Page 8 of Revenge & Ruin

“Someone who didn’t want to miss the party of the year,” I reply, channeling all my frustration into the way I’m speaking in order to keep my words steady.

He smirks. “There are two ways this is going to go. You can either tell me who you are, or I’m going to take that earpiece of yours and leave you to Mia while I trace the connection back to whoever sent you.”

In my periphery, I can see Mia twirling her knife expertly over her fingers.

Teo tips my head back to examine the scratch along my neck. “Although it seems she might have already jumped the gun.”

A calloused finger swipes along the tender graze, and I do my best not to flinch.

“I would hate for her to cut up your pretty little neck.”

I try to ignore how his words make my mouth water and focus on a plan. My pick-up should be here by now. Leon will be looking for me. I just need to buy him some time.

“I’d never say no to a bit of knife play,” I flirt right back. A part of me violently protests against it, but it’s easier to do than I had thought it would be.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

His eyes don’t leave my face as he holds his hand out to the side. Mia only hesitates for a beat before handing over her knife.

I raise an eyebrow at him as the blade settles once more against my neck. “Is this how you like your women? On their knees and at your disposal?”

“As a matter of fact…”

“Teo.”

His eyes tear away from mine to regard Dante.

“An unknown vehicle has approached the front of the hotel. Gray Lamborghini Aventador.”

“Gun it down.”

“No!” My protest erupts from my mouth before I can stop it.

Teo gives me a curious look. “No?”

“Do it, Dante,” Mia encourages anyway.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Please,” desperation floods my words.

It’s Teo’s turn to raise his eyebrow at me, waiting expectantly.

I swallow hard.

“My name is Isabella Natali. I’m here to secure an alliance between the Prince’s Hand and the Guild.”

3

TEO

I’m fairly certain I don’t breathe for about two minutes.

Isabella Natali. IsabellafuckingNatali.

The daughter of my sworn enemy, on her knees before me and requesting my alliance.

Her dark eyes—deep chocolate, my mind unhelpfully supplies—stare up at me earnestly. Her perfectly curled hair drapes over her bare shoulders in a cascade of shimmering gold. Her tight, maroon dress accentuates her chest in the most distracting way.

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