Page 33 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
“How many times?” she snaps impatiently. “I called myself a cab, and I paid the driver.”
Chaos breaks out behind the solid wall of my chest. Utter contempt for the bartender who, with zero regard for her safety, let her stagger out onto the fucking street alone and pocketed nearly a thousand bucks ofmymoney. I don’t care about the money—although I vow to break as many bones as it takes to get that back—it’s the damn principle. She wasinebriated.
“Do you know where Rhett lives?” I narrow my eyes.
She blinks. “Is this a test?”
“No. Why would it be?”
She looks affronted. “I haven’t ...beenwith him, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
Well, it wasn’t, but it is now.
“He’s not just the bartender—he’s the landlord. He lives above the bar.”
I grind my jaw and pull her away from the steps. “Come with me.”
A slither of panic crosses her brow, but she does as I say. “Where to?”
“You’ll see,” I snap. “We won’t be gone long.”
Her skittering heels set the nerve endings dancing across my skin, moreish and unbearable all at once.
I pull her to where my car is parked on the street. “Get in.”
When she hesitates, her baby blues as wide as saucers, I wrap my other hand around the back of her neck and push her into the passenger seat.
“Buckle up,” I say before slamming the door.
Tires screech across the asphalt as I burn through the gates, and I try to block out the sound of her almost hyperventilating. She’s marrying into the biggest crime family the States has ever known; what she’s about to witness is nothing. Child’s play. She should consider this Mafia 101 “lite.”
“Have I done something wrong?” she asks as we round the corner.
“Nope. Someone owes me money, that’s all.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
I bite back a growl. “You’ll see.”
We draw alongside Joe’s Bar, and I ram my foot on the brake. Her hands fly out to the sides and grip the window and the stick. I walk around to her side and open the door.
“Come on.”
Her dress rides up her thighs as she steps out of the car, and I force my gaze toward the bar. I can’t be distracted by the smoothness of her damn calves right now. It’s hard enough averting my eyes when we’re just sitting at her father’s dining table.
“Is that the apartment?” I nod to a door next to the bar entrance.
“Yes.” She goes to smooth her dress down, but I tug her around the front of the car, those skittering heels messing with my mind. “Why are we here? The bar doesn’t open on Tuesdays.”
I don’t answer. Instead I ram my fist repeatedly against the apartment door.
I’m rewarded when, seconds later, the little shit who took my money opens it. At first he looks confused. Bless him. Then he gets over his temporary amnesia, remembers why I might be hammering his door down, and starts to back away.
There’s a corridor behind him—he could run. So I reach behind my back, pull out my gun, and aim it at his head.
Castellano screams until I wrap a hand around her face, covering her mouth. Her hot breath dampens my palm, almost distracting me.
I cock my head to one side. “Remember me?”
