No, definitely not stupid at all.
Vincenzo’s irritation deepened, along with the curiosity he’d been trying not to pay any attention to. It stretched out inside him, lazy and subtle, making him think of questions. Such as, how had she managed to escape her father? And why had she come to him now? What made her think he would protect her? If she’d done her research, she must have known he’d simply hand her over to the authorities, surely?
You could give her a week. What would it matter in the long run? You’ll turn her in eventually. And in the meantime you can get everything you need to know from her about Armstrong.
It was true, he could. And there were other things he could get from her too. If she was indeed the reason Armstrong had evaded all his traps, perhaps he could use her to entrap others. Because, after all, he had a long list. And hadn’t he made the decision to employ hackers in his IT section to make sure their own online security was watertight? Use a criminal to hunt down other criminals... Why not?
He was a patient man. A week was nothing.
Vincenzo studied her carefully, taking his time. He kept his finger tapping on the arm of his chair and saw her attention zero in on it. A useful distraction technique.
She was still hunched in her chair, narrow shoulders collapsing in on themselves like the wings of a bird trying to hide itself beneath its own feathers.
It didn’t surprise him. Armstrong was a man much given to casual cruelty and there had been many rumours about his first wife and her death years ago. Rumours that only made Vincenzo even more determined to bring the man down.
He didn’t have any particular sentimentality towards women—he knew that they could be just as ruthless and cruel as men, and he’d had personal experience of this—but he despised physical cruelty. It was the weapon of the weak, in his opinion, and he had no doubt that Michael Armstrong was one of those weak men who needed to use it in order to enforce his power over people.
Had Armstrong used it on his daughter? Was that why she was hunched in her chair trying to make herself small? Was that why she was so afraid of himself?
Why are you thinking about her like this? She’s his daughter and a criminal, and now she is a tool you can use.
All very good points.
He moved, sliding his ankle off his knee and leaning forward, elbows on the desk. He watched her reaction as he did so, observing how her eyes went wide and how she held herself very still in her chair, her knuckles whitening even further on her handbag.
Yes, this little brown bird was very afraid. And of him.
Yet, for all that, she watched him very intently, as if he was a large cat stalking her. And, yes, there was fear, but it was clear to him that she also had a stubborn, determined spirit that wouldn’t let her give in. An interesting combination.
Why? Since when are you intrigued by the people you bring to justice?
Vincenzo ignored that thought, since he didn’t have an answer to it. Instead, he held her fixed hazel gaze with his and said, ‘You are enterprising, Miss Armstrong. I’m impressed. Your encryption might hold out against my experts or it might not. But perhaps I’m not in the mood to wait for them to break it. Perhaps I’m in the mood to make a bargain with you instead.’
Her gaze was ferocious. ‘What kind of bargain?’
‘Your skills are obviously valuable and I could use them, and not only to take your father down. There are plenty of other men and women just like him around. Those who need to be behind bars, and I think you could prove very useful in helping me bring them to justice.’
Those small white teeth worried at her bottom lip. It was very red now and very full, and it had the sweetest curve. A vulnerable, soft mouth. Would it taste as sweet if he took a bite out of it himself?
Why are you thinking about her mouth, fool?
The thought was sharp and bright and shocking. He had no idea why he was thinking about her mouth. None. He shouldn’t have even noticed it.
‘Why would I want to do that?’ she asked bluntly, not noticing his sudden stillness. ‘I’ll help you with my father and that’s all.’
Irritation rippled through him once again, his temper not helped by his own wandering thoughts. ‘I’m afraid you do not have a choice.’ He kept his voice flat and cold. ‘If you want a week before I hand you to the authorities it will be in my custody and you will do anything I ask. That is the price. If you don’t want to pay it then I will get my security team to hand you over to the police immediately.’
She bit at her lip, the expression on her face—what he could see of it behind all that hair and those big glasses—turning angry. ‘But you won’t be able to take down my father if I don’t help you.’
‘Of course I can take down your father without you.’ He made a negligible gesture. ‘It would only take longer. Your help would expedite the process, but it’s not necessary.’
‘Then why bargain with me at all?’
Another good point. She was astute, he’d give her that. Because he really didn’t need to bargain with her. He could make her do whatever he wanted, since he was the one with all the power here. But doing so would make him no better than those he brought to justice, and he would never use those kinds of tactics.
‘Because, although you are not necessary, you could prove to be useful,’ he said, just as blunt as she was. ‘And a tool is only useful if it is not broken. I have no wish to break you, Miss Armstrong, believe me.’
‘But you want to use me.’ There was no anger in her tone, only a kind of...resignation. As if the situation she now found herself in wasn’t unfamiliar.
And it wouldn’t be. She was as much a tool for him as she was for her father and he was very aware of that fact. Not that it bothered him. Not given what was at stake.
The old crime families of Europe were like a disease, rotting the body from the inside. Corrupting everything. That corruption was inside himself too and he knew it. Knew his own family’s history and the stain they’d left behind them over the centuries.
He wasn’t exempt from that corruption, but at least he wasn’t here to hasten its spread. No, he was a surgeon and he would cut it out completely.
‘No, civetta,’ he said, because a surgeon needed a sharp scalpel, ‘I do not want to use you. I will use you. If you want your week of freedom, then you must pay for it and that is my price.’
She continued to stare at him, frowning, as if he was a problem she wanted to solve. ‘When you say “freedom”, what exactly do you mean?’ she asked. ‘Because you won’t be letting me go, I assume.’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
She only nodded, as if that was the answer she’d expected. ‘Well, I suppose if I were truly free that would leave me unprotected, which would undermine the whole point of me coming to you in the first place.’ The line between her brows seemed etched there, marring her pale skin, and he found himself idly wondering if that skin was as soft as it looked. Whether it would be as soft as her mouth. ‘I wouldn’t like to be in a cell,’ she went on. ‘My father kept me in his house in Cornwall with a lot of guards. I could walk in the garden but that was it. It was by the ocean, but the house had no view so I couldn’t see it. I could hear it though.’ A thread of some emotion he couldn’t place crept into her voice. ‘I’d like to be able to see the waves.’ Her gaze had turned distant, looking through him as if he wasn’t there. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the ocean. How ridiculous is that? When we live on an island?’