Page 7 of Leave Me (Touch of Death 2)
How foolish I was to think I could simply walk in here and buy this man’s trust.
For long moments, I’m left staring at his shiny shoes, my heart thrumming in my chest. Then a hand appears in my line of vision. Looking up, I see him holding it out to me. I’m on my knees in front of Enrique, and he seems all too pleased with that fact. Time seems to slow for a moment as I stare at his outstretched hand. I could take it, let him think he broke me that quickly. It would be so easy. Or, I can keep my pride, get up, and hold my head high.
I picture myself lying next to him, opening his throat with a knife and watching him flounder around like a fish out of water as his blood drenches the sheets beneath him. I want that reality. I can do this—sacrifice my pride.
I stare at his hand, willing myself to just take it, but I can’t. Instead, I push to my feet on my own and stand before him. He’s so close that with each inhale, my chest brushes his.
“Look at it,” he instructs.
I hold his gaze a beat longer, and then curiosity has me pulling the wet material away from my chest to stare at his handiwork. The blood makes it difficult to see clearly, but I can make out the clean lines of letters. Enough to know it’s his initials.
“I own you,” he says, a smug smile pulling at his lips. “And soon, you’ll feel it mind, body, and soul.” Never. “Oh, how I’ll enjoy destroying every inch of you. By the time I finish, you won’t remember who you were before you were mine.”
“I thought you wanted a wife, not a slave,” I grate.
He takes a step back, putting space between us. “That opportunity passed the second you ran from me.”
“I came to you willingly,” I say defensively.
“You came here because I threatened Nero Verdi. And I threatened that filthy fucking Russian.” He spits the words with disgust, examining me in the cold way a hawk might an injured mouse. “You think I don’t know that you were with him, alone. For weeks,” he spits through gritted teeth. “Your Russian killed my brother. I’m going to end him. Maybe I’ll make you watch as I kill him.” The thought of Enrique managing to kill Sasha is almost laughable, but then I wonder if I shouldn’t underestimate him.
“He thought he was protecting me. It wasn’t my choice.” A note of panic creeps into my voice as I try to make Sasha’s actions justifiable in Enrique’s eyes, but it’s pointless. His expression morphs from rage to amusement in a split second. My head spins, trying to keep up with him.
“Ah yes, Sasha Ivanov, ever the white knight.” A laugh slips from his mouth, and I feel like I’m missing some kind of private joke. He lifts his hand and drags a thumb over my lip, making me uncomfortable. “If there’s one thing I know of you, Adelina Ricci, it’s that you are not a woman to be cowed or easily tamed.” He leans in, bringing his lips to my ear. “It’s what makes you so exciting. A challenge,” he whispers. “You expect me to believe that you were with him against your will, just waiting to come to me.” He smiles, mockingly.
“My father made an agreement; did he not?” The thought of my father has a lump lodged in my throat, but it also gives me strength.
His head snaps up. “Your father broke his agreement.” Enrique’s face turns an unhealthy shade of red as his entire frame is suddenly pulled tight like the string of a bow, and his mood swings violently again.
I both fear his rage and revel in it. Anger is a lack of control, and that shows a weakness. My father reneged on an agreement because he knew I would never willingly marry this creature. And Enrique killed him for it. His pride took a hit, and he started a war. He’s nothing more than a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. A child that Father should never have made a deal with.
Another reminder of exactly why I’m here. My father’s betrayal is only salt in the gaping wound left in the wake of his murder. I know he loved me though, or he wouldn’t have died trying to remedy all this.
Inhaling a deep breath, I force calm onto my face. All my emotions drain away until I mute them beneath a layer of ironclad determination. “I am not my father. Mafia’s are made with alliances.” The words are like acid on my tongue.
Enrique is so close I can taste the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat of his body. “I know you’re lying.” His eyes dip, a smirk pulling at his lips as his eyes sweep over my body like a predator. “But it doesn’t matter. I have you now.”
