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“Go, malysh,” I whispered hoarsely into her ear. “Tell him I am coming.”
She took two calculated steps away from me, as if she really didn’t believe I was letting her go, and she was right to think so. I was not just letting her go, I never let anyone just go, not without a souvenir to remember me by at least.
“Stop!”
She stilled in front of Ricco; I’d recognized him as Dante’s most reliable man from the moment he came to save her.
And of course, only Dante would be audacious enough to try and kill my men. I knew it was a message for me to give up my control in New York to him; he’d been on my tail since I became the boss of the Bratva at eighteen. Although he was only ten years older than I was, he felt I was too young to rule New York. It was either I joined alliances and served him, or I gave up power to him.
No Levov in the Bratva family had ever given up power to a Paolo, and I wasn’t going to be the first.
My uncle, devil rest his soul, had other ideas as he felt he deserved the throne more than I did. He’d given into his greed and joined alliances with Dante to bring me down in exchange for wielding his influence on the damned Italian mafia boss. It was atrocious that a member of the Bratva was willing to take the Russian mafia throne from his family only to hand it to an Italian.
In the end, I had no choice but to tear him apart limb by limb, sending the parts of his mutilated corpse as a warning to everyone who dared to stand in my way.
Dante Paolo was one of the men who received a special human limb package. He’d behaved himself for a few years after, but recently, he was starting to get on my nerves. I needed to get rid of that rat quickly.
Since Ricco was here, I was positive she was also linked to Dante in some way—I'd heard he had a daughter from his dead wife, but news quickly spread weeks later that the baby had died along with her mother, and this woman looked nothing like Dante so the chances of them being related were minute.
While Dante was a giant-built, slim fucker with hair as dark as his eyes and soul, this woman was average height with white hair, gray eyes, and curves that proved she wasn’t one of the women who took dieting very seriously and—dammit! Those curves.
The way her black slit dress clung to them was enough to make me lose my focus. I could barely count how many times I’d imagined flipping her over the bar counter, sliding up her dress, and fucking the shit out of her.
But one of my men was lying dead on the floor and I needed to take care of him before the cops arrived. I also couldn’t risk satisfying my cock with a woman who was probably thinking of all the ways she could slice my throat. Damn! I had to admit it though, sex with her would be a welcome change from all the spineless women I’d been fucking.
I pulled a knife from my jacket and walked to Ricco’s body, lowered myself to the ground, and placed the knife on his right index finger; it was my signature to cut the body parts of my enemies, but it was no fun doing it now that he was dead. I preferred to torture my prey while they were still alive.
“Here,” I said, raising the knife to the white-haired woman. “Cut it off.”
A low gasp escaped her throat as her eyes widened in terror. She looked too innocent for a woman who was drinking beside a dead guy only minutes ago. Where the hell was the sassy girl who’d pointed a gun at my chest only minutes ago?
“I can’t.” Her protest came out very weakly.
“Malysh.” I raised myself to my feet and edged towards her till I was towering above her. “I wasn’t giving you a choice.”
“Neither was I asking you for one.” She growled her disagreement this time, like a large feline scaring off its prey. Only she was the prey now, and I was the predator. She closed her eyes, cleared her throat, and then gave me a stern glance. “I won’t.”
I let my lips form a crooked smile. Having a woman turn down my command was something I’d just experienced for the first time since I was old enough to give commands. This woman was crossing every line with me. I should’ve been upset, but I found her amusing instead. I wanted to test the waters and discover how much she’d let me get away with until she fully snapped. “Either you cut it off…or I punish you.”
“Punish me.” Her gaze worked its way from my chest to my neck, and then slowly to my face till our eyes met. Dried blood smeared the skin on half of her face, and her eyes took several colors in the changing lights.
If only she had an idea of the many ways I could punish her. I would have those ways for next time, though; I had a feeling we’d be meeting again soon. “Very well then.” I walked behind her and wrapped her hair in my hand, twice, so that only the length reaching her shoulders was free from my grasp. In one quick slash of my knife, her waist-length hair fell short, only reaching her shoulder. Her white hair looked better that way, fitting for a sassy woman.
I lowered myself to her ears. “Dante Paolo, tell him I will have his head soon,” I whispered dryly.
She spun very quickly to me. I could see her eyes dilate with dread. Her chest was rising too quickly, as if a volcano was erupting inside. “Dante Paolo had nothing to do with this.”
“Does he not?” I grabbed her jaw and tilted her face toward mine. “Lie to me again and your tongue will be out of your mouth faster than his head would roll off his neck.”
She threw her head from side to side trying to wrestle free from my grip on her jaw, but I didn’t give her the chance to. “I’ve heard people say you’re unkillable.” She smiled softly, cruelly. “I may end up proving them wrong.”
I heard the sound of a spray followed by the feeling of pepper in my eyes and footsteps as she ran away. “Fucking—” I growled, struggling not to rub my eyes. Another set of footsteps approached, and from the heaviness of them, I could tell it was Mikhail.
“Brat!” Brother. I could feel his eyes scrutinize me for a moment. “I’ll get her.” He tried to move away but I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back.
Tears escaped my eyes as I forced them open, trying to escape the sting from the pepper spray. I was lucky she hadn’t chosen the more terrifying option, acid. “Let her go.”
Mikhail looked at me with eyes that demanded further explanation. Although he was forty, only two years younger than I was and taller than me by three extra inches, he’d been my right-hand man since I was eighteen and he was sixteen. He gave the best advice and once scooped out a man’s eyeballs from his socket just because he glared at me the wrong way.
