Page 72 of His Dark Vendetta

The Ferrari rounded the corner, a lightning bolt of red streaking up the driveway.

“Call it what you want”—the engine went silent, and Luca jumped out of the front seat—“but I’m not going to answer an ambiguous question just so you can twist my words to satisfy whatever case you’re trying to make.”

Luca’s face was all hard lines, the darkness of his eyes tinged rusty and focused on Agent Johnson. He marched up the walkway to where we stood on the front porch and wrapped his arm around my waist.

“Hey, baby,” he said.

I looked up in surprise.

He grabbed my nape and pressed a short, fierce kiss below my ear. My body zinged with adrenaline, shock, and desire. I gaped at him for a heartbeat before my brain snapped into action and reminded me of what was happening.

“Hey, baby,” I replied, trying to keep my cool despite how good those words tasted on my lips. And how good his lips felt on my neck. The heat that flared in Luca’s eyes made me shiver. I placed my palm flat against his chest on top of his tattoo.

“Was this asshole harassing you?”

“No. He was fishing. Like usual.” I glared at Agent Johnson. “Isn’t that right?”

Agent Johnson’s eyes snapped between us and landed on Luca. “Where were you last night between the hours of midnight and three a.m.?”

“Between my legs,” I said before Luca could answer. His pecs flexed beneath my hand. “And unless you need more details than that, I suggest you kindly fuck off.”

Agent Johnson refocused his smug contempt on me. “You sure about that?” he asked for the second time that afternoon.

He had something on Luca, or he was bluffing. But I didn’t think he was bluffing. No, Agent Johnson was the type of man so full of himself, he couldn’t help baiting us with a card better kept to his chest. He wanted us to know he had something. Idiot.

Luca and I needed to get our stories straight, which meant I needed to throw Agent Ego off guard and get him the hell off Luca’s porch.

“Three orgasms sure,” I said through a sultry smile and winked. I launched onto my toes and placed an open mouth kiss on Luca’s neck. “Isn’t that right, baby?” I purred into his ear, then nipped the lobe between my teeth.

Luca’s fingers dug into my hip, no doubt leaving another fingertip-shaped bruise, but he played along, hugging me close. “That’s right. And more tonight if you’re good.” He swatted me on the ass, and I yelped.

Agent Johnson cleared his throat and shifted his weight.

I nuzzled Luca’s neck and trailed my fingertips from his chest toward his waistband.

Agent Johnson looked everywhere but me and Luca.

“Get the fuck off my property,” Luca said.

He backed up, hands in the air, but with a thin smile that meant trouble. He strode down the path toward the driveway. “Don’t leave town, Mr. Moretti,” he called over his shoulder. “It wouldn’t be a good look going back to Italy now.” He pivoted and walked backward toward his sedan. “Not good at all.” His parting words were flat and matter-of-fact. He got into his car, as beige and ordinary as him, and drove out of the cul-de-sac.

“Come on,” Luca said and pulled me into the house.

“I need a drink,” I said and made a beeline for the kitchen.

He slammed and locked the door. “What did he ask? What did you say?”

“What the hell happened to Rocco?” For all my bravado, my hands shook when I reached for the upper cabinet.

“He had to get to The Dollhouse. I was almost home, so I told him to go.”

I grabbed a martini glass, set it on the counter, and opened the freezer.

Luca slammed his hand into the stainless steel, forcing it shut. “What did you say?” he asked in a tone that told me now was not the time for snark.

“Nothing. I mean, nothing more than what you heard. Same shit.” I narrowed my eyes and tugged on the door handle. He eased up, and I reached inside for the frosty bottle of vodka. “He used the usual tactics—open-ended questions, then super specific questions, but?—”

“Did you tell him anything?”

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