Page 41 of Sinister Intentions

He was way more crazy and ruthless than I’d given him credit for, but also…there were layers to him, depths, I wished I could unsee.

Because of the way he’d interacted with his friend…the way he’d behaved…like a completely different person.

And wasn’t that the most disturbing thing?

For a split second, I found myself desperately wanting to peel back Salvini’s layers to understand the complexities that made up this enigmatic and infuriating man.

But as quickly as that desire surfaced, I smothered it and forced myself to remember who he was—the head of a powerful crime family, a man willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted—a man who kidnapped me and then nearly drowned me.

I could not afford to let my guard down with him, not even for a second.

And also—WTF?

With a deep breath, I steadied myself, the cold air helped ground me in the present.

Whatever this moment of weakness had been right now, I would not give in to the inexplicable pull I felt towards him.

“Care to explain yourself?” I said, my voice rough while he moved both of us to the shallow end of the pool.

He stared down at me, his face unreadable. “No.”

I narrowed my eyes, then scoffed. As if I would just let it go because he didn’t want to talk. “What the fuck, Salvini? Is this some kind of sport for you? Kidnapping women? Scaring them half to death and then drowning them? Gives watersport a whole new meaning.”

“Shut up,” he growled while he carried me up the stairs, out of the water, and exposed us both to the crisp autumn air.

I started to shiver from the cold, a reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by him—by the way his eyes moved down to my chest before he lifted them again immediately.

Staring at my nipples? In a moment like this? Really?

What a dog.

And I sure as shit wouldn’t shut up just because he ordered me to. “Sorry if talking to me bothers you, but I’m in the mood for some answers, so you better start explaining…”

He lifted me a little higher, and for the first time, I realized how strong he must be because of the way he just handled the chair and me on it with such ease. “Well, sorry, Punk, but your answers will have to wait.”

I narrowed my eyes and held his gaze.

The moment expanded, a sizzling tension I couldn’t quite place buzzing between us.

Wasn’t this the main problem between us? Different opinions, different wants, different everything?

He ended the staring first, which I took as a win, and carried me across the deck.

I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The cold air nipped at my drenched skin; maybe my shivering had as much to do with the shock as it did with the temperature. “Where exactly are we?”

I stared at the towering skyscrapers looming in the distance to my right, their glittering windows reflecting the sunlight across from what could only be the Hudson River.

I turned my head and looked at my immediate surroundings. The at least slightly heated—judging by the clouds of evaporation—pool we’d just emerged from was surrounded by sleek, modern furnishings and lush greenery. Everywhere I looked, there were luxurious touches that screamed wealth and power.

“My apartment,” he said.

I turned my head to the other side and inhaled sharply. The opulent glass front of the penthouse we were heading toward truly took my breath away.

I blinked, then focused on the interior. Modern, open space with white walls and dark grey furnishings—this was clearly Vince’s domain—sleek but lavish.

Beautiful in its starkness.

Fitting the ruthless man. “The devil’s den,” I whispered. This was a side of Vince Salvini I’d never imagined seeing—not just the dangerous crime boss but the man who surrounded himself with modern beauty and comfort.

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