Page 6 of Corso DeLuca

“Tread carefully,” I warn. “I promised Gregorio you would be under my protection, but men have died for less.” We enter the elevator. Then the bulletproof doors seal us away from the chaos of my world. A world Jessie has crashed in with an unexpected fortitude. However, she may regret entering The Governor, because from this point forward, we are linked to each other’s fate.

“And the women?”

For some stupid reason, I disregard all the internal alarms as my gaze drifts to her mouth. Jessie NuCalla has no sense of self-preservation. She has no idea how much danger she’s in by flirting with me. For most men in my position, a woman taunting him while cradling deeper into his embrace may earn her last rites, but… Jessie is stirring a deeper fire, one that may consume her in the end.

“You came to me, remember?” The front desk cameras, to which an app is installed on my phone, recorded her entire conversation with Gabriel. Technology is a blessing and a curse. I take special care to assign each of my trusted colleagues an individual phone number. A detail that none of them are aware of. Jessie’s hiss captures my attention. A small grimace twists her soft round features.

“I came for you, Corso DeLuca. There’s a difference,” she mutters. “And Greg was crazy to trust the word of a criminal. You’re going down.”

Her eyes drift closed before she could utter more empty threats. Asinine, really. To think three FBI agents thought they could apprehend me… in The Governor. I look down at my predator and prey. The next time Jessie opens her eyes, she will have more of me than she bargained for. Now that she’s entered my kingdom, she’s subject to my rules. If anyone is under lock and key, it’s her. She stays until I find out who in the bureau murdered my little brother.

THREE

Jessie

I’m not dead, yet.

Corso DeLuca holds me, taking me deeper into The Governor. His touch is gentle, firm, and respectful. I know, girls with bullet holes aren’t bringing sexy back, but I imagined him a garish gun-waving ogre. He’s not. We both know I led those shooters to his location, but he’s not angry. My mind is fuzzy from blood loss, yes, but who the hell would come for me in a hotel owned by the DeLuca family? And somehow being here, I have inserted not only myself, but my team, into a war between two or more fierce opponents. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of Teal’s blood splattering my skin. I fight the gag as the smell of my own sweat mixes with the metallic tinge of bloodshed. The motion of the elevator is silent, but the climb mirrors the bile flooding my mouth. Concentrating, I train my eyes on the glass panels. Like this, I can see my would-be savior in crisp detail. He supports me with little effort, his breathing calm and even. Bullets and blood don’t frighten him. Not that I imagined they would, but… still, his command and control are unnerving.

“Don’t throw up,” Corso commands, studying me closely. The arrogance of the man borders on lunacy. Revolt is the only way to describe the scathing retort clamoring to be unleashed on the pillar of my stability. Because the truth is, I’m too weak to support my one-hundred and seventy-eight point five pounds on legs shaky with chills. So, I respond with the maturity of any thirty-seven year-old woman.

I meet his glare, rolling my eyes. “Do you always watch your victims so close?”

“Do you always antagonize?”

“It’s my gift.” And my armor. When you’re the only child in the neighborhood who doesn’t have a father and your mother is always working, you master the mind-bending talent of deflection. I wish my sister had learned that particular party trick before her life was cut short. She had an affinity for the wrong man. Neither of us were good with love. Daddy issues suck.

“You should’ve asked for speed,” he says with a smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I chuff. A ding signals that we have arrived at what I assume is the penthouse. Powerful men like Corso DeLuca need constant reminders that they are in charge. That they are the pride’s alpha without a equally-skilled challenger. I’d pay half my salary to get a peek into the thoughts running through his mind right now. Especially, what the hell his plan is for me.

“When bullets fly, you enter the game with both guns firing,” he snaps as if angry.

“That’s what I did.”

“No,” he contends, angling his body to enter a small entryway. “You hesitated. Gregorio should have taught you better.”

We’re in a large open room with soft cream walls, bright white crown molding and chair rails. Dark flooring transitions to what I hope is faux animal print rugs.

“Why do you call Greg, Gregorio?”

“It’s the name his father called him. In Italian Gregorio translates to watchful,” he mutters. “He knew not to hesitate. It’s a lesson you learned tonight.” There’s anger in his voice, but I’m not sure if it’s aimed at me or Greg.

“Unlike the criminally minded, I was trained to assess the situation before going Wile E. Coyote,” I retort, referring to the Bugs Bunny cartoon character.

“Take note, Jessie.” Corso deposits me on what appears to be a medical gurney.

“Of?” I ask, trying to sit up but failing.

“While Road Runner was running. Wile E. got his ass blown off multiple times. Next time, shoot first.”

I roll my eyes. As if an experienced agent needs advice from a well-dressed Italian thug.

“What the hell is this place?” When I attempt to sit up, he gives a stern look that speaks to his Catholic school upbringing. Lying back, my head melts into a pillow with just the right amount of fluff and fill.

“It’s my personal medical suite,” he says nonchalant, opening a wall mounted cabinet.

I look around in awe, eyes wide at the shit money can buy. “Universal criminal healthcare coverage. Unfucking believable.”