Page 17 of Vincenzo
Turning her back on Rocco, Amalia wraps her arms around Montoya’s neck, and his hands fall to her ass, giving it a squeeze.
Oh, fuck this.
Ripping open the door, I march my ass down the metal stairs. When Rocco sees me, his eyes widen—surely from the crazed look on my face if it’s anything like what I’m feeling—and he steps to the side.
Blind rage runs through me at the fucking audacity of this woman. First, she decides to stay inmycity after threateningmyfamily. Now, she wants to come intomyclub and ignoremyrequest to speak to her?
I think the fuck not.
I’ll make her fucking speak to me.
Pushing my way through the heated crowd, I close in on Amalia.
Montoya’s so consumed with her he doesn’t even realize I’m standing directly in front of him. His face is lowered to hers in an intimate way, which has me thinking there might be more between these two than she let on, and it grates on my last damn nerve.
I take a deep breath to help calm the beast within me because I have no reason to be acting like, what? A jealous fucking boyfriend? Yet, when I see Montoya lower his hands to Amalia’s ass again, that beast comes back alive, and I wrap my hand around Amalia’s arm and drag her off the dance floor.
“Hey!” she yells, attempting to tear herself from my grasp, but I whip back around, and her body slams into me. Her delicious fucking scent invades my nostrils, and I have to shake away the intoxication.
Leaning so my lips are at her ear and she can hear me over the bass of the music, I say, “Don’tmake a fucking scene in my club, or thiswillend terribly for you.”
When I pull away, her glare holds mine, but after a few seconds, her tensed bicep loosens in my grip. I take that as a sign of her submission and continue to lead her up to my office.
After shoving her inside, I turn around to shut the door and lock it. Rocco easily detained Montoya, but in case he decides to be a nuisance, I want my bases covered.
When I turn around, I’m surprised to find Amalia already in my space, pushing me up against the door with something cool and sharp against my neck. “What makes you think you can manhandle me like that?” she all but growls out, her big browneyes laser sharp on mine. I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lip.
“You’re cute when you’re threatening me,” I goad.
She applies more pressure to the blade flush against my neck, which draws a chuckle out of me. The movement has the blade scraping my skin, and I can already tell from the slight tinge of pain that it has pierced me.
Her gaze moves to my throat, and a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Your blood looks pretty on the edge of my blade,” she says sweetly, then her lips flatten and her eyes darken, as if a whole new person is standing before me in the blink of an eye. “But touch me again without my permission, and we’ll see just how pretty your blood looks when it’sallover it.”
Fucking hell.
The way her sugar-sweet voice changed so quickly with the threat on her lips has my cock poking at the seam of my pants.She’s a damn firecracker.
Shoving off me, she backs away and raises her brows at me. “So, why’d you drag me up here?”
Pushing off the door, I run my hands down my shirt, straightening it out. “Do you recall the conversation we had the other day in the alleyway?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “I’m sure you do.”
She continues to glare at me, and I have to say, this girl is enticing. I’ve never had anyone ignore my threat before because they know they would end up dead. But this one ignores my threatandprovokes me after. The little hellion doesn’t give two shits that her life could end in a heartbeat, and that has me intrigued as fuck.
I nod at the knife in her hand. “How’d you get that in my club?”
Without taking her eyes off me, Amalia tosses it up in the air without a flinch. It flips a few times before the handle lands back in her hand. She remains quiet, but two can play that game.
After what feels like a fucking eternity, Amalia finally rolls her eyes and answers. “Zirconia carbide.”
Of course.
Zirconia carbide is sharper than steel, lasts longer,andcontains no metal.
“Where’d you get a knife like that, little girl?”
Amalia’s eyes never leave mine. “It was my dad’s.”
I don’t comment on that because I recognize the split-second hurt in her eyes before she covered it up.
