Despite my hatred of the conniving bitch, lust floods my veins as she lifts her lashes and aims bright green orbs at me. I don’t remember her irises being so crystal clear, but maybe the nearly eighteen years since I’ve seen her altered my memory and the sunlight streaming down on us makes them seem brighter than before.
She swallows and studies my face.
Doubt dampens my hatred. From afar, she’s exactly as I remember, but up close, something feels off.
The Julieta I know would immediately switch tactics and rub her breasts against me and simper her way out of danger, but the woman before me calculates her options and lifts her chin in defiance.
She’s gorgeous. If she hadn’t turned out to be such a backstabbing whore, I might’ve married her all those years ago, but I’m no longer in my early twenties and desperate to prove myself.
“This has nothing to do with you, so back off,” she demands.
My cock stiffens at the challenge in her stare and the hardness in her tone.
I scoff and tighten my grip on her wrists.
“Nothing to do with me? I’m here. I’m involved, and you know exactly what that means, don’t you, bugiarda?”
She jerks her arms, testing my hold on her wrists, and wriggles against me. I growl and lean more of my weight onto her.
“This is what you want, isn’t it? My attention. My anger,” I snarl through gritted teeth.
As I take a deep breath to calm myself, the scent of vanilla teases my nostrils. Another kernel of doubt sprouts within me.
Julieta always wore expensive perfumes. She never would have let anyone catch her wearing such a simple, holistic fragrance.
She also would never run around in purple and pink patterned scrubs with blood smeared all over her. Nor would she have openly punched me or jumped over a railing when she could’ve tried to use the sexual attraction between us as an out.
Maybe she’s temporarily conforming to the likes of whatever poor sap she has her sights set on this time.
“Are you working at the clinic that just got shot to shit?” I ask.
Her eyes flare in alarm, but she masks the reaction with a glare and tries to tug her wrists free again.
I curse and dig my fingertips into her jugular.
Her reaction seals her fate.
She’s hiding something. I can’t let her go. There’s no way she just happens to be working in the clinic the Dorian gang—who were next on our list to annihilate for taking part in the attack on my family eight months ago—shot up by chance.
“You’re unbelievable,” I snarl.
She lifts a brow and clenches her teeth, but the fear lingering in her clear green eyes undermines her bravado.
“Did you just realize you bit off more than you could chew now that I’m here?” I mock.
To my surprise, she chuckles, shakes her head, and refocuses unyielding green orbs at me.
“I bit off more than I could chew decades ago, yet here I am, still alive. Still scheming.” I swear she’d form quotation marks with her fingers if I weren’t holding her wrists against the wall. “Still unlucky enough to run into you again.” She lifts her lip in the most gorgeous sneer I’ve ever seen. “Whatever you think you mean to me, I can assure you, you don’t. I want nothing to do with you, so get your hands off me.”
I scoff and tug her wrists higher on the wall, forcing her onto her toes. Her soft breasts shift against the hard planes of my chest, highlighting the raised flesh around my scars.
“Don’t worry, bugiarda. I’d rather handle a snake than a liar like you, but unfortunately for us both, I can’t let you run off and ruin more lives than you already have.”
Hurt flashes through her eyes, and for a moment, she seems so vulnerable and guilt-ridden I long to take back my words, but she buries her thoughts under a mask of anger.
“What are you going to do, kidnap me in broad daylight?”
I smirk and run the pad of my thumb over the sensitive skin under her ear.
“I’ve got those cops in my pocket, so who’s going to stop me? You?” I murmur with a sardonic quirk of my brow.
She thins her lips into a hostile line. A muscle ticks in her jaw. Temptation proves too much. I lean down and nip her jawline before pouring every ounce of menace into my tone as I whisper in her ear.
“You’re welcome to try, bugiarda schifosa, but I promise you won’t like what I do to you if you do.”
Her pulse pounds against my fingers and her throat bobs against my palm as she swallows. I stop my tongue a centimeter before I taste the sweat trailing down the side of her neck and lift my face away before I do something I’ll regret.
Her beauty shouldn’t matter when she’s proven to be the most self-centered and manipulative woman I’ve ever met, but the leashed fury emanating from her every response calls to the feral beast trapped inside me.
“So what’ll it be, Julieta? Are you going to fight, or will you be a good little puttana and come with me?” I goad.
“Why would I go with you when you’re just going to hurt me?”
Cold fury washes away my lust.
“It’s too late for the damsel in distress act. If you wanted me to treat you like a woman, you wouldn’t have acted like a snake.”
The blood drains from her face and fear shines in her bright green eyes, but she never looks away from my glare. “You’ve earned every ounce of pain I’m going to give you. Capisci?”
She swallows and pulls a deep breath in through her nose as she stares back at me. When she exhales without opening her mouth, I realize she doesn’t intend to defend herself.
Good. I’m done coddling her.
And judging by the look on her face, she’ll bolt the moment I give her an inch of freedom. I sigh, release her throat, and pull my pistol from my ankle holster.
All emotion drains from her expression. I pause with the muzzle a few inches from her face, her reaction unexpected.
No tears glimmer in her eyes. No panic. No desperation. She neither looks for a dirty way to escape nor becomes infuriated over my audacity at pulling a gun on her.
Instead, she morphs into a cold, cynical creature with demons lurking in her clear green orbs.
I lower her arms to her stomach and press the muzzle to her temple.
“You can’t manipulate your way out of this, Julieta. Follow my lead and maybe I’ll send you back to San Jose instead of killing you. Capisci?”
The hardness in her eyes says she doesn’t believe my words any more than I do, which means she’s not stupid.
I pull her from the wall, release her wrists, and tuck her against my side with my arm over her shoulders and the pistol digging into her ribs. She walks beside me like a life-sized doll as I lead her through the alley toward the parking lot.
