Page 25 of Dangerous King
I'm trying to be patient. Until she shifts her hand. And I see it.
I blink, slowly, then look again to be sure I'm not imagining it.
On her right hand, her pinky's gone. The last knuckle is clean. Scarred over.
What thefuck.
A slow-burning rage rises like smoke in my chest. "Cat." My voice is low and hoarse. "What happened to your hand?"
She flinches and pulls it back, tucking it into the folds of her lap like that might erase what I saw. "It's nothing. It was… years ago."
"Cat." I lean in, eyes locked on hers. "What. Happened."
She hesitates. Then, quietly, she says, "Giovanni did it. My father lost an election, and Giovanni wanted to remind him what was at stake."
I go still.
Not just still, ramrod still. My jaw tightens until it aches. Giovanni. That fucking bastard. He did that to her. Her!Cat. A child, at the time, judging by the scar tissue. An innocent. Just trying to survive his goddamn house of horrors.
God help me, I'm glad I left him alive.
Because now? I'm going to make sure he suffers.Reallysuffers. And he'll know exactly why. Cutting off this girl's finger means he bought himself a slow death—a personal one.
"You don't hide that from me," I growl, reaching gently to pull her hand back out. "You don't ever hide from me."
She looks down, ashamed. "It's ugly. I know. I used to wear gloves when I was younger. I didn't want anyone to see. It made people stare."
"Let them stare," I snap. "You didn't do this.He did.And I swear to God, Cat, he's going to pay."
My thumb runs gently over the ridge where her finger used to be.
She shudders but doesn't pull away this time.
"You're not damaged," I say. "You're a survivor. And that scar? That's proof. Buthe,he's going to wish he'd never laid eyes on you."
She nods, small and unsure, but she's listening. And I can see it in her eyes; she's not used to anyone being angryforher.
But I am.
And I will be.
For as long as she lets me.
I take a deep breath. Now comes the hard part. The shift from personal to tactical. I hate that I have to pull her into this, but I don't have a choice. And she deserves to know the truth, not just about what happened, but what comes next.
I keep her hand in mine, my thumb still brushing over the scar.
"Do you understand why I need you now?"
Another nod. "Yes. You attacked another family of the Cosa Nostra, and Don Edoardo will not be happy about it. You need me to tell him that Giovanni kidnapped your sister, because her statement won't… they won't believe it. She's your sister."
My eyes drop without permission. The curve of her chest rises with every inhale she takes, soft and full. The pink flesh swelling at the edge of her shirt tempts me—no, it fuckingtauntsme. My fingers twitch, craving the texture of her skin, the weight of her breast in my palm.
Fuck.Where is my head going? I've never been this distracted by a woman before. Yet here I am, wondering how her nipple would feel against my tongue while discussing a potential war.
"If I testify," she says quietly, hopefully unaware of my lascivious thoughts, "Don Edoardo will punish Giovanni, and I can return to my family."
She doesn't know. She doesn't realize that I took Giovanni. He's still alive, for now. But he can't hurt her anymore. Or ever.
