Page 3 of Betrayal of the Mafia Rebel
He turns his attention back to me. The animosity burns bright in his dark eyes. But the edges are blurred by the undeniable tension crackling between us. It is thick enough to choke on. The air vibrates. I catalog his features again. The piercing eyes. The aggressive jawline. He is a predator. A monster built to hunt in the dark. And I'm locking myself in here with him.
The absurdity of my situation washes over me. I'm a twenty-four-year-old woman, standing in a decommissioned speakeasy, arguing with a mafia enforcer over heating arrangements. My life has officially jumped off a cliff.
"Fine." I lift my chin, holding his intense gaze. "I stay in the tunnel. But I expect a space heater and a decent cup of coffee. I'm a defector, not a peasant."
Fabio stares at me. Disbelief flashes across his face, quickly masked by a simmering irritation. He cannot comprehend myaudacity. The women in his world probably cower and weep. They probably beg for mercy. I do not beg. I negotiate.
"A space heater," he repeats flatly.
"And coffee. Black. No sugar."
He leans down. His mouth hovers dangerously close to my ear. The heat of his breath dances across my skin, leaving a trail of fire down my neck. "You’re pushing a very dangerous line, Catalina."
"I crossed the dangerous line when I left the compound." I turn my head slightly, bringing my lips inches from his. The proximity is intoxicating. It is terrifying. It is the most alive I have ever felt in my entire existence. "This is just logistics."
He holds my gaze for a long, agonizing second. The tension snaps tight, a coiled spring ready to explode. The feral energy radiating off him is overwhelming. He wants to drag me back out the door, interrogate me, press me against the brick wall, and figure out why my mouth is driving him out of his mind. But he restrains himself. The legendary Costa discipline holds firm. Barely.
He steps back. The cold rushes in to fill the void.
"Stay here," he commands. "Don't move. Don't make a sound. If I hear so much as a whisper, the deal is off."
"Where are you going?"
"To verify your intel." He turns toward the steel door. "And to find a space heater. Apparently, I'm running a hotel now."
I watch him walk away. The breadth of his shoulders blocks out the dim light of the single bulb. He reaches the door, sliding the deadbolt back with a violent metallic scrape. He pauses before stepping through, looking back over his shoulder. The shadows cling to his face, making him look like the grim reaper himself.
"Don't think this makes us allies, Catalina." His voice is a low, dangerous echo bouncing off the walls. "You're still Bellanti. You're still the enemy."
"I know." I stand tall, refusing to shrink under his hard glare. "But I'm the enemy keeping you alive."
The door slams shut. The deadbolt engages with a final thud. I am alone again in the damp, freezing dark. The water drips constantly.Plink. Plink. Plink.But the scent of smoke lingers in the air, a heavy, masculine promise. I slide my back down the brick wall, pulling my knees to my chest. I'm terrified. I'm freezing. But for the first time in my life, I'm free.
For exactly seven seconds.
A new sound vibrates through the brick. Not the drip. Not the rumble of a subway. A rhythmic, heavy scrape. Metal grinding on stone. Coming from the other end of the tunnel.
The end that is supposed to be a dead end.
My heart stops. Fabio is upstairs. He thinks I'm secure. Thinks he's the only one with a key to this grave.
He is wrong.
And whoever is on the other side of that grate is already cutting through it.
2
Fabio
Cold iron bitesinto my palm. The deadbolt grinds into place with a sickening scrape of rusted metal. She is on the other side. Locked in the damp dark of the River Speakeasy tunnel. I'm on the outside. Breathing hard. Fucking spiraling. The air in this subterranean corridor reeks of old river sludge and rotting limestone. Doesn't matter.
The only thing punching through the damp decay is ripe figs and dark honey. Her. It clings to the collar of my jacket and drags its claws down my spine, settling low and heavy in my gut. A Bellanti. The enemy. The blood we have been hunting for two decades. Standing in my territory, demanding a space heater and coffee like she owns the fucking place.
My jaw locks. The muscles in my neck pull tight enough to snap. I pivot away from the heavy door. The stone stairs leading up to the decommissioned utility office are steep and slick with condensation. My boots slam against the steps. Each impact echoes in the narrow shaft. I need space. I need air.
I need her out of my fucking head. She's a defector. A liability. A weapon handed to me in the dark. I can't figure out if I want to pull the trigger or lock her behind me and hide herfrom the world. Both instincts crash into each other. The result is adrenaline that whites out my vision.
The utility office sits just below street level. Water stains map the concrete ceiling. A single bare bulb swings from a frayed wire. It casts harsh, jagged shadows against the peeling paint. I rip my tactical jacket off. The seam at the shoulder tears. The heavy canvas hits the metal desk with a dull thud.
