Page 2 of Sinister Intentions

Now, this made me really angry. “Then leave me the fuck alone. I’m just a damn pawn in whatever stupid game of chess you’re playing, aren’t I?”

He apparently didn’t deem me important enough even to grace me with an answer. Instead, he stepped back and fixed his cufflinks as if nothing had happened.

He underestimated me, which was always good.

Right? Right.

But then, why did it annoy me so much?

I’d grown up being dismissed as the little one my whole life. Nobody ever cared about what I wanted or what I could do. Why was this different?

Why was he different?

Or was it because I was different?

Ever since the kidnapping, I was done being sweet little Jemma. I was done being weak. Done believing everything would work out if I just went with the flow.

I took a step forward until I was again nose-to-nose with Salvini. “If you don’t back off, I’ll blow your whole fucking chessboard out of this universe.”

He should’ve been amused, should’ve petted my head, or laughed in my face. But instead, he stared at me, his expression cryptic, his eyes clear and pensive.

And then he took my chin between his fingers and squeezed until it hurt. “You stop your antics and get in line, or else…”

He stared at my lips, then back into my eyes. And instead of whatever I thought he’d do, he kept staring at me.

My heart suddenly galloped in my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. And I did what every half-sane woman who had trouble getting enough oxygen to her brain would do and what I should’ve done instead of confronting him head-on.

I slipped beneath his arm and walked as controlled as I could out of the library and straight into my father’s office.

CHAPTER TWO

Iglared at my father, sitting behind his desk as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

I clenched my fists. “You’re seriously going through with this harebrained arranged-marriage thing, Dad?”

The words tumbled out in a furious rush before my throat closed up, but I ignored all the emotions threatening to burst out. We’d had this discussion multiple times. I’d cried, I’d begged, and it changed nothing. By now, the only feeling left in me was anger fueled even more by the asshole that was Vincenzo Salvini back in my library.

And it was safer to concentrate on how fucking furious I was anyway and not on how Salvini managed to make me breathless and piss me off at the exact same time. “Why are you kissing Vincenzo Salvini’s ass, of all people? I’ve never heard a single good thing about ‘those Italian bastards’ from you, and now you’re seriously going through with marrying me off to one of them?”

My father’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing at my outburst. “Mind your tone, Jemma. You were there; you know why I couldn’t say no.”

Frustration welled up inside me like a tidal wave. I was there when my cousin Fee jumped out of a window to escape after my uncle tried to force her to marry some Russian mobster.

Thank God her very own Italian Mafia hero came to the rescue—well, more like to a Mexican standoff. Sadly, he took along the bastard who started this farce. “I never expected you to just hand me over like some sort of bargaining chip!”

Dad slammed his hand on the desk, making me flinch. “Enough! I couldn’t just let them kill your uncle now, could I?” His voice boomed through the wood-paneled office, and the very walls seemed to tremble…as did I.

It wasn’t often I got to see his ruthless side—the side that made him one of the most feared and revered men in the Boston Irish mob, who had the reputation to be mean as a snake and without mercy. That man, that version of him…he’d rarely shown it to me and my sisters.

On the contrary.

I couldn’t have wished for a better father or a more loving environment. He’d always given his best, especially after Mom’s death despite struggling while bringing up three girls all on his own. That was why his decision, or agreement to that arranged marriage, felt like even more of a betrayal. He’d always protected us; why would he feed me to the wolves now?

I stared at him from across the room. I’d acted out of character these last couple of months, I knew I did. But coming back home after having been kidnapped in Italy, I just wasn’t the same.Nothing was the same. It was as if this nagging sensation I’d had almost my whole life was proved true once more.

Was that what set my father on edge? And led to him doing this?

And he didn’t even know about the hacking—because if he’d known, if he knew how far I’d taken my support for the emergency shelter I’d volunteered for, he would probably take all my digital devices, lock me in my room, and never let me out again.

---