Page 39 of Ruthless King
“Come after me again, and I won’t show the same restraint. Believe whatever lies your master fed you about me, but understand one thing,tigre. I am stillIl Mostro. Attack me all you want, but if you ever insult the memory of my family again? I will kill you. With my bare hands, I will kill you. Slowly. Sloppily. I’ll have you praying to the devil himself for mercy before I’m through.”
He leaves, shutting off the light as he goes.
12
DON
By the time Javier and I reach the villa, it’s mid-morning, and Vin has the nerve to come skipping down the main staircase as I stagger into the foyer.
“You look like shit,” he declares while looking sufficiently bright-eyed and fucking bushy-tailed. “Where is your little friend?” He cranes his neck to peer beyond me, as if expecting the blond to come in through the front door.
I push past him in search of a couch to lie on, ignoring the question.
Where is the puzzling littletigre? Hopefully, on her way back to her master, sufficiently convinced to leave me in peace.
Peace…
That’s the name I’ve given to this hollowed state of being. Peace.Peace.I scoff out loud, feeling my upper lip quirk as I slump onto a leather chaise in the drawing room. As a relatively new property, it’s sparsely furnished with whatever the previous owners left behind.
“Looks like someone didn’t get any sleep last night,” Vin remarks from the doorway. I can practically hear his smirk. But, like always, he’s too kind-hearted for his own good. Already, he’s crossing to the large windows, drawing the curtains shut to block out the sunlight. “I wouldn’t either,” he adds from over his shoulder. “Because of sex, hopefully. Or the pain—there’s blood on your shirt, Don, and your cheek is scratched. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, smartass,” I grumble, letting my eyes shut. Behind them is a wealth of misery, waiting to follow me into my dreams. Safiya, her face blurred by years of neglect, her memory faded and worn. And an older, beautiful blond, her dark eyes taunting me with the threat of a reality too painful to imagine.
Too tempting to resist.
My Safiya back from the grave, willing to put me out of my misery for good. I’d suffer whatever revenge she’d bring my way. Anything. I’d suffer anything for her.
But as my little virgintigreproved, my hopes are futile, as fragile as a hymen straining against my fingertip. I will admit that it was a shock, a welcome bitch slap to my senses. I’d almost fallen for her scheme…
She wasn’t Safiya.
But she was different. I can’t stop myself from flexing the finger I’d had inside her, recalling that tight warmth. My brain is a sick fucking thing, conjuring dangerous realities where they shouldn’t exist. Like that, my would-be assassin was a virgin, so tight I doubt she’d had a man touch her before, let alone fuck her. And her smell…
My forefinger is in my mouth before I know it, and I groan at the remnants of her taste. Sweet. Ripe. My cock stirs, and I regret leaving her there, though perhaps it’s for the best. I’ve kept Havienna in my possession for too damn long. Soiled by the memory of the imposter Safiya, it’s about damn time I burned it to the ground and let those ashes fade into dust.
I need to let her memory do the same.
Finally, I need to let my sweet girl go.
“I’ll leave you alone to relive your night,” Vin taunts, his footsteps tracking his retreat into the hall. “That cut looks nasty, though. When you wake up, hopefully, you’ll be in a good enough mood to let me apply some First Aid—”
“Vincenzo.” I lift my head as much as I can, straining my eyes to make him out through the dark. My side does sting like a bitch, but any treatment will have to wait. “I want you to pack your things. I’m sending you back to London.”
“Why?”
“I’ve changed my mind. A gangster’s daughter is not good enough for you. You deserve to struggle through medical school a lowly bachelor and find some sweet nurse to marry,” I rasp, letting my head fall back against the cushions. As I stare up at the ceiling, I think I’m trying to convince myself of this course of action more than him. “Who needs a Stepanov name when you have mine?”
And I’ll do whatever it takes to forge enough of a reputation that the mere whisper of the name Vanici will guard him well enough even in the afterlife. God himself wouldn’t dare touch him. I owe him that much.
“I’ve thought about transferring here,” he says, catching me off guard. Here,where the schools aren’t anywhere near as prestigious as the one he attends. And damn it, the boy is so damn sensitive I suspect that’s his real motive without having to hear his explanation. He thinks I can’t afford his shiny new future.
Either that, or he’s more concerned by my burgeoning vice than he’s let on.
“No,” I growl. “You’re getting your ass back to London even if I have to kick you there myself.”
“I’m not a little boy, Don.”
“You’re not,” I agree. “But you are my boy. Mine to protect, even if my love is overbearing in nature. You are all I have. So, let me spoil you to my heart’s content as any good Papa should. You’re staying at that fucking school.”
