Page 3 of Scorned Beauty
Shaking off the piercing dead stares of Grigori and Kolya, I packed my cart into the van, not bothering to disassemble it. I didn’t want to spend another second on this property. Someone else lifted the garage gates, and I did my best not to screech out of the parking space.
The utility cart banged around in the back of the van, adding to my aggravation. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white in an attempt to control the tremorsshaking my body. Even when I was two blocks away from their building, I felt like I was still trapped in there. I needed fresh air and calm nerves before I ended up in a wreck.
I parked the van in front of a three-story building that had a butcher shop and coffee shop fronting the avenue. Streetlights illuminated the pavement. A drunk was singing near a twenty-four-hour bodega. I cut the engine and got out. I rounded to the side facing the sidewalk, slid the side door open, and climbed back into the van to unload the cleaning supplies from the cart and rerack the now bagless vacuum on the side rails. OCD had a lot of sway in my urge to get things back in order rather than quickly getting home. At least I could control that part of my life.
Remembering my empty fridge waiting for me in the apartment, I decided to grab food at the bodega.
When I jumped out of the van, a figure cast a long shadow over me.
My fight-or-flight was still engaged. I gripped the metal pipe that I always kept by the side door and swung, striking a man too close for comfort.
He fell back and growled, “Fuck!”
I blinked my eyes to make sure I wasn’t imagining him.
No. Those dark eyes only belonged to one person.
“Dom?”
Chapter
Two
Sloane
“Do you always attack first,ask questions later?” Dom staggered toward the van and sat on the step up.
“You surprised me,” I said lamely, even when relief swooshed through me. The boss of the De Lucci crime family wasn’t at the top of the list of people who wanted to do me harm despite the unfortunate incident when I accidentally shot him. Luckily he had on a bulletproof vest then, but every encounter with him since felt like a debt that needed to be paid.
It didn’t help that he was ridiculously attractive, and his knowing appraisals always made me squirm. Although right now, I wasn’t sure why he was in front of me.
“Same excuse last time.” He glared at me from beneath his bleeding brow. “We need to work on your nerves. You’re too jumpy.”
Indignation ignited my temper. “My nerves are fine. You have the uncanny ability to startle me,” I whisper-yelled my outrage. I peered closer. “Let me see.”
Dom lowered his hand to inspect the blood on it. “You’ve put a scar on my brow.”
I rolled my eyes. Dominic “Dom” De Lucci was the New York mob’s fashion icon. Though no admission of belonging to the mafia was ever on record, it only increased public titillation, especially the women who loved a bad boy. To add to his infamy, a popular men’s magazine awarded him New York’s Most Eligible Villain title for a second year in a row.
Forget heroes, villains were in.
“It’s not deep enough to require stitches.”
Angling his body to the right, he exposed his white shirt underneath his dark suit. “It might not, but this might.”
His white dress shirt’s entire left side was steeped in dark red.
Realization dawned on me. “You were at Grigori’s poker game!”
Instead of answering me, Dom muttered, “Come on.”
“Come on, where?”
He opened the passenger side door of the van and got in. I was still reeling for a silence of two seconds before blurting out, “I’m not driving you anywhere!”
“Get in.” Dom propped his head against the headrest and, without looking at me, said, “I’m about to lose consciousness.”
“Dom!” He was so aggravating. And I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. I didn’t want the responsibility of driving a wounded mafia don around, but I was also worried for him. And what if he died while in my company?
