Page 74 of One Secret

Don't rise to the bait. I can practically hear Cyrus's voice in my head. Like his thoughts are running through his bloodstream, out along his fingerprints, and transfusing into my skin. Don't bite back.

Not pissing off the man in charge of all the other big men with guns seems like the smart call.

Even if it does nearly kill me to let the arsehole get away with his blatant misogyny.

I inhale softly and set my head on an innocent tilt.

'In which case,' I tell him, speaking slowly and deliberately. I furrow my brows in sympathy. 'I can only apologize, Mr. Caruso.'

The table falls quiet again.

Felix's frown darkens. He glances at poor Inga, as if she holds the translating dictionary for "women-speak". Then, after receiving only a dull stare, turns back to me.

'Apologize?' he parrots.

I smile sadly.

'You must have had a poor selection of my kind if trinkets have been your only means of tempting them to bed.' I lick my lips. 'I can assure you that the right woman does not need to be paid with flamboyant gifts. She only needs to see a man's worth... to gladly fuck him into oblivion.'

There's a long moment of stunned silence until…

Felix's cousin erupts in a hooting laugh. He pins his tongue between his teeth and his eyes are vibrant as he stares at me with all the eagerness of a child mid sugar rush. Hungry and chaotic.

Better at reading my masked insults, Lana hides a dirty smile behind a demure hand, her manicure pressed to her lips.

Felix Caruso himself, thank God, is grinning from ear to ear.

The last of the tension has dissipated, and the table is jovial once more.

'I like her,' Felix declares, before running his tongue over his teeth. The gesture is incredibly reptilian. He, like Rocco, has a hungry entitlement in his gaze. 'I'm only sorry you found her first, Alesi.'

Sure, as if I wouldn't have had a say in the matter? Arrogant bastard...

Pleased with my performance, I turn to grin at Cyrus but come up short. He's watching me with an unreadable expression. Something... questioning. Something soft.

A moment of vulnerability in his stare has me swallowing my tongue before it's replaced by a snide and prideful grin. Cyrus returns his arm to the back of my chair to stake his claim and falls back into the role of possessive mobster.

Comments are bandied back and forth, the conversation falling into the realm of crude, even as Lana and I are ignored.

But I watch with intense interest. I listen to the differences in the men.

Rocco and Felix are quick to speak of women as playthings. Possessions with no thought or feeling. Amusements if they are fiery and challenges if they are stubborn.

Cyrus goes with the flow of the conversation, his teasing comments appropriately macho. But never once are they discrediting. Never does he fall into the territory of degradation.

Again, I'm reminded that Cyrus is a part of this world but not truly one of these men. He marches to his own ethical code. Plays to his own morals.

Curiously, the dark gentleman with the goatee talks in a similar way.

'I'll agree to attend,' Cyrus finally declares when the ribbing and teasing remarks die down. 'I'll attend your party on one condition, Mr. Caruso.'

Felix lifts an eyebrow in curiosity.

'Your current assassin. The one taking care of your wet work at the moment. I want them there.'

Felix runs his tongue behind his lower lip, expanding it in an ugly undercut pout. He tilts his head questioningly.

'What makes you think we already have a hitman on the books?'

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