Page 78 of Irish Reign

“It is always business with you, my sweet Giovanna. If I had known how seriously you take your legal studies, I would have followed your career much more closely.”

I bristle at the lie. Russo tracked me in law school. He knew exactly where I lived and worked. The entire time I thought my new identity was secret, Russo was monitoring my every step. I only learned the truth after he murdered Eliza.

“Those are the documents?” I ask again.

He nods with all the confidence of the pope. I sit in the chair across from his desk and reach for the papers.

“Not so fast,” he says.

Caution slams into my brain like a meteor smacking the earth. This has all been too easy—Russo’s midnight summons, being waved through by the guard at the front gate, the summary patting down by the two East Falls men in the kitchen…

“I need to review them now,” I say. “We don’t have much time to fix things before Monday morn?—”

“Basta!” Russo barks.

I’m a trained lawyer. I’m devoted to my mission. I’m determined to get those documents before I leave this house. But a lifetime of terror crashes down on me at the command. My throat feels like it’s closing, and I freeze with my hand half-way to his desk.

“I told you before, Giovanna. My trust does not come lightly. I will see mysegnobefore you take those papers.”

My breath stutters in my lungs. The roof of my mouth goes numb. But very slowly, very carefully, I stand.

I don’t want to turn my back on Russo. I don’t trust him. But I recognize absolute command on the flat features of his face. His pupils are wide in the dim light. His dull eyes look like a snake’s. Once I get that picture in my head, I can’t budge it—especially when I realize I haven’t seen him blink since I came into the room.

I don’t have a choice.

I stand beside the chair. I face the door. I bite my lip and pull up the hem of my black knit top.

Russo laughs.

“That is not the view I paid for, Giovanna. Strip and show me yoursegno.”

“Go to hell,” I say, spinning back to look at him, because Antonio Russo hasn’t bought me. I’m not his whore. I’m not his wife. And I’ll never take my clothes off for him.

He moves faster than I thought possible, swooping toward a drawer in his desk. When he comes up, he’s holding a pistol. Its tight little mouth points directly at my chest.

“Strip and show me yoursegno,” he repeats. “Puttana.” There’s no emotion in his voice. He might as well be placing anorder in a restaurant. Instructing his barber. Commenting on a television show he wants to watch.

And standing in Russo’s study, I finally understand what Eliza learned so many years ago when she married the don. I know the truth my father mastered as Russo’s made man.

I have no options. I have no choice. If I want to get out of this room alive, I must do whatever Antonio Russo commands.

So I strip.

I step out of my shoes. I take off my black top. My matching jeans. My plain white bra and simple cotton briefs.

I face Russo, because I have to rebel that much. I fold each garment neatly, setting it on his desk next to the tax papers. My clothes look like an offering on an altar.

When I’m naked, I glare at him defiantly. His only response is to twirl his gun in the air, telling me to turn around.

I hate him. I hate his cruelty. I hate his certainty that I’ll comply.

But I do it. I turn around. I feel his eyes on mysegno.My back burns as if the tattoo ink has turned to acid beneath the surface of my skin. I feel each line of the design like a separate battery cable to my heart.

I complete my turn and gaze straight into his reptilian eyes. “I need to review the documents now,” I say, as if I always intended to stand here nude.

That makes him smile. “Not yet, Giovanna,” he says. His lips look oiled in the dim light, slick with his spit. “I want you on your knees.” He uses the gun to point to the floor beside his desk.

“No,” I say, because that won’t be his last command. He wants me to suck his cock. He wants to rape me. He wants to destroy me, the way he ruined Eliza.

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