Page 1 of His Little Spitfire

1

Urzo

The moment she came crashing into my home, curses and threats flying from her lips, I knew she was going to be a problem. Down to where she was going to be the cause of every migraine.

Eliza Parada. Sister of Rocco Parada. The man who has been giving my family one hell of a hard time the last few years. From selling to our clients to killing our men and stealing both our products and our guns.

She came to rescue her sister from my brother. For whatever reason, Santino claimed the woman as his own. I don’t get it.

All my life, Santino has been cold-hearted and ruthless. One special woman comes into his life, and now he’s trying his best to do whatever he can to keep her on our side without a war brewing.

Now I’m involved, given an order I’m expected to follow. Even if it goes against everything I know, I have to follow along because it’s what helps my family.

So, I’m going to marry Eliza Parada. She’ll become a Bertelli, and Rocco can’t marry her off to strengthen his own forces. That’s my brother’s big plan.An arranged marriage.

I’ll sign a document, that’s not impossible. Santino wants me to wear a ring? I can ignore a bland band. To make my brother happy, I’ll become the husband to our enemy. Having her as my wife by title isn’t the problem here.

If I don’t start getting some kind of patience here, I’m going to end up killing this woman with my bare hands.

We’re approaching the decision with contrasting attitudes. With a door separating us, her shrills and curses make my temple pulsate. Once she started yelling, she hasn’tstopped.

Every second that passes, I feel like I’m growing crazier.

As the thought of sewing her mouth shut crossed my mind, I’m distracted by the sudden sound of wood splitting with a heavy thump against my back, accompanied by a pained curse.

Eliza isn’t taking the news too well, either. She’s a fighter, kicking the door separating us. Like my patience, it’s becoming thinner and thinner with every time she hits it. I’d hoped some time to herself would’ve calmed her down by now.

“I will not marry you, you sonofabitch!” Through the closed door, her words come through crystal clear, leaving no room for misunderstanding. She promises my death, one that will be painful and slow.

My arms cross tighter against my chest, my brows furrow lower with a frustrated sigh. Normally, I’ve got better control over myself. Hell, I’ve mastered a poker face. Something about this woman completely unravels everything I’ve worked towards.

Is it the heat behind her dark gaze and the lack of fear that makes me feel this way? Even more impressive, she’s not afraid to swing on those who can easily snap her neck. If it weren’t for her sister, Santino would’ve broken her wrists for landing a punch against his jaw. A lucky swing, I’m sure.

Another thump brings a growl from the pit of my chest. Turning around, I unlock the door and shove it open before she can do even more damage. At this point, the door is going to need to be replaced.

The woman stumbles back in surprise as I appear. Going as far as falling onto her ass, she glares up at me with a scowl.

This room serves as one of the extras used by guests who aren’t to be fully trusted. So, a broken lamp and window aren’t much to worry about, either. Even on the second floor, she can’t do much. However, I know whoever is going to have to clean up this room will not be too pleased. She’s even torn the paintings off of the wall, her destruction a result of her rage..

“Hoped to calm you down a little before letting you settle down.” Thirty minutes of solitude didn’t seem to do much. “Guess I wasted both of our time.”

Just as I take a step toward her, she’s smart enough to look around for some kind of weapon. Running isn’t an option, not unless she wants to get caught that much easier. If she wants to get the upper hand, then she’ll need something sharp. Something that can draw blood.

She spots a shard of the broken lamp as quickly as I do. There’s a half of a second of pure silence before she launches her body toward it. At the same time, I move toward her.

My hand finds her ankle, and I touch skin that is smooth and warm. As soon as I’ve got a grip, I easily yank her back. However, I’m not as quick as she is.

Gripping a different shard instead, Eliza swings her hand and almost makes contact with my jaw with it, attempting to extend the scar already engraved against my lips.

Growling, my other hand catches her wrist when she tries to cut me again.

Given our breathing, it feels more like we’ve run a marathon than fought over a piece of ceramic.

Instead of snapping her wrist, the easier thing to do, I’m thumping it against the space of the carpet above her head hard enough to make her release the piece, allowing it to bounce away. Releasing her ankle, I’m quick to do the same with the other wrist before pressing my knee against her hip to keep her from thrashing.

“Stop!” Growling, heat scorches my throat as I bark the order. My lungs burn as each breath comes out heavier than the last. “Enough.”

The frustrations this woman brings me are endless. Enough to make me roar out my anger to release even a hint of the pressure that is leaving me feeling suffocating.

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