Page 82 of Dangerous King
"What in the hell does he want with my daughter?"
Izzy's voice is smaller. "Why would someone like that… come after me?"
"That's the billion-dollar question," I answer. "I'll figure it out," I promise her.
"This guy doesn't work for low-level criminals. Not even dons. His jobs are global. Political. Strategic. Not your run-of-the-mill family business," my dad adds. "What's he doing here?"
"Either someone with deep pockets and reach wants to hit us where it hurts," I say. "Or…" I hesitate. "Or he wasn't here for us at all. He was planting a message."
"To whom?" Dad demands.
I shake my head. "That's what we're going to find out."
Izzy is pale, but her jaw sets stubbornly. "What do you want me to do?"
"I need everything you remember about him," I say. "Even if it's weird. What he wore. How he moved. What he said. If he said anything at all."
"He didn't," she whispers. "He didn't say a single word. He bound me, dragged me around… and then I was sitting on that chair…" She wipes a tear from her face, and I clench my fists. That bastard is going to die. Slowly. Judging from my father's expression, he's on board with that plan.
Dad paces. "This is bigger than I thought. Than all of us. You need to be careful, Enrico."
I level him with a look. "I am. That's why I'm going to make the next move. And it starts with figuring out who hired him."
Because if Ledyanoy Prizrak came for my sister, it means someone thinks I have a weak spot. That I'll fold if they press hard enough. They have no idea. I don't bend. I'll burn every single one of these assholes down first.
I stare at my reflection for the fifth—no, sixth—time. The woman in the mirror almost doesn't look like me. The dress is a deep emerald green, sleek and simple, but it hugs in all the right places. I chose it because it makes my eyes look like a blend of amber and gold. I swipe my lip gloss one more time, then step back to check the whole picture.
My dark brown hair is curled in soft waves. I kept the makeup subtle, but enhanced my eyes with eyeliner and mascara, the kind I used to dream about wearing when I only had one old mascara and a broken compact. Everything on the vanity is new. Unused. Mine.
Even the butterflies in my stomach are mine tonight.
Because Enrico asked me on a date. Well, not really asked. He sent me a text. I giggle, like I've done a hundred times since the text arrived.
Enrico:
I'm taking you to dinner tonight. Be ready.
A date!
No matter how he asked, or not, I would have said yes. I'm not at all concerned about how it came to pass. That's just him. Bossy. And oh, so sexy. My cheeks burn when I recall the things he said to me in the lake. The things I said to him. At the same time, the flutter in my stomach comes back, and I can feel my panties soaking, just at the memory. I kind of have an inkling that the words we said were dirty and naughty—wicked, even—but I can't feel embarrassed about it; it felt too good.
In a way, I'm glad he didn't ask me in person, because it would have completely unraveled my nerves. I would have been a stammering mess.
A knock on the door makes me jump, and Shadow growls from the corner. Quickly, I smooth the dress over my hips and take a deep breath before opening the door.
Enrico stands on the threshold, wearing a black suit with the collar of his white shirt open, no tie. Effortlessly lethal. He doesn't smile right away, but the way his eyes travel over me—from head to toe and back again—says more than words ever could.
He exhales once and says one word, "Stunning."
My cheeks flush hot. "Thank you. You look…" I falter, becauseridiculously handsomesounds too soft for the way he makes me feel. "You look like trouble."
His smirk is slow and dangerous to my heart and ovaries. "Only the good kind, Piccolina."
Shadow's ears perk up behind me, and he trots to the door, only to immediately growl the second he sees Enrico. Enrico sighs. "We're going to have to renegotiate our truce."
I laugh under my breath, giving Shadow a soft pat. "He'll behave. Eventually."
"‘Eventually' better be soon," Enrico mutters, stepping back to let me out and leading me down the stairs. I hear soft voices and loud giggling from the dining room. Guilt hits me. I should be in there, with my family. They've been trying so hard to include me, whereas I feel like I've been rolling up in a ball, doing everything I can to keep them at bay.
