Page 66 of Irish Brute
It’s Braiden’s voice, thick and heavy with rage. Don Antonio’s entire body goes rigid, like he’s stumbled into an electrified bath. His fingers tighten, and my arm arcs, pain sawing a jagged line across my shoulder.
I can’t turn my head. I have to roll my eyes to the side. Braiden’s hand is millimeters from Don Antonio’s throat. He’s holding a jagged crystal knife, aiming it toward my captor’s carotid artery.
“Try me, ya cocksucker,” Braiden says.
Incredibly,impossibly,Don Antonio backs down. He uses his leverage to throw me toward Braiden, harnessing momentum from the toss to stumble toward a giant statue of Michelangelo’sDavidmade of daisies.
Braiden edges me behind him. Without turning his head, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I gulp down air as I shake my arm, trying to force away the stingers from Don Antonio’s abuse. More than that, I try to shove away the images in my head, the photos I never knew existed.
I’ll be ruined if those get out. Everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve will be worth nothing. The freeport will take a hit too, and even Braiden—everyone who knows me, everyone who is associated with me in any way, they’ll all be tarnished.
I want to beg Braiden to take Don Antonio’s phone, but I know the device isn’t the real threat. The original photos must be kept in a secure location. Don Antonio probably has issued instructions—they’re to be released if he comes to any harm.
That’s what I would do if I were blackmailing someone.
That’s how I would destroy someone’s life.
Braiden twists his wrist, still eyeing a solid target as Don Antonio tugs his suit jacket into place. I realize the knife Braiden holds is the stem of a champagne flute. Shattered glass fans across the base of the Colosseum.
“Get on with you,” Braiden says to Don Antonio. “You have one minute before I slice off your bollocks and bury them in the dirt.”
“Sweet Giovanna might have something to say about that.”
“Her name is Samantha,” Braiden says, each syllable a master class in restraint.
“If she wasmywoman?—”
“She isn’t.”
Don Antonio says, “Blood before marriage, Kelly. Blood before marriage.”
“Samantha chose me, gobshite.”
“Whores do notchooseanyone,” Don Antonio says. “They just spread their legs wide for?—”
“Gentlemen?” It’s a waiter who cuts off Antonio Russo.
Notawaiter. It’s the head waiter, and from the terrified looks on the faces of the three servers huddling behind him, he knows exactly what he’s walking into.
“Please,” says the man in a tuxedo. “Allow me get you all fresh glasses of wine. We’ll just get this cleaned up, and everything will be fine.”
He snaps his fingers, and two men kneel in front of the Colosseum, digging in the moss to collect slivers of shattered glass. A jerk of the head waiter’s chin, and a nervous girl comes forward with a tray of full glasses. She offers to Don Antonio first. He takes one with a sneer of frustration.
When the girl offers champagne to Braiden, he shakes his head. “We were just leaving.”
His fingers close around my elbow with surprising gentleness. I let him lead me out of floral Italy, using all my willpower not to look back at Don Antonio. We stalk past half the sworn officials of the City of Brotherly Love. Braiden doesn’t look twice at Millicent Kennedy, holding court among other donors.
I wonder what all of them will say when my secret is made public in three short days.
It’s not until we’re on the escalator heading down to the garage that I realize I’m supporting my right hand with my left. Braiden notices at the same time. “Is it broken?”
I shake my head. My hair brushes my shoulders, my elegant French twist now a wreck. “I don’t think so. But it hurts,” I say, forcing myself to let go of my wrist. “A lot,” I add, unable to keep from wincing.
At the foot of the escalator, Braiden puts me through a ten-point medical exam. I wiggle my fingers. I spread them wide. I flex my wrists and I bend my arm at the elbow. I shrug exaggeratedly, up then down. I carry phantom shepherd’s pieson my flat palms, then on the backs of my hands. I spread my arms toward the walls and reach overhead.
All of it hurts. None of it is impossible.
