“Don’t tell me that you don’t enjoy probing, personal questions—” She grabs a bar of soap and drags it across her breasts. “Though, I don’t blame you. I prefer probing things of a much different variety.”
Her nipple hardens further with the contact, repelling the droplets of water that baste it.
I look down at the counter, watching my fingers flex against the polished surface.
“Antonio Salvatore,” I say, steering the conversation to a different topic. “You knew his name but not one of the Saleris. Did you work with him personally?”
She laughs. “Work is a loaded word. I much prefer ‘play’ to describe my relationship with dear Tony.”
It’s a deliberate nod toward the one subject she seems to prefer—sex. So, I’ll play.
I turn to face her, keeping my hands at the ready in case she tries to run. “You fucked him, I’m assuming. Did this Jonathan use you as a whore to further his aims?”
Her smirk falls.
“No,” she admits, turning around to wet her hair. “I was to keep an eye on him. Make sure he was scouting the properties he was supposed to—”
“Properties?” I take a step forward, noting the shiver that wracks her spine in response.
So much for her haughty demeanor.
“He wanted him to buy them. One in particular, but the seller was proving difficult—”
“Donatello Vanici?” That certainly rings a bell. Even Mischa had his eyes on the section of the port Vanici had gotten ahold of.
Despite the offices having been burned to the ground, it seems the interest in that particular piece of land hasn’t abated any.
She shrugs. “Perhaps. I was to convince Tony to keep his attention on the end goal.”
“How. If not through sex… Blackmail?”
She presses a hand to her chest in mock horror. “Do I look like the sort to do something so heinous?”
No. She looks like the sort to use her body as a weapon and toy with her nipple to distract me. It works.
Objectively, her body is a work of art—and as soon as I think the thought, I cringe from it. Shaking my head, I refocus.
“I’m assuming your man had something on him. What?”
For minutes she doesn’t respond, humming contently as she washes herself. Finally, she shuts the water off.
“Could you hand me a towel, please? I’d rather not catch my death.”
I snatch one from a hook on the door and throw it at her.
Laughing, she catches it, but drapes it around her hips, leaving her breasts bare. At the same time, she inclines her head to meet my gaze with sudden seriousness.
“Tony liked girls, and he liked them young. Young and… Not necessarily willing.”
Her words land bluntly, but I know instantly it’s the truth.
That sick son of a bitch.
“The Saleris supplied them,” she continues, running her fingers through her damp hair. “Regularly. They also disposed of them, but they kept the records. Detailed, meticulous records. My role was to periodically…remind him of those records.”
“So you worked for the Saleris?”
She shakes her head. “I never met them. Not directly, anyway. I only ever interacted with Tony and…him.”
“You don’t like to say his name,” I point out, curious as to her reasoning. Is the hesitation part of some sly little game? Or true fear.
She whips her hair back, obscuring her face, and I can’t decipher her reaction.
“Fine. So, the Saleris were the ones putting the pressure on Tony,” I reiterate. “But couldn’t that backfire? All he’d have to do is blow the whistle, and they’d both go down.”
She laughs, and her gaze returns to mine, glittering with amusement.
“I may not know the Saleris personally, but I do know that name. I’m assuming you do as well. Tony would have no sooner walked into a police station than found himself mysteriously hung in a holding cell with no witnesses, all records misplaced. You know how this city is run, soldier.”
I do.
It’s a shithole where the rats are in charge, the Saleris paramount among them.
“Well, you got your wish.” I start for the door. “I’ll call Mischa. If Tony and the Saleris were working together—”
“Wait!” Her hand latches onto my forearm, still wet. “Are you that much of a fool? You can’t.”
I raise an eyebrow, inspecting her from over my shoulder. Her mask has slipped again, those eyes wide with genuine fear.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I wanted to see him in person,” she clarifies. “But now it’s too late. They’ve already tracked me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they know where we are. I don’t have long to make a move. You try to reach Mischa—”
“And what? You lose your little game of leverage?”
“No,” she replies softly. “We’ll all be dead. If he knows I’m out, he’ll rush to enact his plans. You tell Mischa, and he’ll already have one of his spies whispering in his ear. Then he’ll kill Mischa’s pretty little daughter. Willow. Does that name ring a bell?”
I snatch her arm, unfazed by her startled gasp. “What the hell do you mean?”
“I mean, he’ll kill her next and frame the man she’s with. All to distract Mischa as he merrily goes about his final plan. After we’re both killed, of course.”
“Talk then! What is his plan?”
She sucks in a breath and releases it in a rush, “He’s on a tight timeline, so he can’t wait for permits and follow zoning laws like a normal businessman would. He also needs to make a splash in the city so that the people who matter know outright to fear him. He needs fireworks, you see—”
“Enough games.” I drag her closer, watching that throat quiver as she swallows. “Talk. What is he planning?”
“To blow up the city,” she says. “And kill several birds with a very large stone. How is that for ‘fireworks’?”
14
Don
We don’t sleep. We just endure minutes of each other, painfully close. When dawn finally creeps in to displace the shadows, she disentangles her limbs from mine, turning her back to me.
I enter the
