Page 7 of Cruel Tyrant

The guy’s tall. I know he’s tall, because I’ve stood next to him. He smells like cinnamon and tree bark, and he tastes like mint mixed with whiskey. I know, because I’ve smelled him, and I’ve kissed him.

“This is Davide Bianco. He’s an important member of the largest crime syndicate in the Midwest. And you’re going to marry him.”

I step away from the desk. I want to scream, because this is worse than having a conversation about what I did in that bathroom. A thousand emotions assault me all at once: fear, anger, hatred, and I don’t know what to do with them all.

I turn my back on my brother. He’s still talking, but I can’t hear him over the slamming whoosh of blood rushing through my ears. I walk on numb, stiff legs to the door and yank it open, and my brother’s calling for me to come back. He’s standing behind the desk and probably wants to kill me right now, but I walk out of there and I keep on walking, because there’s no way I can marry that man, there’s no way in hell.

Chapter 5

Davide

The pulse of the club pounds against my head. The crowds feel like the bars of a cage, and I flex my left hand against the dull tingling pain that shoots up to my elbow, trying to work the nerves out, but nothing ever really calms it down. Right now, I don’t mind the distraction. I’ve been obsessing about the girl that spilled her drink in my lap for the better part of two days and I’m only back at this hellhole dealing with the close-packed crowds because I’m hoping I’ll run into her again.

Stefania Rossi. I knew there was a chance I might bump into her here since her brother Carlo owns the place, but I had no idea I’d get such a spectacular first impression. I lean back in my seat at the VIP lounge area up on the balcony overlooking the dance floor and close my eyes, a smile on my lips, thinking about the way she asked me to clean her off with an incredible mix of confidence and nerves, like she wanted me badly enough to overcome her natural aversion to fucking strange men in club bathrooms.

I hadn’t planned on going that far with her, but once those words spilled out of her mouth, how the hell was I supposed to control myself?

The music’s too loud and the crowd makes me uncomfortable. I keep looking for the exits and picturing the chaotic stampede that would break out if there were a fire or an active shooter or some shit like that. I want to hold onto the good thoughts, picturing my mouth between my future wife’s legs, except this always happens to me in enclosed spaces. My mind starts to drift back to the darkness and the tingling discomfort in my scarred arm intensifies until I either drink myself into a fucking stupor or I get out of whatever situation is triggering my bad reaction. But I’m putting myself through this, like I put myself through it the other night, on the off chance that I get to see her again before everything is made official.

My men Bruno and Emilio are busy flirting with the waitress and they don’t notice when Carlo Rossi appears at the VIP rope. He slips past his bouncers and approaches, and my useless bodyguards only spot him when he’s already sitting down in the chair beside mine and shaking my hand. They move to come over but I give them a sharp nod—and at least they have the good sense to look ashamed. Worthless fucks.

“I’m glad you’re here again,” Carlo says over the music. He grins at me, a little too charming and a little too loud for my tastes, but I’ve been told that he’s the Rossi Famiglia’s best wartime crew leader. It’s hard to imagine him riding into battle, but I’ve heard the rumors, and if they’re even half correct, he’s a formidable man. I respect him for that.

“I couldn’t stay away. My men enjoy your hospitality too much.” I speak loudly so I can be overheard while I give them a sharp look. The waitress scampers away, her face turning pink at my insinuation. “And Gian told me that Don Renzo spoke with your sister today about our arrangement.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Carlo glances over toward the stairs that lead down to the main club. “Renzo told her about the situation and she was a little surprised. Actually, she’s here right now and wants to come talk to you, but I told her she’d better stay away and cool off for a few days first.”

My eyebrows raise. “Send her up if she wants to speak with me.”

“I don’t know.” Caro shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, Davide, can I be straight with you? Stef’s kind of pissed and she’s not in a great state of mind right now. I’m pretty sure she’s going to say something stupid. Maybe it’s better if you, you know?—”

He’s trying to kick me out. If it weren’t so fucking hilarious, I’d be insulted, but lucky for him, I find this more than a little amusing. He probably thinks his sister is angry because of the arrangement, and I’m sure that’s a big part of it, but I suspect I know the real reason she’s livid right now.

“Send her up. We’ll have a civilized conversation.”

Carlo clears his throat. “Are you sure? I’m serious, she’s on the fucking warpath.”

“She’s going to be my wife soon. I might as well get a feel for her temper now and learn how to handle it.”

“You’re a stronger man than I am,” he mutters and gets to his feet. He gestures at his bouncers and one of them disappears. “I’ll send up fresh drinks for you and Stef and maybe some girls for your men?”

“I’ll take the drinks, but not the girls. If your sister’s as mad as you say, I think I’ll need my guards on top of their game.”

Carlo laughs and I’m only half kidding. I have a feeling she’s going to try to kill me, and I’d like it if someone were here to stop her before I have to put her down myself.

A minute later, she appears at the top of the steps, her face set in cold fury, her hands balled into fists. She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, not the sexy little black dress she had on the first night we met, which would be a shame if she didn’t look so fucking good without getting dressed up. I’d seen pictures of her before coming out here from my home back in Chicago, but they were a few years old and didn’t do her justice.

She’s slim and short with thick, dark hair, and full lips that look like heaven even when they’re pressed together and bleached of color. Her body’s immaculate, curvy right where I like, and her smooth skin tastes like honey and whiskey. Her dark eyes glare into mine and Carlo’s right, she looks like she’s going to try to knee me in the dick again, but this time she isn’t going to stop until I’m puking in agony.

I find the idea of fending her off strangely arousing. Another reminder of how completely fucking broken I am.

“You shouldn’t be back here,” she says, standing over me. Bruno and Emilio move to the far side of the lounge area and pretend like they aren’t paying any attention. “If you were smart, you would’ve run back home.”

“Why would I do that? I got a little taste of my future and it turns out that I liked it.”

She takes a step forward, her shoulders trembling. “Did you know who I was?”

“Yes,” I say and cock my head at the way her nostrils flare. “Should I lie and pretend like it was a surprise?”

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