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She looks at me with confusion in her eyes, but she hasn’t asked any questions.
“Renzo went to get Tyrone. They’ll be here soon,” I mention.
“Thanks,” she whispers, her gaze not leaving my face.
She takes a deep breath then chuckles. “So, what are you? A spy or some CIA agent?”
I shake my head. “The opposite.”
Her eyebrows start to lift, but she stops when it tugs at the cut on her forehead.
“The opposite?” Her gaze darts over my face again. “A criminal?”
I brace myself for the worst before I nod. “The Cosa Nostra.”
This time, the cut doesn’t stop her eyebrows from flying into her hairline as she gasps, “Mafia?”
“He’s one of the heads of the Cosa Nostra,” Damiano suddenly says from behind me. “And because of it, he was able to save your life.”
“I’ve got this,” I mutter. I don’t think Eden can handle Damiano right now.
“I’m his boss,” the fucker says as he comes to take a seat on a chair. “I have questions.”
Fucking robot.
“This can wait,” I snap at him.
He only flicks his eyes in my direction before looking at Eden again.
When she begins to sit up, I shake my head, very unhappy. “You need to rest.”
“I can answer a few questions,” she argues. Folding her legs beneath her, she looks Damiano dead in the eye. “What do you want to know?”
“Who did you see, and what names did you hear?”
“I think there were four or five men when I was grabbed from the lobby.”
“They’re all dead,” I mutter.
Surprise flashes over her face. “Oh.” After she takes a deep breath, she continues, “I was out of it for a while, and when I came to, I was on a boat with different men. Obviously, seeing as you just said you killed the first lot.”
She’s quiet for a while, staring at a spot on my chest, then she shakes her head lightly as if she’s coming out of a daze.
“I was transferred to a bigger boat and held in a room. There were armed men. When they tore off my dress, I killed one with my shoe.”
The fuck?
“You took out an armed man with a shoe?” Damiano asks, actually sounding impressed.
“It’s all I had. I buried the heel in his eye,” she mumbles, her fingers twisting in the fabric of the covers.
“She can be your bodyguard, Dario,” the fucker says. “Continue, Eden.”
“I never heard any names. We were kept on the boat for a day before being moved to the house.”
“Did you see tattoos?” Damiano shoots another question her way.
She thinks for a moment, then answers, “They wore warm clothes, but one of the men had a leaf on his neck with an M.”
