Page 51 of Ruthless

“Why?”

“Because my half-brother wanted me dead. He thought I was a threat to him taking over the family once my father died. It wasn’t worth it to me. Had a friend in high places and I split, created a new identity and it’s worked for me… Until now, obviously. Someone knows who I really am.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I said carefully, wondering if this conversation was really about me being scared of him—or if he was digging for information about what I knew about him.

“So… What about your partner?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What about him?”

“What’s his affiliation with the mob? I know he’s got ties to the Las Vegas bunch, but I don’t know what they are.”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “He’s never talked about it. He worked as a cop when we met. I don’t know much about his past. He never went into detail about it, and henevermentioned the mafia in New York.”

He nodded before leaning back and running his hands through his hair. “Okay.”

I hesitated. “Okay? You’re not going to keep drilling me about it?”

He made a face. “Why would I? It’s not like you know anything about it. I think we’re past that… Or at least, I thought we were.” His eyes held mine for a few long seconds. “Are we?”

I nodded, forcing a shrug like his gaze wasn’t doing things to my body. “Yeah, sorry. I just never know what to expect.”

“What do wanna know about me?”

I frowned, the question surprising. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he began, letting out a sigh. “I’ll tell you whatever it is you want to know about me and who I am. I think I owe that to you at this point.”

I narrowed my eyes as fear crept back in. “And you’re not worried about me telling someone?”

He raised a brow. “Who you gonna tell? Your brother? Because I don’t think you’d do that. He’s already made his threats to sic Victor on me. And I’d love for him to do that.”

“Yeah…,” my voice trailed off. “Or maybe you have no problem telling me because I’m going to die anyway.”

“You’re going to die eventually—we all are—but it won’t be me who brings that to you, princess.” His words were almost heavy as he spoke, like it pained him I had even mentioned it.

I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to read his expression, which always seemed to stay neutral. The shadow of hair on his jaw worked in his favor, and the longer I looked at him, the more I saw the Italian roots in his features.

But his eyes…

“What’d your mom look like?” I asked, catching him by surprise.

“What? My mom? That’s a weird fucking question.”

“You said I could ask anything I wanted to,” I pointed out, shrugging my shoulders. “I wanna know where you got your eyes.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “Yeah, I got them from my mom. That was about the only thing I got from her, though. Crazy fucking phenomena, really. Should’ve gotten my dad’s dark eyes. Instead, I got her eyes. She was real pretty, blonde hair, blue eyes—classic American sweetheart look.”

“But your eyes are gray,” I said in a soft voice.

“I guess that’s what seeing a bunch of shit does to someone,” he muttered, his eyes shifting away from mine for a moment.

“I know that feeling,” I agreed with him. “I’ve seen more than I let on.”

He looked back to me and then shook his head. “Nah, princess. You might have seen a lot, but you’re still golden inside.”

Heat flushed to my cheeks. “Maybe.”

“No maybes about it. What else do you wanna know about me?” he asked, his eyes going back to searching my face. “I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he added, his large, lean hands running down the black denim covering his thighs. “Whateverthisis,” he motioned between the two of us. “I don’t want you to leave here regretting it.”

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