Page 6 of Scarlet Angel

I sip my drink, studying him over the rim.

He doesn’t shy away from my blatant perusal. No, he swivels on the stool, opening his chest to me.

It’s no secret that criminal organizations have been expanding throughout Europe. It’s not a stretch to believe they’d have authorities in their pocket, even in England, to provide cover.

He rubs the side of his neck, digging his fingers into the muscle that binds to his shoulders and releases a guttural, throaty noise. He scans the room and leans closer. “You’re correct. It wasn’t an accident.”

I knew it!

“You didn’t expect the interception?” Yes, I’m coming back to placing their deaths at his feet. As Leo’s boss, he should’ve protected them. I may not agree with the mafia traditions, but I understand protocol.

The tables are filling up with patrons, yet we’re alone at the bar for the moment. The low hum of unidentifiable conversation lends a dubious sense of privacy.

“Do you want revenge?” His voice is low and deep, and the rumble delivers chills. “Because I do.”

Oxygen leaves my lungs. I force myself to swallow and process his words. I want nothing more than to see every single one of those hateful freaks die a torturous death, but…how does the titan fit in?

“Help me understand. How do the Grigi work with your organization? It’s called the syndicate, right?”

“First, there is no syndicate.”

I shift back on my stool, putting space between us. He’s lying to me.

“The first rule of the syndicate is there is no syndicate.” His dark eyes sparkle with mirth. He’s playing.

“Fight Club? I might be Italian, but I’ve seen the movie.”

A maddening smirk flashes across his face. This is not a humorous situation. His lips flatline once again, and all evidence of humor evaporates.

“If such an organization existed, the Grigi would be one of many that exist under its protection.”

“You protect the monsters?” My gut churns with wariness. I can’t trust this man. I lift my clutch to leave.

My gaze falls to a suited man in the corner. His back is to the corner. He’s angled to observe, and he’s far too obvious. My skin chills.

Is he here for me? Would they break protocol?

“No.” Mr. Ivanov reaches for my wrist, and my gaze cuts to the point of contact and the heat penetrating my chilled skin.

“Do not touch me.”

Wisely, he obeys. The sensation of his touch remains after he lifts his fingers, and I stare at the tingling area.

“I want you to help me take them down.” His measured words are both preposterous and promising.

I glance over my shoulder, but the suited man is gone. To the restroom, or for good? Am I being paranoid?

The ice clinks against Mr. Ivanov’s glass, bringing me back to the moment and his claim.

In a hushed voice, I ask, “Did you not just say that they’re protected? By your organization?”

He can deny the syndicate all he wants, but we both know it exists. And he’s a member, if not the leader. Is he looking to trick me?

“They targeted someone I love.”

“Leo?”

He chuckles and swirls his drink. I raise an eyebrow. My patience is nonexistent. His sexuality is not a concern of mine. He’s teasing, but I’m not in the mood. I want to learn his purpose. And if he won’t be honest with me, then I’d rather be alone.

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