Page 33 of Savage Enemy

He opened his eyes but seemed to stare right through me. His pupils were huge. Maybe he was on something.

“I don’t mind the pain, never have. It grounds me.”

Santo shut his eyes, letting Marco stitch him up without complaint.

Once again, I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded and did whatever Marco told me to do.

The limo’s smooth roll came to a stop.

We’d arrived at a private airstrip.

Saul got out of the car first and headed straight to the plane waiting for us while shouting into his phone in a mix of broken Italian and bad English.

He probably thought it made him seem more Italian, less like a third-generation American. It didn’t.

As I got out of the car, Aris gripped the back of my neck.

“Don’t even think about doing anything stupid, you traitorous cunt,” he sneered.

“You have me, Aris,” I shot back. “You know where my fiancé and my son live. So just where the fuck would I go?”

“You weren’t even loyal to this family, and now you expect me to believe you would be loyal to that little bastard and the low-level New York asshole who knocked you up?”

Roiling heat seethed through my veins.

I sucked in a long, deep breath,

No, I wouldn’t take the bait. My twin wanted a reaction—any excuse to do God only knew what to me.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Without saying a word, I let him march me to the plane and toss me into one of the leather seats.

But before Aris could get his ass into the seat next to me, Marco pushed him aside and sat there instead.

Marco raised a single brow, waiting for me to say something.

I dug my nails into my thighs, working up the nerve to ask the only thing that mattered to me, praying he wouldn’t lie.

“Is my son really safe?”

“He is… if you do what you’re told. Taking his life isn’t worth the risk of violating the treaty again.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

Marco looked over his shoulder to check on the others.

I did the same while taking in the small but luxurious jet. Losing me hadn’t put my family into any dire financial straits.

Santo had kicked back on the ivory leather couch, and Aris took chair at the rear of the cabin, near the closed door that filtered Saul’s continued shouting.

Satisfied, Marco sank into his chair.

“We won’t go after your child unless you give us reason to. We’re not claiming him as a Moscatelli, and we have no real issue with Vignali. Don’t cause problems, and it stays that way.”

A flicker of relief washed over me.

“And what if I do cause a problem?”

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