Page 2 of Tyrant (The Villetti Chronicles)

“Zayn,” he said, nodding at me.

“Did anyone see her face?”

“No. Only me.”

Arlo wasn’t stupid. He’d played dumb in front of everyone else, but he knew exactly who Ari was. He’d seen her enough times. I rarely went anywhere without him. He was practically my shadow. Had been since I was a child, although he was a few years younger than me. My aunt, Martina, was very good friends with Arlo’s father, Marco Turro. When I’d opened Desecration, Arlo had become my second. The man who would take a bullet for me if necessary.

“No one else finds out about this, we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You can go. I’ll take care of our little problem.”

He gave me another nod. Arlo knew better than to ask too many questions when I was eager to get business done. I watched him walk back down the hallway until he disappeared. Then my eyes went to my office door. I took a breath and put my hand on the handle.

It was time I found out what the fuck Arianna had done. And why, of all people, she’d come to me.

Two

Arianna

I heard the office door open behind me and flinched.Fuck.I was in so much shit right now and coming here was probably a mistake. I had no one else to turn to and nowhere else to go.

Most people would call me insane for turning up on the doorstep of a sex club I shouldn’t know existed, owned by a man who I should be scared shitless of. Most people weren’t the daughter of a man embroiled in the beginnings of a gang war and had found herself caught in the damn crossfire. They didn’t know violence the way I did. They didn’t live with a target on their backs.

I heard his footsteps after the door clicked shut but kept my head down. My eyes spied his expensive leather shoes the moment they came into my peripheral vision. I swallowed hard, hating how nervous I felt in his presence.

Why did you come here? You know he won’t help you, right?

I heard him settle against his desk, the wood creaking with his weight.

“You and I are going to have a little conversation, Arianna, and if you fuck with me or lie, I’ll know. You better have your shit straight, or this won’t end prettily for you.”

I looked up then, startled by his harsh words, and stared into black soulless pits. At least, that’s what looking into Zayn Villetti’s eyes felt like. The man was not only twelve years my senior but intimidating as fuck. He wore a suit that fit his body like a glove, black with a dark red pattern over the jacket. No tie meant his shirt buttons were open. I could see the tattoos winding down his tanned neck. He crossed his legs at the ankle, his heavily tattooed right hand tapping against his thigh. The other rested on the desk with an unlit cigarillo between his fingers.

Zayn leant forward a little, his eyes narrowing on my face. I almost reached up to touch my sore jaw, where I’d been smacked around the face.

“What are you doing here, Tink?”

You could say I’d known Zayn most of my life. We’d met for the very first time when I was four and he was sixteen. I remembered it vividly because he’d called me Tinkerbell on account of the fairy wings attached to my back. I’d pestered Dad for weeks to get me some. The day he met with Gennaro Villetti, I demanded he let me wear them. Ever since then, Zayn had insisted on calling me Tinkerbell whenever I saw him, even though everyone else referred to me as Ari.

“Well?”

My response got stuck in my throat.

What are you doing here, Ari?

It would be better to show him. Words didn’t quite cut it when it came to explaining why I’d run for my damn life to Desecration to find the only man I knew who could possibly help me. If he felt like it, that is. Zayn Villetti didn’t do favours. Why would he when he was the eldest son of the mafia kingpin himself, Gennaro Villetti. People did things for him, not the other way around.

They’d have you think the mafia wasn’t deeply embedded within society in this country, but they were either blind or lying to themselves. No one fucked with the Villetti family unless they wanted to end up dead.

With a very shaky hand, I reached up and pulled down the zipper of my hoodie, all the while staring up at the man I was about to throw myself at and hope he had some shred of humanity locked within his hard exterior. Zayn’s eyes followed the movement of my fingers, but his expression remained the same. Stoic and deadly.

“This is why,” I whispered, almost choking on the words when I pulled back the two sides of my hoodie, exposing my blood-soaked t-shirt to his gaze.

For a moment, he didn’t say a single word. He barely even moved except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. His eyes flicked up to mine, the darkness of them making me aware I was trapped with a predator.

You were fucking stupid to come here.

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