Page 28 of The Don

Tommaso nods excitedly.

“But first, I need to see the package.” Those words taste like dirt on my tongue.

* * *

“Figlio di putana!” Flavia spits out as soon as I descend into the cellar followed by a steady stream of curses against me, generations of my family, and God for making me.

When I sent her here, I told Alfonso to make sure she was comfortable, but not terribly so. I wish I hadn’t been so charitable.

The cellar is spacious enough to fit a small metal cot in one corner, a small dresser, and then a toilet in another. There’s no privacy, and the room is at least a few degrees cooler than the modern, renovated, spacious house Tommaso led me through. It’s certainly well below her standards, but as prisons go, Flavia deserves worse.

I could waste my time wondering why I’d been so lenient, but it was Shae. It was always Shae.

I only have so much charity left.

I stop at the bottom of the steps and stare at her while she flings all manner of curses at me; none of them even touch me because I hate her. Also, she’s shackled to the bed by her left ankle, and without all the expensive skincare and trips to her plastic surgeon, she looks like herself, and I know she hates that. Her clothes are clean but cheap. No makeup. No money. No influence. No way out of here unless I change my mind.

Knowing that she is completely at my mercy brings a smile to my face, so I stand at the foot of the stairs and let her curse me all she wants.

Federico moves around me into the room to place a chair for me to sit. “Padrino,” he says formally. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No, I think my wife and I should catch up alone. Don’t you agree?” I aim that question at her.

She narrows her eyes to menacing slits and finally shuts the fuck up.

“We’ll be at the top of the stairs,” he says.

I nod and walk toward her as Federico leaves, but then I stop and call him back. “Give me one of your guns,” I say, extending my hand.

He nods and presses a pistol into my palm. It’s heavy. A little old-fashioned. Very effective. Giulio prepared him well.

I wait until Federico’s steps have stopped echoing across the room before walking to the chair, picking it up by the back with one hand and bringing it much closer to Flavia.

“No need to stand,” I tease because I cannot help the pleasure it gives me to see her in these circumstances.

She seethes as I sit and cross my legs. I don’t rush, even though I refuse to spend any more time away from Shae than is strictly necessary.

I hold the gun casually in my right hand. Try as she might, Flavia’s gaze keeps flitting to it, telegraphing her fear without meaning to.

Eventually, the familiarity of dim lighting and the heavy weight of a gun in my hand hit me, and I smile. “We’ve been here before,” I announce with glee.

“What are you talking about?” she curses. “I would have rather died than step foot on this backward island.”

That pulls a soft chuckle out of me. I’ve known her for over twenty years, and finally, Flavia has made me laugh. There’s a first time for everything.

She spits on the floor at my feet. Or she tries to. I imagine she’s far too dehydrated to spare the moisture.

“I meant we’ve been in this predicament before,” I clarify. “When I first discovered how treacherous you can be.”

“As if you’re any better.”

I shrug at the truth of her words. “I would never lie about something so petty. I understand if you cannot say the same.”

She rolls her eyes and looks away briefly before turning back. Her voice is as venomous as ever. “You won’t kill me.”

“No?” I ask in legitimate shock. I lean forward and lift my eyebrows. “And what makes you think that?” I’ve never been more interested in anything she has to say in all the years I’ve known her.

“You need me.”

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