Page 17 of Coerced Kiss

Wrapping his fingers around my nape, he reels me in. The movement is gentle but firm. He’s letting me know who’s in charge and who makes the decisions.

“You’re a very ungrateful girl,” he says in a low voice. “Under different circumstances, I would’ve pulled you over my lap and taught you manners.”

I gasp as his meaning registers.

“Who knows?” he taunts, the heat I saw earlier burning like blue flames in his eyes. “If Dr. Wade gives us the green light, I may try it.”

My cheeks burn as I imagine him asking that beautiful and sophisticated doctor if spanking is safe during pregnancy.

“You’re sick,” I say, breathless with indignation.

Like earlier, my insult has no effect on him. He only smiles wider and drags me so close that my nipples brush over the hard expanse of his chest.

“Good night, Anya.” He leans down and brushes a whisper over my ear. “Sweet dreams.”

I strain hard enough in his hold to stumble when he lets go. He catches me, testing my balance before taking my hand.

I try to pull free, but he tightens his grip as he removes something from the pocket of his pants and presses it onto my palm.

My key.

Without another word, he walks to the entrance and lets himself out. I’m about to run to the door and lock it when a key scrapes on the other side. Stunned, I hover there for a second, not sure I heard right. A couples of beats pass before I walk on leaden feet to the door and press on the handle.

It’s locked.

In the ninety minutes between visiting the doctor and having a shower, Saverio not only got me a new phone and dinner. He also had a key for my apartment made for himself.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Saverio

The thought of my knife on Anya’s pregnant stomach still makes me sick as I leave her apartment building. I could’ve easily killed her as well as the life she carries. A flick of my wrist is all it would’ve taken, no more effort than driving a blade through butter. If I hadn’t decided her life was mine already, the fact that a baby is growing inside her would’ve stopped me. I don’t pause to examine my reasons too closely. I barrel down the street, checking that the man I summoned to watch her is in place.

He stands on the opposite side of the road, sheltered in an alcove from where he has a view on her street-facing windows. The blue lights of police cars flash from a block farther down. The sirens are quiet now. The forensics team will already be crawling over the crime scene. They won’t find prints. They may however be lucky enough to pick up a hair or a flake of skin. Who knows?

The situation isn’t ideal. If Anya didn’t interrupt us, Giorgio and I would’ve dumped the body and burned the blood awaywith acid. But it is what it is. We’ll just have to deal with any problems that arise. That’s what I’m good at. Solving problems. Removing obstacles. In the most literal sense.

I nod at the man who returns my unspoken message with a tilt of his head. While Anya got dressed, I ordered the new phone and the equipment. Kevin, my driver, brought everything when he met us here to drive us to the doctor. At that hour, the police were focused on the murder scene. I wasn’t worried about being seen when I ushered her downstairs and into my car.

I told Kevin to go to the restaurant and bring me the full menu after I’d shut Anya in the back of the car when we left Nicole’s consultation room. My newfound treasure needed the energy. I had enough time to install the cameras and the microphones in her apartment while she was in the shower. It’s the only reason I insisted she got cleaned up. Stealing more hours of her sleep wasn’t good for her or the baby, but I couldn’t take the risk of not having eyes and ears on her.

As instructed, Kevin waits in a side street. I get into the car and tell him where to go. The city never sleeps, and even at this hour, it takes us too long to get to Park Slope in Brooklyn.

The Victorian mansion that dates from the late 1800’s overlooks Prospect Park. Giorgio opens the door himself. He glances over my shoulder at the street before letting me in. We walk through the entrance into the hallway where family photos take up every inch of wall space. The house looks the same as sixteen years ago. Giorgio didn’t change a thing when his father moved to his modern penthouse on Central Park. I’m both glad and apprehensive.

At the end of the long corridor, we enter the study. The only light comes from a stained-glass desk lamp. The familiar whiff of brandy and cigars that hangs in the air brings back a rush of memories, memories of times that used to be pleasant but quickly turned sour.

I embrace that scent, dragging it with a deep breath into my lungs. I own the pain because it makes me stronger. Ignoring it only renders you weaker. It lures you into the comfort of denial. Donning that pain like a battle harness, I fill my chest with the nostalgic air until my ribcage hurts. I don’t shy away from the truth. I acknowledge my faults and my defects. Maybe I’m using that persistent ache that beats under my breastbone to punish myself for those flaws. So what if it’s like a flogger in my hand? I deserve every lash that cuts into my soul. I’m the one at fault. I’m the failure.

The plush carpet absorbs my steps. My instinct is finely tuned to danger. I sense his presence before I spot the black shape of a man in front of the dark window.

Luigi.

I don’t need the stocky build and crooked stance to recognize Giorgio’s father. The menace that hangs around him like a shroud and poisons the oxygen in the room is enough. After years of quietly watching and listening, I know him better than he knows himself. I learned to pay attention when it matters, and this counts in my favor, because Luigi is powerful enough to no longer have to pay attention. He has no idea how well I’ve got him figured out. Even though he has his back turned to us, I know exactly in which mood he is. He wants to chop off a few heads. He probably will. It always makes him feel better. Only, he can’t chop off mine. He may hate it, but he needs me. I’m both the muscle and the brain that keeps his business invincible. Without me, Giorgio won’t last a day.

Giorgio shuts the door.

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