Page 40 of Bianchi

With my chin held high, I cross the threshold, an idea forming when I see Romeo. He’s seated at our table. A restless energy rolls off him, hitting me from across the other side of the room as I move my way around the edge, one eye on the door.

As if the gods are looking down on me, the crowd parts when the woman from the bathroom walks in. I move across the room toward Romeo. With every step, his heated gaze follows me and I add an extra sway to my hips. He remains seated, waiting for me as he swirls the liquid in his glass.

I’m confident that my plan will work because it’s a win-win. If my father is here and he sees what I’m about to do, well, there’ll be no mistaking that Romeo and I are together. And if he isn’t, then the woman in the gold dress gets to see me claim my man.

But he isn’t mine.

Romeo’s legs are wide when I reach the table, and I step between them like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. He discards his glass on the table as I bend at the waist, running my fingers through the curled hairs at the back of his neck. His hands come up to rest on the backs of my thighs and I don’t think, I just do. Closing the distance between us, I brush my lips over his. Once, then twice, before I pull away, and his eyes search mine.

His fingers tighten a fraction and he brings one hand up to hold the back of my head as he claims my mouth and devours me. Desire pools in my core, and I grip the strands of his hair, needing more. Why can’t we be at home?

Romeo’s tongue demands entry to my mouth, and I give it up freely, tangling my own with his. He tugs me forward and I fall into his lap. His hands roam over my body before a loud cough breaks through the haze. We pull apart, our labored breaths mingling in the small space between us. Up close, his blue eyes are as dark as the deepest depths of the ocean, and I find myself wanting to dive back in and drown. It would be a blissful death.

Romeo’s hand smooths a path up my bare thigh and I fight against the urge to widen my legs for him. “Were you a little jealous, bellissima?”

Tucking my head into the crook of his neck, I reply, “Not at all.” The vibration of his chuckle makes me smile before I catch myself and add, “You said yourself that everyone needs to believe that we’re together. It’s the only way my father will be lured out.”

And I had a point to prove.

He pulls back, searching my eyes. “Right, and it’s not because you didn’t like seeing me talk to Miss Wentworth?”

I straighten, half-heartedly wiping my lip gloss from his lips, unable to bring myself to look him in the eye. “No. I’ve got no reason to be jealous of you talking to anyone, especially when you aren’t mine. Just like I’m not yours.”

Romeo’s fingers dig into the flesh of my thigh, and he rests his forehead against mine as he growls, “Yes, you fucking are.”

A thrill races through me, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

Oh God, I’m in too deep.

Chapter 23

Romeo

The pleas of a man begging for his life echo around the room, falling on deaf ears. We found this topo following us on the way to the helicopter pad from the gala. Daniele clocked onto him and after shooting a text to Massimo, we diverted and collared him in a dead end near a deserted warehouse. It didn’t take long for him to start begging for his life, and now, as I stand behind Aldo with Massimo beside me, his whining is starting to grate on my nerves.

Not long ago, Aurora was in this room and far more accepting of her fate than the coward before us. We haven’t even started yet and the stench of urine permeates the air.

I shrug out of my jacket, handing it to Aldo as I slide past him. Meticulously, I roll up the sleeves of my shirt, circling the guy—Giorgio—as he sits, bound to the chair. He was very forthcoming with the fact that he’s a nobody from a rival family. Still, everybody knows something; it’s just going to be a case of figuring out if he has anything of significance.

Wide, watery eyes meet mine when he pleads, “Please, Mr. Bianchi, I have a family. I’m not who you think I am.”

Walking to stand in front of him, I hold my hand out to the side expectantly. Aldo places a pair of pliers into my palm. I keep my face neutral, tilting my head to the side as I look down at him and ask, “So, you do not work for Elio Morretti?”

Elio is the head of a rival family. Sometimes, as Massimo’s father did with Elio’s, we can reach an agreement to keep the peace. When each man sticks to his business, we can save ourselves a lot of hassle, but rumor has it Elio is spiraling. Word was sent last night from Sicily that Elio had taken out the head of a family on the West Coast without a care for the consequences. He’s moved himself to the top of our suspect list. It would make sense that he’d be working with Francesco. After all, before Elio’s father passed, Francesco was the go-between for the families.

Giorgio’s eyes dart around the room to Massimo and Aldo. Nobody will save you. When his focus returns to me, he finally stutters, “Well, I mean…yes. I do, but I don’t know anything. I just do as I’m told and keep my head down. I’m barely a blip on his radar.”

Moving to stand behind him, I keep my voice steady when I say, “The thing is, Giorgio, I’m the head of a family, I know as well as anyone that a man of your position knows more than you’re letting on.”

He seems to consider what I’ve said for a moment, the tremors still wracking his body. “I swear. I don’t know anything and even if I did, if I told you, I’m a dead man.”

Exhaling heavily, I reply, “The problem is, you’re a dead man either way. You have a choice. Either you tell me what you know and I’ll make it quick and painless. Or you don’t and you’ll wish you had.”

Holding onto his nose, I force his head back, stuffing the pliers into his mouth. Giorgio thrashes around as much as his bindings will allow. The chair moves under his weight, the metal scraping on the concrete floor. A few solid yanks, and I pull the pliers out, his molar held in the clamps. A mix of blood and saliva drips from it as I drop it into the metal tray Aldo holds out, ringing out a satisfying tinkle as it hits the base.

Giorgio wails, blood running down his chin, mingling with the tears as he begs, “Please. I don’t know anything about Elio’s operations.”

Ignoring him, I roll my neck and bend to look him in the eyes. “Did you know, the average human has thirty-two teeth? Some of them won’t be as easy to pull as that one, Giorgio. In fact, I had a guy in your position once, the tooth had grown into the jaw bone and he kept passing out from the pain. Of course, we’d stop and wait for him to wake up because it’s no fun when you don’t feel every yank and twist. Unfortunately for him, it did mean that the torture went on for days instead of hours.”

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