Page 49 of Die for You
I wait for him to address me as a good little lamb is expected to.
He retrieves a book from the shelf and opens it, appearing to read over it. It seems like a rather strange time to engage in some light reading, but to each their own.
“Ciao,”he finally says, placing the book back.
“Hello, I don’t know a lot of Italian. I’m sorry.” I scare myself by how easily I can slip into this damsel-in-distress role.
Enzo turns with a smile. “Ah, American. I knew something was different about you. Who do you belong to?”
His comment has me biting the inside of my cheek to stop from telling him to go fuck himself. Ido notbelong to anyone.
My heart, however, does.
But my mind and who I am as a person—I belong to myself.
Swallowing down my profanity, I reply as Vince instructed, “I am here with Elio Barone. He’s my uncle.”
Elio is no doubt on Gianna’s payroll and will vouch for my story. But I don’t need anyone to be my alibi because Enzo is minutes away from taking his last breath.
“How long are you here?”
“I don’t know yet. I came here to study history.”
Enzo doesn’t care why I’m here. I could tell him I was interested in flying to the moon, and it wouldn’t make a difference because I’m good for only one thing in his eyes.
Killing him suddenly becomes a whole lot easier.
He walks toward me, but I stand my ground regardless of how he towers over me. He doesn’t hide his appraisal of me. And when his eyes linger on my breasts, it’s evident he likes what he sees.
He cups my cheek.
I try not to flinch at his cold touch.
“Allow me to show you the most beautiful history in all of Sicily, then.”
I chew my bottom lip, faking playing coy, before nodding. “I would like that.”
“I would too.” He leans down and plants a chaste kiss on my lips.
I slyly unfasten the clasp on my purse, and as my fingers pass over my knife, Enzo throws a curveball I was not expecting.
“But first, tell me who thefuckyou really are.”
It appearsIwas the one being played all along.
Before I have a chance to retaliate, Enzo snatches my purse out of my hands, and when he sees my knife, he grins.
“A girl can never be too careful,” I quip, refusing to back down.
“Somehow I doubt you’re just a girl.”
I search for a weapon, just as Gianna taught, and see them in the form of books.
Lunging for the shelf to my right, I grab a hardcover and throw it in Enzo’s face. The moment he swipes it away, I punch him in the stomach, winding him.
I don’t give him time to recover before I yank up my ballooned skirt and kick him in the ribs.
He staggers back three steps, gripping his side.
