Page 19 of Till Death Do Us Part

“Does that bother you?” he asks, a flicker at the corner of his mouth when I flick my gaze to his face, though he doesn’t turn his eyes away from the window.

“No, of course not,” I rush out, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. Him having a wife is the least of my problems and not remotely my business, so why does it turn my stomach at the thought?

“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” he reassures me, amusement in his tone.

“I’m not worried,” I tell him, refusing to acknowledge the way my shoulders sag in relief. Even if he isn’t married, I am, and that is something I would do well to remember. “You didn’t answer my first question.”

“You wanted to go shopping, Princess.”

“Yes, but I just—”

“No buts. You don’t know your way around, I just happen to be available and chivalrous enough to offer my services for the day.”

“Is this one of the times where thanking you is appropriate?” I ask him with a laugh, watching as his brow furrows when he turns his head and holds my gaze. My breath hitches when his lips turn up into a crooked smile, my heart thumping against my chest.

“Fuck no,” he answers, slipping onto the highway. “When that time comes, you’ll know about it.”

Heavy shopping bags hang from my fingers, swinging back and forth while I make my way down the busy street. I smile at a few people as I pass, most of whom don’t notice me.

Leonardo left the moment he dropped me off—business to attend to, or something like that. I’m not complaining though. A few hours of peace while I spend my papá’s money to my heart’s content?

Yes, please.

I’m not sure he’ll agree when he sees my credit card statement, but I needed all the trinkets and candles that called out to me from store windows. As I keep moving, I am drawn to a jewellery store window, the golds and silvers shimmering in the early afternoon sun.

Though it is not any of those that call my attention. A large black diamond ring sits in the centre. It is out of place surrounded by the clear sparkling diamonds, but the most beautiful in the collection. Before I can step inside the store to view the ring close-up, the hairs on the nape of my neck rise and a wave of awareness travels over me.

Tightening my grip on my bags, I start down the street, my feet moving faster than before. My shoulders straighten as I walk, the feeling of someone watching me weighing heavily on my mind.

It is not an unusual feeling; there have been many times, back in London, when I have felt eyes on me, felt the pressure of someone behind me. I’ve never spoken to anyone about it, knowing Papá had secret guards following me wherever I went, though he doesn’t know I know that titbit.

I slip down a little side road to the left, rushing to the end before dropping my bags behind a large black bin. With my back against the wall, I slide my hand behind me, breathing a sigh of relief when my fingers fold around the leather hilt tucked beneath my sweater.

While my SIG Sauer is my preferred weapon of choice, I doubt pulling that out in New York City would be a bright idea. At least with my knife, there are no loud noises to alert pedestrians on the main street if things get out of hand.

It is only a couple of minutes before heavy boots slap across the concrete, moving towards me. My eyes land on thick, muscled denim-clad legs before moving up past the broad shoulders covered with a black shirt and then finally, his face.

He has cropped blond hair, the shade almost white, and his face is sharp, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Thin lips twitch at the side when he is a foot away from me, as though to smile, but not quite.

“Pippa Marchesi,” he says, using my maiden name as though it were an insult. Cocking a brow, I don’t respond as I continue watching him cautiously. His smile widens when he moves towards me, his eyes falling onto where my jumper has slipped over one shoulder. “I’m going to have fun with you.”

He steps closer, his hand landing on the wall next to my head. I keep my breath steady, my eyes locked on his stormy grey ones as he leans in, his face mere inches from mine. There’s mint on his breath and a heady scent of musk coming from his large body.

“What do you think you are going to be doing with me?”

“Well.” There is an accent when he speaks, a foreign lilt I had not noticed a moment ago. Russian. “I’m supposed to be delivering you to the boss, but he never said you needed to arrive in one piece. An error, I’m sure, but one I’m going to make the most of. Just one bite, Pippa. It won’t hurt much.”

My head falls back as a rumble of laughter slips from my mouth. The move is calculated, a perfect slip of my blank exterior. A single moment that allows the man to bring his free hand up to cup my throat. It’s a risk, of course; you never know when your opponent is simply crazy enough to snap your neck then and there.

But some risks are worth taking.

Especially now that I know both his hands are weapon free.

What is actually amusing though, is that he is yet to see the knife hanging limp at my side. I would have thought that men such as him had better awareness of their surroundings. The accent, paired with his words, tell me he is a part of the Bratva. The very group of men who have decided they want me. It seems foolish to not catalogue everything.

While I am not disappointed that they have sent an idiot to retrieve me, I have to laugh at the sheer ignorance of him.

“What is it with sending boys to do a man’s job?” I ask him, cocking my head to the side. His brow furrows, and he takes a slight step backwards, searching my gaze. Without giving him a moment, my hand surges forwards, plunging the knife into his stomach. There’s a slight resistance before it breaks through his skin, but I don’t let myself hesitate for a moment and throw my whole weight into it until the blade is embedded in his body.

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