Page 21 of Nico (Belles & Mobsters 2)

She was a breath of fresh air against the darkness. It was amazing she retained her innocence through all the cruelty life threw her way. Did she know about her mother and Benito King?

“Now what?” she asked, her chin tilted up while her dark eyes challenged me.

It had only been a few weeks since I'd seen her, but she was even more stunning now, standing in front of me, surrounded by her things. Her dark chestnut brown hair fell down her slim shoulders, her body soft with curves just right to grip and hold.

“Sixteen months ago, your husband took something from me,” I said in a low voice, trying to keep this conversation private and sound non-threatening.

For a fraction, her face shattered, but she quickly got herself together.

“Yes,” she admitted, not even trying to deny it. I had to give it to her, she had guts. “I don’t have that money anymore.”

“I figured.”

My eyes traveled over her kitchen and the counter full of ingredients. I couldn’t tell what she was doing. It was too early for dinner; I wondered if she expected company. Was she planning a date now that her girls went off with their grandparents?

Unexpectedly, like a lightning strike, jealousy shot through my veins, but I quickly dampened it. I’d squash any man connected to her. There would be no other men for this woman. The information I obtained indicated there wasn’t a man in her life. Except for the friend, John. He’d have to go. I had torn down his little company, piece by piece, so he’d be busy for the foreseeable future.

Bianca shifted, her eyes wearily focused on me. She didn’t particularly like me; it was written on her face. Although there was attraction. She couldn’t deny it. From the moment our eyes connected in the restaurant, the attraction zipped between us and her fate was sealed. Technically, it was sealed when I learned who her true father was. After her husband’s death, I decided to make her mine.

I watched her gaze skim over her kitchen, like she was seeking comfort in the familiar surroundings. The entire kitchen was done in white colors, off white with a splash of color here and there. The large bay windows overlooked the Chesapeake Bay Bridge in the distance. It was a million dollar view in a little house, full of warmth, love, and cookies. I didn’t understand why she had so many glass cookie jars everywhere, enough to feed multiple families. I counted five different jars filled with chocolate chip cookies, sugar cookies, and gingerbread cookies.

The kitchen smelled like cookies. The space suited her; it was comfortable, delicate, and felt like home. Kind of like her.

“Are you going to kill me now?” she asked tightly.

I kept my jaw straight and eyes cold. That fucking money didn’t mean anything to me, though if it was anyone else sixteen months ago, they would have been taught a lesson right away. You let one person steal from you and get away with it, they all think they can do it. Besides, that money bag was a trap, and I had bigger plans for Bianca.

Sixteen months ago, I let William Carter keep that money and only one person knew it. My right hand man, Leonardo. He was on the yacht with me that night, listening to the conversation between Bianca and her husband. As it may be, I would now use it as leverage. It was time to collect the debt and put my plans into motion.

“With interest, your husband owes me about three million,” I said calmly, my eyes locked on her stiff form. “Give or take.”

Her eyes bulged.

“What? There was only three hundred thousand dollars in there,” she whispered, her body trembling. “What kind of interest is that?”

“There was six hundred thousand in the bag,” I told her. She shook her head, and I found it odd that she wouldn’t have known the correct amount. Was she lying? I didn’t think so; otherwise, she would have denied knowing about the money right off the bat. “Standard interest when someone steals from me,” I deadpanned. “Compounded daily.”

“That’s a rip off,” she spat. Anger flashed in her eyes, and I realized her defiance pleased me. She was a mixture of meek and attitude. Her cheeks flushed red with frustration. She was helpless.

“Maybe.”

“And it was three hundred thousand in the bag.” Did her husband not give her all the money?

She cleaned off her hands with a dishtowel, the move so domesticated. Somehow it suited her being a homemaker. I watched strands of her dark mane fall onto her face, and she blew them off. The gesture was simple and innocent, but it made my cock stiffen.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter either way,” she mumbled tightly, speaking more to herself, then grabbed the knife again as if she would resume cutting. “I don’t have it.”

Silence was thick between us, her back straight and her eyes alert on me, her knuckles white as she gripped her knife. I could only imagine how she hoped to stab me in my black heart with it.

“There are other ways you could pay,” I finally said.

“How?” She eyed me suspiciously, distrust rolling off her in waves.

“I have a proposition for you,” I commenced. “It would wipe out your debt and ensure you weren’t on the radar.”

“On the radar?” she repeated, blinking in confusion.

“You wouldn’t be on the list of people indebted to me,” I corrected myself. I didn’t want to reveal to her how much I knew just yet. First, I had to learn how much this beauty knew.

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