Page 49 of Falling for the Enemy

When I find Stefano…

A hiss escapes my lips, the mere thought of La Famiglia’s Capo causing my blood pressure to spike. In my life, I have killed many men in many ways. Some have been made to suffer, while others I ended quickly.

Stefano, however, will feel pain.

Whether it’s delivered by a blade or—

Muttered Spanish, a phrase I don’t immediately recognize, claims my attention, temporarily tearing me free of my murderous thoughts. From where I sit at a built-in table on the yacht’s lower deck, my fisted hands still secured at my back, I look across the slab of sealed mahogany and find one of Alejandro’s men staring at me, his dark expression a picture of hatred.

Benito, if I recall correctly.

“Care to repeat that, love?”

Eyes narrowed, the coward shakes his head, the strong cut of his stubble-covered jaw tensing as he clenches it repeatedly. “Trust me, puta, if I was speaking to you, you’d know.”

Whore. That’s what he just called me. Again with the disrespect. The gall of the cartel’s men is infuriating. At this point, I plan to burn them all, rendering the entire faction to ash.

I’ll be doing the world a favor.

“Da? Is that so?”

The look he gives me is scathing. “Si, it is.”

I smile, the sadistic upturn of my lips reaching my eyes. “Tell me, Benito, did you remember to pack your toothbrush when you departed Colombia? Or was it just your balls you forgot—”

He stands abruptly, the sound of his chair skittering backward and slamming against the yacht’s decking drowning out the latter half of my insult. Moving quickly, he rounds the table and grasps my shoulder. Whether he’s about to hit, choke, or throw me overboard is anyone’s guess.

My money is on the latter.

Only, he never gets the chance to touch me further. Not before Alejandro appears from upstairs. Having changed out of his tux and into a pair of black slacks and pressed dress shirt, he carries a red and black-colored knife clutched in his curled fist. Eyes flashing with rage, he rips his soldier’s hand from my flesh and flattens it against the table, where he holds it in place.

The tearing of skin.

The crunching of bone.

An agonized scream.

All three fill the air as the rabid kingpin slams his blade into the back of Benito’s hand and through his palm, embedding the forged steel deep into the wood. I don’t flinch. The act is bloody and violent, but I’ve done much worse.

“I warned you,” Alejandro says to his man, his eerily calm voice a stark contrast to the flush of anger staining his handsome face and corded neck crimson. “I warned you never to touch her.”

That earns a brow raise from me. He told his men not to touch me? The revelation is unexpected. And if I’m being honest, quite delicious. Pale-faced and looking as if he may vomit, Benito grabs the knife. Unfortunately for him, his hasty attempts to rip it free of the wood are met with failure.

I almost feel bad for him.

“Manzana…”

Alejandro’s darkly seductive voice washes over me, beckoning chill bumps to rise along my arms and thighs. The way my frozen heart stands at attention the moment he enters a room isn’t appropriate. Not when he’s my sworn enemy.

Along with my captor.

“Hermosa, stand.”

My gaze snaps to his. “Nyet.”

Unaffected by my sharp response, as well as the go to Hell look I shoot his way, he chuckles. “If fighting me every step of the way is the route you wish to take, then so be it.” Grasping the back of my chair, he pulls it from the wood table. “I enjoy your resistance.”

Knowing what’s coming when he bends forward, I struggle to escape his impending hold. I stand no chance of doing so. Not when he once again lifts me into the air, effortlessly tossing me over his shoulder as if I weigh little more than a bag of potatoes.

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