Page 29 of Pretty Pink Poison
I wanted my father to see his daughter. To remember I was still his blood—not just a commodity. I wanted him to know I deserved a seat at that table, even if they’d long since decided to trade me away.
There was a knock on my door at fifteen minutes past seven. I knew that meant I was late, but I also was used to grating on Bane’s nerves. So when I opened it and Pepe stood before me in an all-black tux, I asked, “Can I help you?”
“You’re late,” he growled begrudgingly, like he hated to open his mouth.
“Oh, and you came to collect me? You my date to dinner?” I asked him, because it was just like Bane to send someone rather than coming to get me himself.
He frowned at my comment, his bushy eyebrows slamming down over his chocolate-brown eyes. The man had a face carved for scowling—square jaw dusted with perpetual stubble, nose a little crooked. And then he actually balked, shoulders rising, chest puffing, which coming from a muscle man like him was hilarious. I couldn’t imagine how someone built like a human wall could look any bigger, but somehow he managed it.
“I’m escorting you,” he grumbled, voice rough like gravel dragged across pavement. “Not dating you. I damn well wouldn’t do that.”
The words should have stung, but they didn’t. His tone wasn’t cruel, just blunt, like every syllable had been stripped of anything unnecessary. That was him in a nutshell—gruff to the bone, humorless on the surface, but underneath the rough bark, he didn’t seem all bad. He carried my bags without being asked, opened doors with one meaty hand like it cost him nothing, and walked two steps ahead to clear hallways no one ever dared block anyway. If his scowl was permanent, so was his quiet watchfulness. I appreciated him except for the way he dragged men away.
“I’m notthatbad,” I scoffed, turning to grab a little clutch before I waved him on so we could walk toward the elevators.
He grunted under his breath. “Bane finding a creative way to kill meisthat bad.”
“Aren’t you the guy that does that dirty work for him?” I pointed out, because I’d seen him drag out a man screaming and as much as I should have been frightened, Bane’s wrath never did scare me in the past.
But maybe I should have been more fearful because Pepe said, “When inclined, Bane saves the best work for himself.”
I absorbed his comment but didn’t let the conversation die. I was happy anyone, even Pepe, was giving me the time of day. “How so?”
He snapped his mouth shut with my question though and stomped down the hall like it was my fault he’d engaged with me whatsoever.
I hurried after him. “Oh, come on. You’re going to escort me everywhere but refuse to talk to me?”
“Yes.” He punched the elevator button with his meaty hand.
“That’s going to get boring real fast.”
He huffed as the elevator doors dinged, and we walked in. “You’ll have plenty of people to talk to at dinner.”
“Fine.” I leaned on the railing and narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out what would crack his tough shell. “Who’s all at dinner other than my father?”
He glanced toward the cameras in the elevator and the door before he angled his face so that it was hidden from every lens before saying, “Your mother, too, Ms. Zarelli. And a friend. So I’d prepare to be on your best behavior.”
Friends and family. The ones who’d left me with Bane to rot.
CHAPTER 11
BANE
“Another finger.”
“Damn it, Bane.” Jameson scrubbed a hand over his jaw and rocked back on his leather Hermes loafers.
Of course he wore the syndicate’s money like it was tailored to his soul—hand-stitched charcoal suit that hugged his broad shoulders, a platinum HEAT watch glinting like it could pay off someone’s mortgage with a flick of his wrist. His hair was artfully careless, dark waves that looked like he’d run a hand through them a time or two.
Jameson Knight was enticing in the way we probably all were. He was part of the Diamond Syndicate near Chicago, and they acted as though they were reformed. He looked like the kind of man who’d slide a glass of whiskey into your hand just before pulling the chair out from under you. Who’d whisper lies in your ear with a voice so low and velvety you’d believe them anyway. He had the same syndicate pedigree we all did, but my birthright was bloodier. My father’s Italian roots made sure of it. Jameson smelled of mercy. It clung to him like a scent he couldn’t wash off.
It made me want to sneer, because where he might let someone crawl away alive, I’d already buried them. No one wronged me and made it out alive.
Except Bianca Zarelli.
That woman had delivered the biggest betrayal of all. I thought she’d been loyal for years and years. I’d went to the ends of the damn earth to visit her month after month in the night.
Then I found out about Rafe and that betrayal tasted like poison. It was one I couldn’t excuse but I’d be damned if I got soft from it. I put her under the same damn roof as me for that very reason.
