Page 7 of Dark Truths

“This is your office?”

“It is,” Dimitri confirms. “How very observant of you, Ms. DiAngelo.”

“You know who I am?” Of course he does. He’s said it three times already. It’s just now I’m paying better attention.

“Yes.” He holds his hand out expectantly, and I give him my arm.

I watch him examine the red mark, both of us silent while he does. His touch is gentle but confident. He grabs one of those ice packs you break and shake apart. He holds it to my wrist, the cold already activating and soothing the burn. “Keep this on until you get home.”

“But I’m not going home for a little while.” He raises a single brow in silent question. “My friends are here and I’m their designated driver tonight.” God, saying it aloud sounds even more lame.

“I’ll have them delivered home safe and sound.”

“But—”

“No buts, Gabriella.”

“But—”

Dimitri, still on his knees in front of me, suddenly leans forward, moving directly into my space. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, not from fear, but from lust. I swallow and his eyes flick down to my throat, catching the movement. When our eyes meet again, his blue reflect the same fire burning in me.?

What the hell is happening here? It has to be because of the show. Yes, that’s it. The show. It turned me on and now I’m horny and ready to jump the bones of the first handsome man I find. That man just so happens to be Dimitri. A man my family is allies with when it comes to business, but also the last man my brothers care for. If I thought being in this club would start a war, I can only imagine what sleeping with Dimitri will do.

“Listen to me very carefully, Gabriella. I don’t know what you were hoping to find here tonight or why you’re even here to begin with. But you must never come here again. This is not the place for an innocent angel like you. Do you understand me?”

“Who says I’m an innocent angel?” I whisper, latching on to the only part I care about.

“Because I’m the devil, and even I was an angel once.”

4

Dimitri

It was never my intention to interfere, but to only watch from a distance. Having a DiAngelo in my club is nothing new. The brothers, Michael and Raphael, their cousin Dominic, and that walking Viking, Enzo, frequent the club. But never Gabriella, the youngest child and only daughter of Dante DiAngelo, the current head of the High Table and Italian mafia in the city.

Gabriella is a mafia princess by birth and, before I met her, I mistakenly assumed she was like Sophia, Sergei’s only child—a stubborn, stuck-up, spoiled rotten princess. I was wrong.

It’s my first official event as Sergei’s head Brigadier and I imagine my last. I’ve handed over the evidence I collected about the High Table members to Jacob, my FBI handler, and suspect to be home by the end of the month. The details on my extraction haven’t yet been finalized, but it’ll probably involve faking my death or something final like that. So for now, I’ll shake hands with the men responsible for the crime in Miamiand force a smile while I drink their ridiculously expensive champagne and dine on tiny little appetizers.

I study the list of items up for silent auction, the reason for tonight’s events, to help pass the time. To raise money for some foundation or another, which is mostly true, but it’s also a way to hide and move funds without suspicion. A common tactic that even politicians do, but because they’re not considered criminals, they get a mere slap on the wrist and a hefty fine instead of jail time. It’s all rather unfair when I look at it from an outside perspective. These people may be criminals, but they follow a code, a set of principles that, funnily enough, make them more trustworthy than the men and women you vote for. And it’s this set of rules that will demand my death if my identity is discovered.

Picking up a pen, I scribble my name and bid under a week’s stay at some lodge in the Alps. I’ll never use it if I win, but I have to keep up appearances.

“Are you really going to outbid me by one dollar?”

I turn to see a young woman standing behind me, and my first thought is that she’s stunning. Her brunette hair is styled in a perfectly done messy bun high on her head, with tendrils left down to frame her high cheekbones and expressive face. Her large hazel eyes seem to have been kissed by the sun with flecks of gold sparkling in their depths. The contrast is exotic and intoxicating. She has the kind of effortless beauty that can't be bought but is born with instead. Her silver dress is long, gathering in a small pool at her feet, adorned with gems and crystals that catch the light when she moves. And what a figure she cuts in it. Curves for days that I’d kill to sink my teeth into. An ample chest that fills out the top of her dress with a tease of cleavage. I’d love to see what she looks like walking away, but only if it includes me following after her. My second thought is,who is this angelic and sinful creature? She looks familiar, but I can’t place where I may have seen her.

“Because now I’m forced to bid once again.” Her voice is feminine but deeper than the usual high pitch of a woman’s and pulls me from my thoughts.

“My apologies, Miss?” My eyes flick to her left hand and don’t spy a ring.

“DiAngelo. Gabriella DiAngelo.” She holds her hand out. “And you are?”

Fucked. That's who.

This is Gabriella DiAngelo? The youngest child and daughter of Dante and Alice DiAngelo? The surveillance photos I’d seen did not do her justice in the slightest. She cleans up rather nicely when not dressed in scrubs. As I slip my hand into hers, I can’t help but notice how mine engulfs hers. “Dimitri Volkov. It’s nice to meet you.”

She cocks her head and studies me curiously, like I’m also not what she expected before she smiles and drops my hand. “You too.”

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