Page 9 of Broken Crown

There was a reason why our more unsavory business efforts never appeared in the news, or worse, on social media. Money bought silence. Fear ensured it.

"And the body?"

Sabrina trembled in my grasp, her breath catching against my neck.

"I'll take care of it. Go. Take care of her."

She pushed back against my chest and kicked her legs out, the strain of her muscles against me sending an unwelcome surge of desire through my veins.

I continued to march toward a waiting SUV.

"He didn't mean it that way," I ground out.

"You are literally the very last person on earth I would believe in this moment."

I glared down at her then conceded. "Fair point."

One of my men jumped forward and opened the door.

I leaned over and carefully placed Sabrina inside, my chest brushing against her breasts as I pulled away.

With her back rigid, she crossed her arms and stared straight ahead, her profile a study in defiance.

The corner of my mouth lifted. "La mia piccola americana sospettosa." I placed a forearm on the top of the car. "Slide over."

She kept her head forward and stayed put. "Driver, please take me to the American Embassy."

My driver didn't even acknowledge he'd heard her command. He was well trained. His eyes remained fixed forward, hands at ten and two on the wheel, as immovable as Roman marble.

"Dolcezza—"

"Don't call me that." Her head snapped to the side as she lowered her arms to rest on her thighs. Her hands curled into fists, knuckles white against tanned skin.

Around us, chaos reigned.

My men moved through the crowd with practiced efficiency, confiscating cell phones while the police attempted to establish a perimeter. Orders barked in rapid Italian competed with the protests of tourists and locals alike.

Basta! Enough.

With little ceremony, I shoved her over since I had no intention of giving her a chance to escape. The moment I closed the door, the child locks engaged. Again, my driver was well trained.

As the car gingerly worked its way through the maze of security and police cars, I reached for Sabrina to pull her onto my lap, craving her weight against me.

She slapped my hand away as she leaned forward.

Placing her hand on the driver's seat, she repeated in flawed Italian, "Per favore, portami all’in base a Americana."

I chuckled. "You basically just asked him to take you to a base."

Her head whipped around as both her eyebrows rose. "Really? You're going to make fun of my Italian right now?"

"Sabrina—"

"Don't you Sabrina me! I know plenty of Italian. Enough to know the men said they needed me alive and that it was the boss's orders." Her head tilted to the side as her lips thinned, her neck exposed in a way that made my teeth ache. "Gee, I wonder who they were talking about?"

I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a long exhale. "Baby, they weren't talking about me."

"The fuck they weren't!" she shouted, fumbling for the locked door handle and yanking hard, the muscles in her arm straining against the sleeve of her dress. Turning her attention back to my driver, she called out, "Unlock this door."