Fiero and Emma Capito are long gone, but another cab driver and a handful of police officers have joined the two cabbies arguing near the center of the lot. Ignoring them, I saunter toward the street where I left my car pulled halfway on the curb.
When I notice Julieta reading my license plate, I press the muzzle harder against her ribs and ask, “Still thinking of alerting the cops? Or maybe you want to call one of your pimps to come bail you out?”
Without flinching, she shifts her gaze to my face.
“My phone is still at work, so how am I supposed to do that? Steal yours?”
I open the passenger door and lower her into the seat, keeping the gun trained on her the entire time, and unlatch the glove box. Several sets of handcuffs gleam in the light before I lean into the vehicle and fasten her seat belt. With our noses less than an inch apart, I meet her eyes.
“Do you trust your skills enough to try?” I ask.
Expecting her to turn sullen, I blink in surprise when she quirks a brow and gives my face a sardonic once-over.
“Did you get slow in your old age or something? I’m not stupid enough to even try to steal your phone. It was a jab at your lame questions,” she sneers.
My hand lifts and cups the back of her head without my permission, weaving my fingers into her loosened ponytail. I tug it back, lifting her chin toward the ceiling and exposing her throat.
“Lame or not, you’d better be hanging on my every word, puttana. Cuff your ankles together. Capisci?”
Before meeting my gaze with impossibly hard eyes, she glances toward the arguing crowd even though my body blocks her view. The resolution in her glare rivals the few men who chose to die instead of break under my hands during torture.
“Of course, il mio sovrano.”
I bite back my frustrated growl as she mocks me, refusing to rise to her bait. I’m not sovereign, and I’m definitely not hers, so the phrase my sovereign in Italian is her way of calling me a high-handed king or tyrannical lord.
Her expression remains unimpressed as I twist my hand in her hair and smirk.
“Good girl,” I say just to see her balk.
My doubt grows as purpose emanates from her. I lean back, release her hair, and study her as she pulls a set of handcuffs out of the glovebox. She flips the chest belt behind her before leaning down and closing the cuffs over both ankles at the same time. With clipped motions, she rises, fixes her seatbelt, takes another set of handcuffs from the glovebox, slams the compartment closed, and clicks the cuffs shut around her left wrist before lifting both hands toward my face. The open cuff dangles between us.
I snatch her wrists out of the air and lower them out of view before threading the cuff through the dashboard grab handle and closing it around her slim wrist.
With clinical detachment, I force her fists open and give her a quick pat down before propping my pistol on her lap and pinching her chin between my fingers, ensuring I have her full attention.
“Don’t move. Be silent. Capisci?” I demand.
Her glare intensifies and her nostrils flare as she inhales through her nose.
“Of course, il mio sovrano.”
Magma pulses in my balls, but I ignore my stiffening cock and give her a demeaning pat on the cheek before fitting my pistol back into my ankle holster, rising, and shutting the door. She maintains eye contact with me through the windows as I walk around the front of the car.
After a few minutes of driving, I decide her bright green eyes are too calculating, so I pull over and unbuckle my belt.
Her already taut body stiffens further and alarm widens her eyes, but she remains silent and watchful as I pull my belt out of my beltloops and turn toward her.
“Close your eyes,” I demand.
The muscle ticks in her jaw again. I’ve never seen the response on a woman before. Intrigued, I loop the belt in my fist and rub the leather over her jaw.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” I murmur.
She lowers her lashes.
As I fashion the belt into a blindfold, I use the warmth of the leather compared to her cool, sweaty brow to center my thoughts.
The thought of torturing a woman sours my gut, but this is no ordinary woman. She’s the conniving bitch who tried to ruin my life eighteen years ago.
With the belt secured around her eyes, I drive around for a few minutes, ensuring we don’t have a tail before heading toward a block of rundown apartment complexes at the edge of the suburbs. Despite the constant turf wars of the smaller gangs in the area, no one dares touch the apartments no matter how vacant they seem, since they belong to me.
I don’t need to wield Nico Russo’s name to terrify people.
Which makes Julieta’s stoic silence a smidge unnerving. Can someone change so much in less than two decades?
I don’t believe it. Not someone as self-centered and devious as the woman who tried to pit me and my don against each other.
She nearly destroyed my life with her tricks, but now it’s my turn. I warned her what would happen if she ever returned to New York City.
I drive around the complex to ensure no one is watching before parking in the lot between the two closest buildings.
As I turn off the engine and exit the car, I push my doubts away and allow the fury festering in my soul to fuel me around the hood to the passenger side.
Julieta sits in silence as I open her door and grab her wrist. She doesn’t balk or fight when I uncuff her from the dashboard, unbuckle her seatbelt, and close the handcuff back around her wrist.
I toss her over my shoulder. My suspicion grows when she doesn’t fight. She grunts and grabs the back of my shirt for stability but doesn’t buck or wriggle as I slam the door and carry her down to the basement apartment. The black iron gate squeaks as I push through it, and the dirt on the concrete steps crunches under my shoes as I descend, but the key slides into the lock without a sound and the door opens without resistance.
As I shut and lock the door behind me, I leave my humanity on the stoop.
No matter how tempting the lying, evil seductress over my shoulder may be, nothing will stop me from getting the answers I need from her.
She’ll tell me everything.
I’ll break her, learn all her secrets, and then make her pay for almost ruining my life nearly eighteen years ago, even if it means crossing my personal boundaries.
Julieta Giordano will not fool me again. Her bright green eyes won’t sway me, her luscious curves won’t tempt me, and the stoicism in her every decision won’t stop me.
She only has herself to blame for what I’m going to do to her.
