Page 180 of Brutal Vows
I say sarcastically, “Here is where you’ll offer me riches beyond my wildest dreams or something, right?”
“There’s money involved, but that’s not why you’ll be interested.”
I’m about to explode with exasperation but manage to remain calm. “Okay, I’ll play your silly game. Why will I be interested?”
After a moment, he removes his sunglasses. Without them, he’s even more handsome. He stares at me with dark eyes that drill straight through my skull.
“Because you’re a do-gooder, Reyna Caruso. You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong.”
It’s official: he’s nuts.
“Since you obviously know so much about me, you must know that I’m the head of the Cosa Nostra. Tell me how being in charge of an organized crime empire makes me so ethical?”
“You sacrificed yourself to save the lives of your niece and her boyfriend. Do-gooding. You told the other Mafia families that at the upcoming annual Christmas Eve meeting of all the syndicates, the Chinese and the Armenians will be cut off if they continue their human-trafficking operations. Do-gooding.”
His faint, self-satisfied smile returns. “You ordered Declan not to kill Stavros because it offended your sense of fair play. Do-gooding.”
“That’s three things. Big deal. And it’s really creepy how much you know about me.”
“I know much more than that, but I’m trying to recruit you to join my organization, so I won’t creep you out any more by giving additional details.”
“What’s your organization?”
Stepping closer to me, he holds out a white business card.
I take it from him and look at it. “It’s blank.”
“Turn it over.”
When I do, I find nothing more on the back except a number printed in bold sans serif type in the middle of the card.
I glance up at him in confusion. “Thirteen? What’s that?”
“The name of my organization.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s weird.”
He sounds offended. “Why is it weird?”
“Thirteen is a feminine number. The number of blood, fertility, and lunar potency. The number of the Great Goddess.” I look him up and down. “You don’t exactly look like a Great Goddess to me.”
He sticks his sunglasses back onto his face, folds his arms over his chest, and sighs. “It’s also the number of the Death card in the tarot.”
“So your organization has something to do with the tarot?”
“No. Thirteen is just the number of members we have.”
I stare at him for a moment. “I feel like we could stand here until the end of time and go in circles while you avoid telling me anything at all about what this organization of yours does.”
His smile is mysterious. “I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. That’s your first test.”
“For the record, I hate tests. And considering I have no idea who you are, I’m not likely to tell anyone about you. I don’t even know your name.”
He lowers his head and gazes at me over the frame of his sunglasses. In a low voice, he says, “The name’s Killian Black, lass. And you’ll be hearing from me.”
Footsteps sound on the marble floor of the corridor. I glance down the corridor. When I turn around again, he’s gone.
Killian has disappeared into thin air.
