Page 92 of Tide of Treason
Doubt that’d go over well.
“You gon’ tell me why you shot your capo?”
Angling the mirror, she traced the lines of mascara that framed her eyes, a thoughtful line wedged between her brows. “I’m having a moment.”
“Moment over.”
She made an exasperated sound, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out a little white tub of something that smelled expensive and unnecessary. It was all expensive and unnecessary. The entire vanity was stocked with potions and powders, none of which seemed to matter because her facealready looked carved from marble by some Greek sculptor. Proof positive that if there were a deity, He treasured women and tolerated men, especially men born on the wrong side of a favela.
I wedged my six foot six frame on the tiny vanity stool and reminded her, “You shot one of your own men.”
“You’re invading my space.”
“Technically, I’m just using your seat.” I glanced down. “And from how fucking flimsy it feels, I won’t be here much longer.”
“Don’t break my shit.”
“Won’t.” My jaw tightened, breath leaving my lungs in an angry rush. “You didn’t want me there.”
She didn’t stop spreading that ridiculous cream over her collarbones, but her mouth pressed into a thin line. Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed it, though I’d never been smart enough to know when to stop.
“Because they’re racist,” I went on, voice a low growl. “Because half your men think I should be stacking crates in the port instead of sitting at the table.”
Kayla knew; acknowledgment flickered, quickly vanishing behind indifference. The silence carved another inch off my patience. When it became clear the dead would speak before she did, I shoved upright. The stool whimpered in relief.
“Gotta go.”
“If you walk out that door, Lucius, I’ll make sure it stays locked next time.”
Pausing, heat lashed through me.
She thought Iwantedto leave? As if I didn’t still taste her skin on my lips, still crave the feel of her. The woman had no idea how loud she echoed inside me. I was still glaring when a knock split the silence. The sound should’ve been inconsequential, a knuckle rapping against wood, but self-destruction was a habit, and curiosity was the gasoline I poured on it.
10:42 p.m. flashed on the mantle clock. Not exactly prime time for for tea and biscuits.
“Kayla,cara mia,I brought you something,” sing-songed the serpent on the other side.
I let out a breath that was more scorn than humor.
Niccolò.
This fucking guy.
Masochism blossomed in my chest like a black-petaled rose. Somehow, I almost welcomed this. Maybe she’d let him in, touch him like she touched me, as if she meant it, and I’d see what kind of fool I was for thinking I could have something just for myself. Better to rip the bandage off now before I got too deep in the lie that shewouldn’t.
Turning to the door, that bitter laugh choked off the second I saw the suitcase in his hand. Plenty of ways to interpret a packed bag in a doorway, and I couldn’t decide which one I hated most. Maybe that was the whole point. Niccolò leaned against the frame, gaze skating right over me, making it clear he knew exactly who stood in his way.
Mine darkened.
“If I were a betting man,” he drawled, “I’d say you’rewondering what it would be like to put a bullet between my eyebrows.”
“It’s on my list.”
I shoved the door wide and he slinked into the penthouse. Set the suitcases by the couch. I wondered if it was a coincidence that he’d gotten the same kind of luggage as me, or if Kayla had specifically ordered it. The latter seemed unlikely given she kept her distance from him, but, then again, maybe I was just a convenient distraction and he was the real deal.
“What’s it feel like, then?” he asked casually. “Sleeping in my bed?”
Took me a second to realise where he was going with this. My stare flicked to the suitcase, then back to his smug face, a hot anger licking up my spine. This had to be a joke.
