Page 61 of Tainted Princess
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Enzo
Wasn’t this a familiar scene?
The drug dealing fuck was strapped to the same chair that had most recently been occupied by Harry, the lying sack of shit whodidn’town a dog, and I could read his defiance from across the room. Descending the stairs into the windowless basement ofDeuces WildI tried not to think about Francesca walking in behind me. Normally, I’d be worried about how a woman would handle what was to come, but something told me that Francesca was about to surprise me.
Rocco raised his head as I stepped off the bottom stair, his eyes bright in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment, but the look on his face quickly turned to shock when he noticed Francesca, his eyebrows going high as a grin stretched across his face.
“Well, shit,” Rock said, throwing his head back and laughing. “Looks like your night just got a whole lot worse, my drug dealing friend.”
Following his glance, the Russian strapped to the chair scowled at me, the gag in his mouth preventing him from doing more than grunting.
“You’ve been giving him a warm welcome, Rocco?” I asked, staring at our guest and noting his broken nose, split lip, and rapidly swelling eye.
“Me?” Rocco asked, chuckling. “No, that right there is courtesy of his earlier run-in with a feisty brunette. I haven’t laid a hand on this fuck since I strapped him in.”
Francesca had done all that?
I knew she had laid a beat down on him—I had seen the bloody nose myself—but the man in the chair looked like he’d gone five rounds with a heavy weight, not my tiny wife.
Before I could do anything else, the woman in question stepped past me, positioning herself where she could be seen, hands on her hips as she looked at the man whose ass she had kicked, staring down at him with assessing eyes.
The longer she stared, the more uncomfortable he seemed to get, and I watched as the sweat began to roll down his temples, dancing along the muscles of his square jaw as he clenched and unclenched around the gag, neither of them wanting to be the one to look away first.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Francesca waited patiently, slowly drumming her fingers against her own skin as she waged a silent war in the basement of my club.
Looking at her now, I didn’t see the pliant doll who deferred to the orders of the men in her life. There was no sign of the meek woman she often appeared to be as she glared at her opponent, daring him to challenge her.
And, fuck, did I want him to. I wanted to see him defy her, again and again, watching as she rose to his every feint and parry. I wanted to see what she would become, if that fire inside her would ignite, turning the prim and proper princess Don Carlo thought he was giving away into a mighty force, a desert storm that would raze everything in its path.
It was as if time was standing still, Rocco and I not speaking as Francesca faced off, waiting for the moment when her enemy blinked.
And finally, he did.
Dropping his eyes, the man began to wail, shaking and straining against his bonds, looking from me to Rock for something—a way out, perhaps—to escape the cold, desolate stare of Francesca.
Neither of us were prepared to deliver.
Now that the battle had been won, Francesca came to stand beside me, leaning casually against the wall near the stairs.
Turning back to the man, I approached slowly, letting him anticipate the worst, before stopping almost exactly where Francesca had stood.
“Who sent you to my club?”
The sounds coming from his still-gagged mouth did not sound at all like words, but the tone implied they were not nice, regardless of whether or not I could understand them.
I back handed him, the sweep of my strike landing on the opposite cheek from the one Francesca damaged, and his head spun to the side.
Fuck, just thinking about her, dressed to kill and likely willing, had me picturing all sorts of dirty things. Things I had not expected to be picturing about her when I agreed to marry her.
It was that kiss. I never should have kissed her, but, fuck, watching her smack this asshole around, then the way she emasculated Jerry like it was something she did every day had me so fuckin’ hard, all I could think about was getting her alone. By the time we’d reached my office, I barely took the time to close the door before I pounced on her.
Having her under me, her pulse thrumming against my palm, was better than anything I could remember. She tasted of whiskey mixed with sin and brimstone, and although my head was telling me I was walking a dangerous path, I couldn’t seem to force my body to move away from her.
If we hadn’t been interrupted who knows how that scene would have ended up.
Taking in the angry man before me, I placed my hands on my belt buckle, pressing the combination of buttons that released one of the tools stored inside. His eyes went wide when I withdrew a small blade, only about as long as my thumb, but wicked sharp. Grasping him by his hair, I yanked his head back, exposing his throat and gently resting the edge of the blade against his flesh. The clicking of heels against the concrete floor drew my attention to Francesca approaching. She stood over my shoulder, viewing the scene with a calm demeanor, arms crossed as she waited to see what I would do next.
