Page 28 of Thorns of Death
“Well, this old man isn’t obsessed. You are.” Manuel was having way too much fun with this shit.
Somehow it felt like obsession didn’t even scratch the surface on this thing between that young woman and me. Each second and breath since I met her fed my fascination to the point of no return. I’d have her again, Konstantin or no. Even if it killed me.
But it might kill her,my mind whispered. I promptly shut it down.
“I’ll have to pay Miss Evans a visit and see what her connection to Illias Konstantin is.”
At least the other Konstantin—the weak one—was dead and gone.
“I’m sure it’ll be a hardship.” His tone was full of sarcasm. “Just watch your balls,capisce? She did warn you that she would cut them off.”
“Maybe I should take your balls with me,” I threatened half-seriously.
Manuel got up and walked away, flipping me the bird over his shoulder. “Try and get them,nipote.”
“Watch it, old man.”
The door shut behind him, taking the sound of his laughter all the way down the hallway with him.
Returning my attention to the photos, I hardened my resolve. It was inevitable we’d cross paths again. I’d wanted to see her for days. Now I had an excuse. Except, this wasn’t the most pleasant reason for it.
One thing was for sure. If there was a connection between Isla and the Pakhan, the news of Donatella being alive could easily slip into the world.
TEN
ISLA
Istruggled with the two bags in my right hand as I reached into my pocket for my key.
If I stayed at my brother’s place like he always insisted, I could get the doorman to bring all my groceries up. But then where would be the fun in that? This apartment belonged to me and my friends, and nobody could tell us what to do.
Except for the landlord, I thought dryly. And he was a creep. Just one of his many faults.
“Shit!” The two bags in my right hand slipped from my hold, apples rolling around the polished floors as I attempted to get the key in the door. “Why in the fuck is nobody home when I need them to be,” I muttered under my breath.
“Need help?”
The familiar, deep, husky voice came from behind me—the one I’d been dreaming about ever since I bolted from him at the Philharmonie—and I whirled around coming face-to-face with him.Him!
Big dark eyes stared back at me, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips. It didn’t strike me that he would smile a lot, but he should. It transformed his face into a Roman god. Like the Roman equivalent of Zeus. Shit… what was its name again?
I shook my head. As if it mattered.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, kneeling down to collect my spilled groceries. He did the same, uncaring of his expensive suit as he knelt beside me. “I thought I made it quite clear last time that I wasn’t interested in seeing you again.”
Some men thrived on challenges, and I’d stake my life on Enrico being one of those. My refusal probably only pushed him to try harder.
“I came to see you.” He handed me an apple, his fingers brushing against my palm. I could feel my cheeks flush, the images of the last time he touched me dancing through my mind. The way he’d watched from his knees, his head between my legs, eating my pussy. Our eyes locked and a smile crossed his face as if he could read my thoughts. The air crackled between us, and I felt ready to burst into flames.
Shit, I needed this guy gone. Stat.
“I’d rather you hadn’t,” I muttered. When his eyebrow shot up, I clarified, “Come to see me.”
He didn’t seem fazed by my statement. In fact, I’d bet my life and violin—my most prized possession—that this man never got frazzled.
“And why is that?”
Was he fucking with me? Suddenly my swooning was replaced with anger, and I shot up, my skull hitting his chin.
