Page 1 of Sinister Intentions

CHAPTER ONE

Ilounged on the couch in the library of our Boston townhouse, my mind only half on my chat with my cousin Fee while the other half was occupied with trying very hard not to freak out.

I side-eyed my computer, barely hidden behind the books on one of the shelves, whiletheVincenzo Salvini—infamous dark hero of New York’s Italian Mafia, and shadow king of the Salvini family—was in my home, in my father’s office, doing nothing less than finalizing the deal of my arranged marriage with his brother, Matteo.

The mere thought sent me down a path of dark, murderous visions of what I wanted to do to him.

And then, as if I’d evoked him by sheer thought, Salvini, the Anti-Christ himself, appeared in the doorway.

Our gazes met, and I catapulted out of my sitting position and was across the room in a flash, intending to block his entrance. He could not come anywhere near my computer. “You,” I said as I straightened to as tall as I could make myself and faced him,well more like his chest. Damn, where were my platform heels when I needed them?

I stopped just shy of touching him. Him. Vincenzo Salvini, conceited asshole, Devil incarnate. Personal nemesis and current nightmare all rolled into one. He looked like the evil prince out of every fairy tale. And my platform heels wouldn’t have been of much use since Salvini was at least 6’5” tall, dark, dangerous, and equally cocky as he was tall.

“Me, what?” he said with his irritatingly gravelly voice.

Was he a chain smoker or what?

A muscle in his cheek jumped.

Wait, was he trying to hide a laugh? Was all of this a joke to him?

Probably, because why else would you, in this day and age, come up with the stupid idea of an arranged marriage? He was doing this for his own entertainment.

I narrowed my eyes.

Matteo Salvini—my husband-to-be…not—the other victim in Salvini’s hideous plot, came closer.

He gave me an eye roll, showing his disdain for this whole ridiculous situation, but then he sidestepped us.

Not that I had time to focus on him. He was not the problem.

In a move that was equally smooth and practiced, Vince walked right into me and somehow maneuvered us to the left.

My moving back was more a reflex than anything else. But the left side of his mouth lifted slightly.

I glared at him while he held my gaze.

His clear brown eyes had golden flecks—and the fact that I could see them told me he was entirely too close. And as if my body suddenly came to the same decision, a shiver ran down my spine. Being a badass online was something else entirely than being faced with this beast of a man towering over me.

He got even closer, and for a very quick, very insane moment, I thought he would kiss me.

But right before our lips touched, he turned his head and whispered in my ear, “Get a grip, girl. This kind of behavior isn’t becoming of a Salvini.”

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. The audacity this asshole had. And then my brain kicked in, and I delivered the uppercut of the century. My boxing trainer would’ve been mighty proud if he could see what I still remembered despite quitting boxing after a month.

I froze while white-hot pain shot from my knuckles up my arm. Maybe not.

Salvini’s head didn’t even properly snap back while I ‘broke’ my knuckles on his jaw. And the half-smirk. Not even that was gone.

“Do you really think I give a single fuck about what is or isn’t becoming”—I used air quotes—which hurt—but the satisfaction of his lowered brows was magnificent—“of a Salvini? Did you really think I’d just get in line and agree to your deranged fixation on an arranged marriage?”

He stared at me; his dark eyes focused on me like laser beams. “Yes, you will.” There was a menacing undertone in his voice.

One that made me suddenly realize how determined he was. Did he know?Did he know I’d joined a group of hackers and we’d hacked the most notorious Mafia family’s online gambling site and stole a couple hundred K from them?

But how could he? I’d taken a deep dive into that world, and before I even knew what was happening, they’d asked me what I wanted to do with my cut. It seemed like a game…until it wasn’t. But he couldn’t know. Right? “What is it you want?”

His look turned calculating, almost as if he were measuring me up or contemplating whether I was worth anything. “Nothing you can give me.”

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