Page 2 of Falling for the Enemy

My inscrutable stare locked with his, I dig my silver, stiletto-shaped nails into the skin covering his traitorous heart. From behind the stained gag pulled tight between his cracked lips, he tries to reply in a last-ditch effort to explain, but I ignore his muffled response.

The time for talking is over.

For him, at least.

“Or were you stupid enough to believe that even if I learned of your betrayal before you had the chance to slit my throat I’d be too weak to stop you from seizing what’s mine?”

He stiffens, giving me my answer.

And what an interesting one it is.

I shake my head and laugh. It’s amusing that someone like him, who is fully aware of the violence I’ve doled out to protect not only my territory but also my sister, would think he could ever win a war waged against me.

How did I not see such stupidity earlier?

After sliding off his lap, I slip the ring he gifted me onto my index finger and lean forward, resting my palms on his thighs, just above his knees. Lingering humor tickles my lips, temporarily suppressing my rising fury as I look him in the eyes.

“Because that’s what you, along with your father, who Papa and I both considered allies, have done, da? Betrayed me.”

Right temple throbbing, he glares at me, his seething hatred for me transparent. “Fuck,” he spits from behind the cloth, “you.”

My twisted mind rages with the desire to respond to his venom by plucking his eyes from his thick skull with a rusty spoon. I don’t, though. Instead, I bring my lips to within a hair’s breadth of his and lift my palm from his thigh before tracing a knuckle along his jaw.

Confused by my gentle touch, just as I intend, he doesn’t notice when I remove my other hand from his leg and take possession of the rust-covered ice pick that lies on the basement workbench to my right.

My fingers curl around its weathered handle.

“You’ve made a fatal mistake, Capone,” I taunt, calling him by the twisted moniker that Stefano, his father and current boss of La Famiglia, gave him after carving his face with a knife when he was only ten, resulting in a jagged scar. “You and your papa both. And because of your actions, you and he, as well as your brothers, will die.”

I move back and cock my head to the side, fascinated by the way one of his rosy cheeks twitches. Briefly, I wonder if the tick is from knowing that every Italian mafioso in North Charleston—territory that borders my own—will soon meet their deaths at the hands of the Kings I command.

All except for Stefano, that is.

He is mine to end.

“I’ve loved you since we were children.” My chest clenches, threatening to crack beneath my rage as each poisoned word sweeps off my tongue. “I trusted you with both my heart and body. First as my friend, then as my fiancé. Nevertheless, you used that gift, one I’ve given few, to plot my downfall while toying with my emotions.”

Hurt, a feeling I have neither the time nor desire for, tries to bloom within my frozen heart. But it’s suffocated when the tether struggling to constrain my fury snaps, and my skin heats, liquid fire seeping from my pores.

Scarlet-glossed lips pulling back, I bare my straight white teeth, revealing the beautiful monster I was born then nurtured to be, and slam the pick deep into his thigh.

It misses his femur by half an inch.

“And nobody,” I scream over the sound of his pain-fueled howls, the demon inside me clawing its way to the surface, “is allowed to fuck with my feelings!”

The control I pride myself on possessing when handling business evaporates like smoke in the wind. It’s a first for me. Without hesitating, I rip the metal from his right leg and plunge it into the left, leaving it there to sway.

My blood-slicked hand snakes around the front of his strong throat and squeezes, my fingers gripping him tightly, their strength fueled by the scorn that pulsates through me. “If I possessed a heart capable of breaking, you would’ve shattered it.”

Fortunately, such a scenario isn’t possible.

Papa made sure of that years ago.

“Regardless, I think it’s only fair that I ruin yours in return.” I release his neck, leaving the stain of his blood behind. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt…” I wink. “Much.”

His eyes bulge when I retrieve a knife from the same workbench where the ice pick rested moments ago. He jerks his head from left to right, warring in vain to escape his impending death. The unmistakable stench of urine suddenly fills the mildew-tinged air, and without having to look, I know he’s involuntarily relieved himself.

Disgusting, but it doesn’t faze me.

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