Page 33 of Till Death Do Us Part

Pressing my hands against the door, I push at the heavy wood until it gives, opening just enough for me to get through. A long corridor is before me, lined with closed doors. My hands shake in frustration as I test a few doors, coming up empty each time. I reach a dead end and hear voices coming from a room to my left.

Bingo.

Without giving myself a moment to think it through, or talk myself out of it, I grab the handle. The door slams against the wall as I shove it open, and I drop my hands to my hips, narrowing my eyes on the man at the head of an oval table.

“Where the hell is my gun?” Around ten men, all dressed in the same Mafia-standard all-black suits, sit around the table, their gazes snapping to mine at my demand. If I weren’t so angry, it might give me cause to rethink and back out of the room quietly, but my sense of self-preservation is not that good.

“Princess,” Leonardo murmurs, his voice blank and with no emotion.

“You stole my gun, and I want it back.” I ignore the men watching me as I prop my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Now, please.”

“Well, because you said please.” He pauses, leaning forwards and dropping his elbow onto the table. His lips twitch in amusement, his eyes locking on mine. “No.”

“Leo,” the man seated to his right calls out, but his attention never strays from me.

“Everybody get the fuck out,” he bellows to the men around us.

Dismayed grumbles follow the sound of scraping chairs as the men stand from the table and pass by me to exit the room. I don’t take my eyes off Leonardo the whole time. They aren’t my business. The only thing I want is my lifeline back.

Mafia men and their dramatics can wait.

The door closes behind me with a click, the air in the room tense as we stare at each other. One second and another. We just wait; neither willing to be the first to break.

Leonardo rolls the sleeves of his black sweater before pushing his chair back and standing slowly. He stalks towards me, his eyes on mine the whole way.

Overwhelming heat travels over my body when he steps into me, crowding me backwards until my back hits the door. His hands land against the wood, framing my head, as he towers over me. My breath shortens as he presses his forehead to mine, my legs trembling.

“You interrupted an important meeting, Princess,” he whispers, the mint on his breath tickling my nose.

“You stole my gun,” I tell him breathlessly. My heart races, the feeling heavy against my chest when he lowers a hand and cups my cheek. His thumb caressing, teasing the edge of my mouth before pulling it back.

“I borrowed your gun. And you can have it back.” He shrugs, stepping away from me. My shoulders sag in relief despite the chill that hits me from losing his heat. I open my mouth to thank him, but he speaks again before I can. “On one condition.”

“And what’s that?” I deadpan, willing to give him anything he wants if only to feel the cool metal against my palm again.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

He smirks at me, hungry eyes burning into mine as he folds his arms over his chest. Leaning back, he cocks his head before his smirk turns into a slow grin. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

CHAPTER TEN

WhateverIthoughthisone condition would be, this never crossed my mind. My lungs burn, my calves ache, and everything feels like it’s on fire when he slaps the stop button on the treadmill.

My body sags over the screen, a deep exhaustion settling in my bones. For over an hour he’s had me running on this bloody thing, but still, I don’t have my gun back. He hasn’t said a word since he dragged me out of bed at six a.m. with a roaring hangover and less than two hours of sleep.

The bright pink sports bra clings to my chest, sticky from sweat while the matching leggings are plastered to my trembling muscles.

Of course the devil himself stands beside me in black joggers and a matching fitted t-shirt that stretches across his muscles without a single hair out of place, or an ounce of sweat pouring over his fine body.

“You are fucking evil,” I tell him, wheezing as my lungs fight for oxygen. He chuckles but says nothing as he leans against the machine behind him. “Why do you hate me? This is so wrong. I just want my gun.”

“You’re being a child, Princess.”

“Oh, now he speaks. What even is the point in this?” I snap, swiping sweaty hands over my thighs. My hair sticks to my neck, irritating me with the damp strands. “My head hurts, I’m tired, and right now the only thing I want is my gun so I can shoot you in the head.”

“You’re learning endurance,” he says, rolling his eyes at me as he grabs my hand and helps me off the machine. My knees buckle the moment I hit solid ground, but he wraps his arm around my waist, hauling me into his chest. “We’re going to do some self-defence training, but the first line of defence is always to run.”

“I highly doubt you’ve ever run from an opponent.” His lips quirk up, his thumb stroking the bare skin at my back. It should be gross, considering all the sweat pouring from me, but gross is the last thing I’m feeling at this moment.

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