Page 51 of Sinister Intentions

“Freeze,” he said and raised a single eyebrow. “You’re not gonna get out of this so easily.”

I glared at him but sat back down. Gonna get out of it easily—was he kidding me? “If you hadn’t staged this ‘kidnapping’”—I made some air quotes, which seemed to annoy him because his jaw tightened, which gave me a weird sense of satisfaction—“we wouldn’t have to talk at all.”

“If you hadn’t followed me around like a class A stalker, I wouldn’t have had to kidnap you.”

I leaned forward. “If you would just let go of that stupid idea of an arranged marriage, I wouldn’t have followed you.”

He mirrored my move. “If you just knew your fucking place, woman, I wouldn’t even know your name.”

And wasn’t that the crux of it all? His and my father’s old-fashioned beliefs of what I should do and what my place in this world was?

I stared at him, and he stared back at me.

Picca reacted to the tension in the room and jumped down from my lap, and hid under the table.

Smart dog. “What exactly, according to the great Vince Salvini, would be my fucking place?” I said, my voice dangerously low while I was barely holding in the anger.

His eyes turned cold, and he flattened his lips. “Being a good daughter and not doing what you’ve been doing would be a good start.”

“Sucks for you to have been born in the wrong era, then,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m all for empowerment and self-determination, but you clearly need someone to tell you what not to do.”

“And you appointed yourself to do the job? Well, again, I’m really sorry to disappoint you, but you should’ve just drowned me then because I’m old enough to do”—I slowed my speechto the point of articulating as if he had to read it from my lips—“whatever the fuck I want to.”

He threw his hands up in a sort of “I give up” gesture. “I wasn’t trying to drown you. Would it have been better if I’d slapped you? Because, I honestly contemplated it just to snap you out of your panic.”

I glared at him.

He sighed. “I did what I did because you were so far gone…” He let his voice trail off.

I deepened my glare. “None of this would’ve been necessary if you hadn’t kidna?—”

“I know, I know.” He sighed again, then got up, rounded the table, and pulled me up, as well. “Let’s go; Picca needs her walk. You can lay into me on the go.”

The instant his fingers wrapped around my arm, sparks of electricity jolted through me. I yanked free from his grasp, my heart pounding with a strange, unsettling mixture of awareness and…something else I didn’t quite want to identify.

“Do not touch me ever again,” I spat, glaring daggers at him.

Vince’s eyes darkened like the sky with an approaching storm, but he slowly released his grip on me without protest. For a few tense moments, we simply stared each other down in a silent battle of wills.

He broke the silence first, nodding toward the coffee table. “You shouldn’t forget your ball cap.” His voice was low, controlled, giving nothing away.

I followed his gaze to where my wig lay beside the cap.

He hadn’t asked about it. Not yet, at least.

He hadn’t outright asked about the hacking either. I felt a strange sense of intrigue spark within me at his restraint. Was he not sure it had been me—was that why he never outright said it?

Picca emerged from her hiding spot under the table, scampering over to Vince and pawing at his pant leg. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he crouched down, suddenly looking more approachable, almost…playful.

Holy hell. I couldn’t, really. How did this man go from cold, to angry, to level-headed and playful in milliseconds?

“You want to go for a walk, Piccolina?” he asked, his voice taking on an unexpectedly gentle tone as he scratched behind Picca’s ears.

The pup danced excitedly around his feet, barked, then jumped into his arms.

Vince chuckled, and for a moment, I found myself utterly transfixed by this softer side of him. It was a stark contrast to the dark, dangerous, intense man I’d faced just moments ago.

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