Page 18 of Dangerous King
A smile curves the corners of my mouth. Enrico might think he brought me here as leverage, but I'm holding some in my own hands now. I just hope he doesn't call my bluff. Because I'll do anything to protect Izzy, and angering the Don will put her in danger, too.
All these thoughts make me toss and turn. It doesn't help that my stomach is grumbling, reminding me of the missed dinner and snack. After an hour, I give up on the idea of sleep.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Sneaking through the Sartoris' house at night doesn't seem like a great idea, especially not after they've been so nice to me. My eyes fall on the closed doors of the balcony, maybe if I stepped outside for a little bit, it would clear my head enough?
I open the large doors and step onto a balcony large enough for a couple of chairs and a table. Ornamental wrought iron decorates the landing, reaching to about my chest. The air is fresh and cool with a tinge of… I inhale deeply. The scent of a cigar triggers memories of Sicily. My father and his friends used to always sit outside at night, drinking whiskey and smoking cigars.
I wonder who… I lean forward, just a little, and hear voices below.
"No trace of Roberto, the coward fled." I'm not sure, but it sounds like Dante. "Camilla wasn't there, either."
The voice that answers is easier to recognize. I don't think I'll ever forget the deep, rumbling timbre of it. Enrico. "I'm sure he won't get far. He's probably running to Don Edoardo to complain."
Dante warns, "Don't underestimate him or Edoardo."
"Trust me, brother, I never would. They're both as dangerous as two preadolescent lions who got banished from the pride."
Dante chuckles lightly, "An apt description, still. Papà is not going to like going against our Don."
"No," Enrico replies thoughtfully. "I don't think he will."
God, that voice. I'm not even really paying attention to the words being said, although I probably should. But his voice is doing things to my body… things I've never experienced before. Even my heart is beating harder. I feel the cool of the wrought iron beneath my palms; the contrast to the rising heat in my body is stark and only emphasizes how sensitive my skin is becoming.
My fingers curl tighter around the railing, my breath catching as that deep, commanding voice floats up once more through the stillness of the night. He's down there—calm, dangerous, and completely in control of a world I've only ever been afraid of.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I'm watching from above, unnoticed.
Safe. Invisible, but not small.
And for the first time in my life, I wonder what it would feel like… Not just to survive in this world. But to choose it.
The next morning…
"Orsi," I answer Marcello's call and stop my morning run. Dexter barks in the distance, having noticed that I stopped. Boris, who is, as always, staying by my side, replies, and I wave my hand in the command for him to be quiet.
"Sartori," Marcello greets me in a voice that is just distant enough to highlight that we are still strangers to one another.
"The favor you asked me for? It's done."
I exhale sharply. The favor was to get Cat's family out of Sicily. "They're safe?"
"Two hours ago, men I trust with my life picked them up in Puerto Sangue and moved them to Palermo. As soon as theirnew papers are ready, they'll fly out on one of my private jets." He assures me.
Good. I swallow hard. It's unsettling owing favors, especially to enigmatic players with ties to Sicily and unpredictable motives. But it does offer an excellent opportunity to figure out where Marcello truly stands.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it, but the words leave a bitter taste, like acknowledging a vulnerability. Nothing comes without strings in our world, and I have no idea how many I just got myself entangled with.
"I'm glad I could help," he replies, his tone so dry it leaves me uncertain whether he's dismissing or testing me. Dexter barks again in the distance, and Boris answers with a subdued whine, looking at me for permission to call to his brother. I shake my head.
"I'm in your debt." I hate saying it, especially to a son of Carlos, a man whose lineage ruthlessly ended Giacomo DeLuna's life at dinner. But it has to be done.
Without missing a beat, Marcello responds, "I'll remember it." He pauses, just a heartbeat, then adds in that same cool voice, "But don't mistake this favor for a leash, Enrico. I didn't do it to hold power over you."
The use of my first name has my mind working overtime. Is he being sincere? Or is it just another calculated move in his intricate game? He claims he doesn't want leverage, but we'll have to see about that. Marcello is still an unknown player in our organization, which is why I hated getting him involved in this. Unfortunately, he was the only one with the kind of connections in Sicily I needed.
Dexter breaks through the bushes, and I give him a signal to stay quiet, too. Both dogs are well-trained and know that while I'm on the phone, they need to keep a low profile. No barking.
