Page 24 of Dangerous King
I take a shuddering inhale. He's going to make me spill it all out. "Camilla always gives me her old clothes to wear."
"They didn't let you go shopping?"
"Well, I go with her," I set the record straight.
"But when you do, she doesn't let you pick anything?" He concludes astutely.
"No."
He leans forward, his hands resting on his knee now, and suddenly they become my whole focal point. They're strong hands, with long, masculine fingers and callouses that speak of work—realwork, not boardroom deals. Strong veins run up and down them, disappearing beneath the cuff of his shirt.
On the back of his left hand, just below the knuckles, a tattoo peeks out in black ink, sharp lines, elegant and dangerous. At first glance, it looks like a crown. But then I see the points are dagger blades, and there's something written in looping script beneath them, partly hidden by his sleeve.
Latin, maybe. Or a name.
I shouldn't be staring, but I can't help it. A pulse beats visibly just below the ink, steady but hard—he's agitated—and I pray it's not with me.
"I see," he says finally, his voice low and rough, followed by an audible controlled and measured breath. His words should be reassuring, but I can feel the shift in him. Something is coiling just beneath the surface, drawing tighter.
I wonder how much more of the Giordanos' mistreatment of her she will divulge if I keep pressing her. However, my anger at them is already at a boiling point, and I'm afraid that if I find out more, I might not stop at Giovanni's death, which would not be in my family's best interest. Edoardo's call this morning was a summons. He wants to see me. After I hung up with him, my father called. He wants to see me, too. And I still have to deal with Kingsley. All of this means I don't have time to be sidetracked.
Still, it's hard not to press the woman further. She is so painfully thin, and now that I understand why, the urge to punish Giovanni and his entire rotten family is growing by the second.
"Alright, so you heard them talk about Izzy?" I press on, not wanting to hear what else the Giordanos did to her. Not rightnow. Later, I will have her tell me every detail so I can file it away. I want to know everything they did to her. And I will pay Giovanni back with interest.
I don't know why I'm reacting this way. Why I feel an urge to protect her, why I feel so drawn to her; she isn't even my type. Too young, too.
I try to tell myself it's because she saved Izzy, but that's a lie.
Once she puts a little bit more meat on her bones, she will be the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on. Her beauty alone isn't what's getting to me, though—beautiful women throw themselves at me every day—there's more. Her gracefulness, her inner strength, the bravery and defiance she kept like a prisoner inside her.
She nods. "Yes. I heard them say they were waiting for Ringo." A shudder moves through her. Ringo was the Giordano's enforcer. Like all Enforcers, he was a ruthless sack of shit. "One time he came to the house, and they tortured a man for days, his screams…" She lowers her head and shakes it.
More anger rises. Not that I haven't done or witnessed my share of torture, but to bring it to the house? His home? Where his women live? Fuck, that's a line I'd never cross. Ever.
My prisoners are held in a warehouse, just in case their people come looking for them. I would never do anything that might risk an attack at my house, wheremyfamily lives.
"It was terrible, and when they mentioned a young girl… I couldn't… I just couldn't stand by." Her eyes are wide and open, staring right into mine. I don't see any trace of deceit in them. Their amber color beckons me.
To distract me from where my mind is going, I shoot the next question at her, "You were staying with the Giordanos as a hostage." It's not a question, and I don't wait for her to confirm. "Weren't you afraid of the repercussions to your family if you helped my sister?"
"I've been afraid of them for the last fourteen years of my life." She straightens, showing me the backbone that made her go down those basement stairs. "Last night… I realized the Giordanos would kill me and my family one day anyway. If my father couldn't get reelected or if something happened to him, or for whatever reason he wouldn't be an asset to Giovanni any longer, he would kill all of us."
Her chin lifts, making me notice the stubborn streak to it. "There was nothing I could do about it. But I thought maybe if I could save this girl, your sister, Izzy, I might be able to get back to Sicily, to warn my family. I was hoping that maybe we could run."
"Did you know who she was?"
She shakes her head. "No. I just thought… I thought maybe if we could get away, I could call my family. Tell them I'd escaped and that they needed to run. You see, that's how Giovanni kept us all in place. If I had run, he would have killed my family. If my family had run, he would have killed me."
She impresses me more with every word she utters. I admire how raw and honest she is. The steel in her spine, even when her voice trembles.
"Your family is not Cosa Nostra?" I already know the answer, but I need to hear it again from her.
"No. My father was never involved with the Cosa Nostra. He fought them until…"
"Until they took you."
She nods, her eyes darting away from me. I've seen it before; she's acting on instinct to hide her pain and quiet rage from me. The thought of what her life has been like for the past fourteen years makes my blood boil. Her answers are cautious, and now and then she flinches, like she's still expecting someone to slap her for speaking. It's the way trauma speaks, and I recognize it too well.
