Page 36 of The Prince of Darkness

I roll my eyes behind his back. Just like at his other house, this pantry is expansive, so when he gets to what looks like the end, he reaches around the side of a cabinet and pulls it open. It’s a tall and skinny wine fridge masked as part of the cabinetry.

“Oh, well, nobody would’ve found that.”

He smirks. “Go ahead. Grab one.”

He doesn’t move though, making it to where I have to squeeze in front of him, my ass touching his crotch.

I pull out a few bottles, reading the labels, but all the white wines are low, and the red wines are higher.

“Do you have a red you prefer? I like red wine, usually.”

“Vino tinto,” he says quietly, looking at my lips. “I have Rioja Gran Reserva. It’s a Spanish red wine.”

“That works.”

Vicente squeezes in closer to me, his arm extending for a bottle near the top. He looks down with a grin on his face. “What do you say?”

I look up into his dark brown eyes, and two sides of myself begin warring with each other. I want to be stubborn. I want to roll my eyes and say,now!I want to say,forget it, and leave the pantry. But then there’s this other side of me, the side he knows about, the side he’s toying with. I want to obey. I want to sayplease.

His free hand comes up and grips my chin. His thumb brushes gently over my bottom lip. “What do you say, Mariella?”

I feel the shift happen. It’s slight, but my willfulness dissipates. My eyes soften as my brows drop lower. My lips part, and I say, “Please.”

Vicente smiles and it makes my heart want to burst. His hand cups my cheek and I find myself nuzzling into it.

“Good girl.” He grabs the bottle and hands it to me. “Let’s go eat.”

I walk out of the pantry, headed toward dinner, but the only thing I want him to eat is me.

ChapterFifteen

The first seven minutes of dinner goes by without any talking. I know that because a clock rests on the wall directly behind Vicente, and my eyes keep tracking the minutes as they go by.

When I can’t take it anymore, I speak up. “I have a question, but it’s”—I pause, trying to figure out how to word it—“a little sensitive.”

He smirks, takes another bite, and then puts his fork down. Once he’s done chewing, he says, “We’re past that, aren’t we? Don’t be scared. Speak up.”

I nod, take a sip of wine, and then open my mouth. “Why did you kill that man?”

Vicente doesn’t react like anybody else would. There’s no shock or defensiveness. There’s no stuttering or changing subjects. He simply leans back in his chair and stares at me. “Are you hoping to justify it? Do you want me to say it was self-defense?”

“I just want the truth.”

“He snuck into the club with the plan to burn it down. He’s from another family and they’re not too happy that we opened up in Briton. They want us out of there.”

I swallow. “Why don’t they want you in Briton?”

“To keep it simple, it’s not really our territory.”

“So, you’re in the wrong.”

He chuckles. “Everything we do is wrong. There’s no moral high ground in this life. People see me as a casino owner or even a club owner and think that’s respectable, but they don’t know what those businesses are for.”

“What are they for?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, cutting the air with his hand. “We moved in on their territory, they’re pissed and making moves, and we’re on the defensive. I can’t let someone come into my business with the plan to burn it down and allow him to live. They can’t think I’d let that slide. He had to die. He knew it was a risk. That’s the game we play,” he says with a shrug.

“Why would you build there if you knew it would cause a problem? Why not open it up in your own territory?”

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