Page 5 of Sinister Intentions

“I’ll find you and kill you in your sleep,” I whispered when I passed by him, then broke free, and exited the room with my head held high.

I didn’t anticipate that Salvini would follow.

He slung his arm around my waist from behind and stopped me in my tracks, then shut the door to my father’s office and in the face of my father’s men, effectively shutting them in.

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m done talking to you.”

His hot breath hit the back of my neck, and I broke out in goose bumps when I realized just how close he was and how his massive body was basically wrapped around me.

And the most surprising thing? My body actually calmed down instead of going on high alert. What the hell?

“Tough luck since I’m not done talking to you. I don’t take too kindly to death threats. Usually”—he leaned even closer until his lips almost touched my ear—“I’m the one doing the threatening.”

“Well, sorry for cramping your style,” I said, my voice much more breathy than I liked. What was it about him that made my body not function properly?

“You’re much more of a nuisance than I thought you’d be, Jemma Donnelly,” he whispered, and his hot breath against my skin made me choke. Go figure. “And you really don’t know what you’re doing. Little girls who play with fire get burned.”

Okay, now that was enough. I grabbed his thumb and pulled it back; he immediately loosened his grip and moved his hand and body to accommodate the unnatural direction I’d pulled his thumb and groaned.

I let go and took the stairs up to my room faster than I ever had.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, I sucked in air and stood frozen to the spot. Killing Salvini wasn’t part of my plan. But I could always make a quick detour to NYC. And he definitely deserved a very slow, very painful death.

I exhaled. What the hell just happened?

Didn’t I decide a low profile would be best?

What was it about Vince Salvini getting too close, and verbally insulting me, that made me react with violence every time?

I shook my head. Well, throwing hands with one of the most dangerous Mafia bosses wasn’t exactly keeping a low profile—threatening to kill him wasn’t either.

There was a knock on the door—well, knock was putting it mildly; it was more like someone trying to destroy my door with his fist.

I ripped it open while, at the same time, he pushed—and somehow—even though I’d never been the clumsy type in all my life—my luck left me, and the door hit me right in the forehead.

“Ouch.”

“Shit.” Salvini pulled me aside, opened the door fully, and was suddenly again up close and personal.

Too close. Too personal.

He grabbed my neck, then pulled up his other hand, covered my forehead, and pressed against my skin. “You okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

His hand was dry and cool…and felt heavenly against my skin.

I stared at him, and his face was only inches from mine. Our eyes locked, and for the first time, he didn’t look angry or pissed off. Instead, there was a softness in his eyes, something in the way he really, really focused on me as if he wanted to make sure I was okay.

Again, my sudden heart palpitations were no joke, and a wave of heat flushed through me. I struggled against his grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He looked at his hand on my forehead, then back at me. He narrowed his brows, the expression that had been almost caring a second ago hardened. “Whatever is necessary,” he growled.

As if that made any sense. “Covering my forehead is neither necessary nor will it prevent bruising,” I muttered.

Suddenly, Salvini looked like he wanted to kill me again before he was grabbed from behind by Matteo, who looked exactly like I was feeling.

Confused, pissed, and very tense.

“Let her go,” Matteo barked, and Salvini immediately let go, his hands hovering in the air.

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