Page 17 of Villainous Kingpin
But fuck it! Why beat around the bush?
I knew what I wanted andshewas it. Without a single shred of doubt in my mind, I fuckingknewit. And I’d have her. But I meant what I said. She’d want me too. Until then, this would be purely platonic.
“Corso Vittorio’s shoes are expensive,” she muttered. “Way too expensive.”
I pulled on the car door handle and came around the car, then opened the passenger door.
“Let me worry about the money,” I answered her. “We’re getting your shoes here.”
Her eyes flickered toward the store. “It looks like they are closing,” she protested.
“They’ll stay open for us,” I assured her. I extended my hand and without hesitation, she placed her fingers into the palm of my hand and met my eyes. God, I loved the way she looked at me. Trust, curiosity, and something else.
Stars flickered above us, lights and passersby of Manhattan buzzed around us. Yet, if you asked me who stood next to me or behind me, I’d never be able to tell you.
There were two rules I always followed. Never go anywhere without my .45, and never care for someone so much that losing them could destroy you. Yet now as I stared at this young woman with stars in her eyes, I knew I had broken the second rule. I wouldn’t be able to handle losing her.
I had barely touched her and I was burning up. I wanted to nurture the fire until it consumed both of us.
Dante and Priest would laugh their asses off if they knew. The smallest touch and it had me worked up, hungering for more.
Wynter Star settled me and unsettled me. Such a confusing, contradicting feeling that I was unfamiliar with.
“Let’s go get you shoes, Cinderella,” I drawled as I shut the car door.
She chuckled warmly, leaving her hand in mine. “Lead the way, Prince Charming.”
Prince Charming.Nobody ever called me that. The devil prince maybe. A villain definitely. Certainly never charming.
Without her shoes, she barely reached my chest. She appeared too small and fragile. Though breathtakingly beautiful. And I wasn’t the only one that noticed. Pedestrians that rushed left and right couldn’t help themselves but to give her a double take. Admiration and hunger on men’s faces and envy on women’s.
Pulling her closer to me, our fingers intertwined and we walked into the store just as Vittorio’s wife, Emilia, was about to lock the door. Emilia was the wife of one of my father’s men.
“Basilio,” she exclaimed with a big grin. “What are you doing here? Vittorio is not here.”
Emilia fluttered her eyes and smiled seductively. She has been trying to crawl into my bed for years. It’d never happen, but it never stopped her from trying.
“I’m not here for Vittorio,” I told her, pulling Wynter closer to me. I’d never understand why that man married her, though I suspected my father had a hand in it and Vittorio regretted it immensely. The woman was a snake.
Her eyes darted to Wynter, watching her curiously. Emilia was in her forties, but still carried herself as if she was in her twenties. Dressed like it too. She wore a thin red dress that matched her bright lipstick and knee-high boots.
“We have an emergency,” I told her, glancing down at Wynter's feet. “We lost her shoes. Do you mind helping us out?”
“Who is she?” Emilia’s eyes narrowed on Wynter. “She looks like those damn Russian women.” I felt Wynter stiffen slightly next to me. A threatening growl formed in my throat, overprotectiveness surging through every ounce of me.
“She’s important to me,” I said, locking the lazy, autocratic stare I was known for on Vittorio’s wife. The warning was clear on my face. Besides, who in the fuck was she to judge when she put her own daughter up on the auction block back a few years ago. She didn’t hesitate to use her daughter, Thalia, to settle her debt to Benito King. Unfortunately for her, it was my father that jumped to purchase her. Not that there were many upstanding men participating in those auctions she’d have fared better with.
Emilia was a disgrace of a mother. She always feigned sadness, but I didn’t buy it for one fucking second. She offered Thalia up instead of using herself to pay her own debt.
Displeasure shone in her dark eyes. “I never heard of her,” she sneered, her cold expression on Wynter. It pissed me the fuck off. “She looks like a Russian whore.”
I leaned over Emilia, scowling. “I’ll cut your tongue out if you say another fucking rude word. Or even look at her wrong. And you know it’s never a good thing to be on my bad side, Emilia. For you or your husband. So youwillshow my woman respect.”
She paled. I wanted to hammer the point home. Wynter was mine and Emilia would never be. And if she upset Wynter, there’d be hell to pay. She knew my threats weren't empty. It was a quality of my father's that had been passed down to me. Except, I could be much more vicious than the old man.
In this case, I didn’t mind because Emilia would think twice before she said another word about her.
A forced, fake smile flashed on her face. “Of course. Shoe size?”
