Page 14 of Unhinged Little Angel

The chill of air conditioning running at full blast and the smell of grilled peppers hit me as I step inside. A young woman wearing an apron and a t-shirt with a cartoonish alien face on it—you can’t say they aren’t committed to their theme—approaches us, sweeping her eyes over me skeptically. I suppose they don’t get many tourists wearing Brioni. Or maybe it’s my disheveled state that’s drawing her attention. Either way, she dismisses me after a fraction of a second, grabbing a pair of menus and leading us to a table with the promise to be back to take our order shortly.

Dante picks up his menu immediately, but too many hours spent staring at cacti and tumbleweeds has my patience wearing particularly thin. I reach across the table and push his menu down, ignoring the glare that earns me.

“Explain.”

“I know you’re used to barking orders at people and having them fall over themselves to obey, but has anyone ever told you that a little bit of kindness goes a long way?” That’s rich coming from the man I’ve watched break countless fingers, whose primary facial expression is a scowl.

“You kidnapped me, Angioletto,” I remind him flatly, doing my best to keep the growl out of my voice. He really is a brat, and whether he realizes what he’s doing or not, he’s trying his hardest to find my breaking point. Some part of him is dying to find out what combination of mouthiness and sour looks will earn him the spanking he’s desperate for. Or maybe that’s not what he’s craving. Maybe there’s a different kind of punishment he’d prefer, like hours of edging until he’s ready to adjust his attitude if I’ll just let him come.

Maybe my thoughts are written all over my face, or maybe he’s thinking something similar, something that makes him shift in his seat and has his cheeks darkening briefly. I’m almost curious enough about what could possibly make a stripper blush to forget my previous question.Almost.

“Fuck, okay,” he sighs. “It’s a long story and I don’t want to get into most of it, but basically, I…” He swallows hard and shifts in his seat again, drumming his fingers on the bright red plastic tabletop. “I’m in trouble. Someone’s threatening me, they broke into my apartment yesterday and left an envelope full of pictures of me.”

“What?” I roar. Forgetting that we’re hundreds of miles from Wildcliff and whoever would dare to come anywhere near my angel, I jump out of my seat. I’ll fucking kill them. Anyone who’s ever so much as had a negative thought about Dante is going to die a slow, painful death at my hands.

“Salvatore.” My name on Dante’s lips is the only thing that could break through the murderous fantasy. He stands up justenough to lean across the table, grab my tie, and haul me back into my seat. “Would you let me finish?”

“Yes, go on,” I grit between my teeth as I struggle for restraint. Maybe he knows who’s after him. That will make the task of finding the person and feeding them their own entrails slightly more expedient.

“This person, he’s a fucking coward. I don’t know who’s working with him, but they’re probably the same kind of spineless trash playing at being hard.” The rage burning in Dante’s eyes holds my attention like nothing else could. Does he realize his fingers are still wrapped around my tie? That he’s still leaning across the table towards me? “I could deal with this myself, but I decided it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to make myself too terrifying for him to touch.”

He finally sits back in his seat and lets go of my tie. I smooth it out and plant my elbows on the table, unhappy with the fresh space between us.

“And how do you plan to do that?” I think I can follow his logic, but I want to hear him say it. I want the words on his tongue so I can taste the remnants of them later when I lick between his lips for the first time.

“I think being married to a Moretti should do the trick.”

A hot shiver creeps up my spine and I smirk at him.

“That’s not much of a proposal, Angioletto. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

DANTE

I grind my teeth. I should have picked someone less irritating for this plan. My options were limited though. Alessio’s lack of seriousness would have probably caused me to shoot him, even I don’t have big enough balls to kidnap Big Daddy Moretti, and I don’t think wifing up a foot soldier would be intimidating enough to get Don to back the fuck off, so here we are.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to buy a ring or chill a bottle of champagne,” I deadpan.

Salvatore leans a little farther across the table, still grinning at me. “That’s alright, you can make it up to me later.”

I roll my eyes. “Make it up to you? Have you forgotten which one of us has the upper hand right now? You’re my hostage, and if I say we’re getting married, then we’re getting married.”

“We’re negotiating,” he says with that damn authority ringing in his tone again. The smoothness in the way he says it instantly reminds me exactly who I’m dealing with. He’s not the average slimeball thug I spend my nights leaving bloody.

“I have a gun,” I remind him.

His smirk widens and he sweeps his gaze over me. “Not on you. And I doubt even the most questionable quickie chapel in Los Vespar will perform a wedding with one of the participants being held at gunpoint.”

“Then I’ll shoot them too,” I mutter petulantly, hating that he’s right. I’m going to need him to actually agree to this.

He lets out a low, rumbling chuckle, and the fact that the sound makes my dick start to swell tempts me to kick him under the table. Bruising his shins probably isn’t the way to convince him to marry me though. Ugh, I liked him better when he was unconscious. Maybe I should just drug him again. Eventually he’ll have to be conscious enough to at least say ‘I do’ though, which leaves me with only one option: playing nice. Grr, maybe I could kick him just alittlefirst.

“Now, now, is that any way to look at the man you’re hoping to marry?” he taunts.

I drag my tongue along my bottom lip and shift in my seat, pulling in a slow, deep breath to keep myself from jumping across the table to strangle him.

“What do you want?” I ask through clenched teeth.

His eyes turn molten, and all the teasing melts out of his expression.

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