fix my glare on Cristian. “You’re a disgrace to the male population.”
It’s dark, so all I can make out is his profile.
But I don’t need to see him to detect the frustration rippling through him.
He wanted Vinny.
He wanted Vincent to take me home and do whatever he deemed fit for my rat self—rape, trafficking, homicide. Cristian didn’t get what he wanted, and I’m sure that doesn’t happen often.
“Watch your mouth when speaking to me,” he says in a menacing tone.
I don’t want to watch my mouth.
Cristian needs me for something.
So, now, I’m going to take this opportunity to talk to him any way I’d like.
“Why?” I ask, almost taunting. “You won’t kill me yet. I’m a pawn for your who has the biggest balls contest.” I tap the edge of my mouth. “Or guns since it seems you psychopaths prefer not to get your hands dirty like real men. You shoot guns because you’re pathetic—”
I gasp as my head smacks into the window when Cristian’s hand wraps around my throat, blocking any further insults directed at him.
His large hand nearly spans my entire throat, and he crowds me. “I have murdered men with these bare hands, sweetheart.” His hand clenches tighter around my neck. “I don’t need a gun to kill someone.” He lowers his head until his mouth is nearly against mine. “Keep pushing me. You thought dying at the hands of Vinny was scary? Mine would be much worse.”
When he releases me, pushing me back, I hold my throat and pant out breaths.
He straightens out his suit. “Now, shut up like a good little wife.”
When we return to the mansion, I’m running my hands along my throat.
I’d bet my last life left that there will be red marks tomorrow.
“Natalia, come with me,” Cristian orders as if I were one of his men.
“Fuck off,” I reply, rushing toward the stairs, the guest room my destination. “I’ve had enough of your psycho ass tonight.”
It’s been a day … a night … an everything.
I yelp when he snatches my elbow, pulling me back, and I fall into his chest.
“I haven’t had enough of you yet.”
What is it with men in power?
Why do they assume all of us will fall at their feet and worship them?
I attempt to pull out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold.
Fear.
It’s what fuels Cristian.
He grips you tighter and tighter, pulls you in closer and closer, until he has you exactly where he wants you—at his mercy.
“I said, come with me,” he says through gritted teeth.
I throw my free arm up. “Sure, fine, whatever. My night can’t get any worse than almost being sold to a mob family.”
I shouldn’t have said that. Knowing Cristian, he’d find that a challenge and make it worse.
His hard body brushes against mine as he leads me up the stairs, down a hallway, through a narrow walkway, and into a second wing of the house. It’s as if we were in Hampton Court Palace, like the home was built for someone to get lost inside.
He releases me with no warning, so I nearly bust my ass when we stop at a door in the back of another hallway. A keypad is drilled into the handle, and Cristian blocks me from watching him punch in the passcode. The door beeps once, then twice, and he opens it.
I follow him inside since not only does he seem to expect that of me, but I also want to know what lies behind that door—as if I were on a game show, waiting to see whether I’d won a prize.
It’s either good or bad.
No in-between with this man.
The room is rich with the scent of Cristian.
The monster’s bedroom.
“I told Leona to have your belongings moved from the guest room to here,” he says, unbuttoning his jacket, slipping it off his arms, and draping it over a leather ottoman in the corner of the room.
I linger in the doorway, as if stepping in would sign my deal with the devil. “Who’s Leona?” All my time here, and I haven’t heard that name mentioned once.
“The woman in charge of caring for my wing of the house,” he answers like it’s common knowledge I should know.