Page 31 of Falling for the Enemy

“What I was doing in Toluca,” he whispers, the eerie calmness of his voice putting me further on edge, “was saving your pretty little ass.”

Blyad’! There’s simply no way.

The man must think I’m an idiot if he expects me to believe the falsehood that just spilled from his lips.

“If it wasn’t for me,” he continues, temporarily halting my desire to pistol-whip him into oblivion, “you’d be dead at the hands of La Famiglia, your blood permanently staining the city sidewalk.”

Disbelief unfurls within me, but before I voice it with a heaping serving of vitriol, he palms the back of my neck, his squeezing touch the opposite of gentle, but free of cruelty.

Once again, I should end him.

A lone shot. That’s all it will take to put an end to this farce of a visit. For the way he’s touching me, the precious time he’s wasted, and the lie he just spoke, death is a fitting punishment.

But for the second time, I don’t act.

Papa is likely rolling in his underwater grave, cursing my name in disgust at the display of such weakness.

The thought is an infuriating one.

“Now you owe me.” He smiles, the upturn of his wicked lips temporarily dulling my hunger for revenge. “And I can think of a few ways for you to repay your debt.”

Ignoring his innuendo, I drop my left hand, my weapon remaining in my right. Sliding my palm down his chest, I rest my fingers on his abs, the steel-like muscles twitching the slightest bit beneath my gentle touch.

“I warned you not to lie to me.”

He dips his face, his hold remaining firm as his respiration increases, our closeness affecting him just as it does me. “I’ve told you nothing but the truth.” Releasing my neck, he traces a scarred knuckle down the side of my face, his touch surprisingly comforting. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Before I can answer with a slew of Russian curses he likely wouldn’t understand, he grasps my chin and turns my head toward one of my study’s front windows. Movement from the other side of the glass catches my attention.

That’s when I see it.

The battered corpse Viktor is dragging.

Its chest tattooed with La Famiglia’s crest.

Heart beating wildly as my enemy’s thumb caresses my jaw, my raised arm drops, the muzzle of my revolver now pointing at the hardwood.

“Good girl.” Alejandro removes his hand from my face as I continue to stare, my frazzled mind fighting to process exactly what’s happening. “Tell me, Manzana, do you like your gift?”

I look back at him, our gazes clash.

“Why?”

Anger laces the lone word, my fury over the torpedo he just fired into my defenses, blasting a hole into one of the many fortified steel walls Capone’s ugly betrayal erected, making its presence known. If he speaks the truth, then that means he truly did protect me.

He killed for me.

The gesture is... unexpected.

“Why were you in Toluca?” Choosing to focus on gathering the information I need versus the army of butterflies taking flight behind my belly button, I curl my trembling fingers, digging my nails into his stomach, the fabric of his shirt the only thing stopping me from drawing blood. “Tell me, or I’ll make it so you don’t walk out—”

I snap my mouth closed, apprehension crashing over me when the bookcase along the far wall opens, revealing one of the mansion’s many hidden tunnels.

And standing at its entrance is Mina.

The moment I see her the butterflies die, and fierce protectiveness rises in me. To protect her, I must kill the man standing before me, severing the connection I feel to him—permanently.

No more hesitating.

---