Page 23 of Bloody Savage God
He looks up at me, his gaze raking over my body as if he has a right to. It would be pathetic if his blazing looks didn’t somehow make my skin feel like it was burning under his stare, my body betraying me with its urge to wrap my hand around his neck and claim his mouth.
The man is damn attractive, and the nearer I get to him, the more I realize the pictures I have seen of him and the impression I glimpsed driving away from the Benny Ronaldo job don’t do him proper justice.
He’s hot as fuck, Mia would say.
That thought is so disturbing, I push it down quickly, never to be thought of again.
“Why the hell would I talk to a Bruno?” he says, almost teasingly, and something else stirs inside me, but it’s nothing good. Something about his voice is all wrong, despite the sexy timbre of it. Something familiar that stirs a new zinging in my body.
I give him a fake smile, not trying to hide my dislike of the situation any longer. All of this feels very wrong, but I’m not backing out now. Not when the image of my father’s body still keeps flashing before my eyes.
“Because talking to me is in your best interest.”
He raises an eyebrow, trying to act nonchalant, but I can see he is curious now.
Mikhail
Staring up at the woman who got a kick out of crushing my balls only a few days ago, I am sure of one thing. She doesn’t have the faintest clue that we have done a lot more than talking already, and that dirty little secret makes my cock hard as a rock.
I was ready to go after her, but it looks like she’s come to me instead. Which leaves me in a bit of a tight spot. And I don’t just mean my pants. Giving in to my fantasies while wearing a mask is one thing. Somebody knowing about them is another. Especially Gianna Bruno herself. The Italian princess would eat that shit up for breakfast and try to make me her bitch quicker than I can draw my weapon. It’s what makes her so fucking hot.
Problem is, I might let her torture me in Club Steel on my own terms, but I won’t be blackmailed, and that’s what the Italians are known for. I don’t doubt for a second that Gianna would use any piece of dirt she can find on me to leverage it. And my kneeling at her feet and letting her abuse me? Well, that bit of news wouldn’t end up well for me in the wrong kind of ears.
Which means I might be determined to make Gianna mine, but I’m also hell bent on keeping her from realizing just how much her mere presence turns me on right now.
“Most people would just pick up the phone and call,” I suggest, enjoying the irritated glare flashing in her eyes, reminding me of the short fuse she keeps tempered under that aristocratic facade. Drawing this out is an easy way to remind her she may have hersoldatifollow her orders, but I’m not one of them. “Someone might read a different kind of interest into you showing up here. So much effort just to have a bit of a chat with me.”
“Perhaps I simply have better manners than most,” she seethes, making me grin.
“A true princess.”
I can see her temper reaching its limits and her next words come out sounding more like she is hissing. “Then why don’t you act like a fucking gentleman and walk me to my car so we can arrange a meeting in a more appropriate place? You’re allowed to pencil something in on your father’s behalf, right? Or would you prefer to call and ask for permission?”
“Say I were willing to do that, I’m still not sure what that meeting would be all about.”
Annoyance is evident in her expression, but she is visibly reigning herself in. “It’s about a proposition I have to book some of your girls as entertainment for our games.”
It’s a good lie, but I don’t buy her bullshit for even a second. There is no way the Italians would come to us for some hookers, even if we are running that game in Toronto. Which leaves the question of what this Goddess is actually after.
There are two ways for me to play this, and just like with Benny Ronaldo, I am too damn curious to see what Gianna will do if I let her have her way. Last time, she made my blood boil with desire, and damn, that stinging sensation was addictive.
“All right then, I’ll walk you out so we canpencil something in.” I mock her earlier phrasing, hoping to rile her up a bit more. Next to me, Boris chuckles, though Gianna pays him no mind, which is good, because that would have pissed me off. I want all her attention on me.
“My car is out front,” she says, turning to leave.
“Have them pull around back. There is a back alley where we can speak privately.” I keep my voice level. I may be willing to see how this plays out, but I’m not likely to walk out the door where, for all I know, someone is going to gun me down. It wouldn’t be the first time the Italians played it that way.
She looks over her shoulder and shrugs, her expression blank. Something is definitely up, but I’m not still not sure where she’s taking this.
I gesture for her to take the lead. It’s not so much a gesture of respect, but more an opportunity to simultaneously check out her ass in the tight pants she’s wearing and to keep an eye on her. Unfortunately, the goon she’s brought along holds back to keep me in view and protect his boss. My own man, Boris, gets up as well, doing the same for me. Too bored to deal with that shit, I simply follow Gianna. It’s a messed up lineup, but I have to assume she has something more creative planned than to have her man take me out from behind only to get shot in the head in turn.
That’s not smart business, and Gianna is anything but dumb, from what I know of her.
She steps into the chilly night air and walks into the alley a few steps before turning around. As I follow her, I hear Boris and Gianna’s man following us out, the door closing behind them. I don’t bother checking on them, instead, my eyes stay trained on Gianna.
“All right, you want to make a deal then?” I ask the way I would have if this had been anyone else coming to me for Bratva business and not the woman who had me on my knees for her a week ago.
She smiles, but instead of humor, I see only malice in her eyes. “Yes, I think it’s time for business.”
