Page 10 of Unholy Tsar

No, focus. You’re too old to be led around by your dick.

“Oh no, you found me out. What am I going to do now?” She folds her hands together under her chin and blinks up at me.

I stare at her, nonplussed. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

She drops her hands from her chin, also dropping her little act. “Of course. You’re Maksim Smolov. Rian Kilpatrick’s consigliere, and the most feared man in the underworld… after all the Kilpatrick men, naturally.”

And yet she’s playing with me? Insolent chit. My cock seems to love it, though, hardening even more in my pants. No woman—no—nobody has ever dared to act this way in my presence before. Just who the hell does this little girl think she is?

“I guess you just don’t value your life then?” I retort. Why else would she stand so fearlessly before me?

“Listen, pal. Yes, I lied to you about being a don’s daughter. But I’m as Italian as they get, la promito.”

She butchers the phrase, and I snort as I correct her. “You mean, lo prometto? You promise?”

She pauses, then nods with an air of superiority. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“You can’t even speak basic Italian, and yet you want me to believe you’re one?”

“Look, I am Italian. I have no reason to lie about that. But I was born and raised in the States, you know? So excuse me if my Italian is a little rusty.”

“Why did you lie about being a don’s daughter?” I ask, moving on from her questionable heritage. I don’t believe she’s Italian yet, but that point is irrelevant right now.

She shrugs carelessly. “It was just a little fantasy, okay? I wanted to know what it would feel like to be treated with respect and fear. Can’t a girl live out her fantasies?”

“Not if those fantasies could end up putting my niece in danger.”

She winces, and for the first time tonight, her words are sincere. “The last thing I want is to hurt Bree or put her in danger. I’m not a threat to her, I swear.”

That might be the first truthful thing she’s said in her life. I believe her.

“Fine, let’s say you’re playing out a fantasy. Who are you really? What are you running from?”

“I’m Cecilia Lombardi, and I was running from you, you impossible man. Why were you chasing me? Do you know how scared I was?”

I ignore her questions. I’m the one doing the questioning here. “Someone was chasing you the night we met. Who?”

“The night we met? We just met today. You must have me mistaken for—” She trails off when I take a threatening step forward. “Okay, okay, fine. That was me.”

“I thought you were running from some drunkards or common street thugs, so I invited you into my home to protect you. But that wasn’t the case, was it? Someone’s after you.”

“You thought I was running from drunk men?” She blinks at me owlishly. “Why would you even want to save a strange woman?”

“Because I have a heart of gold. Why else?” I ask dryly.

She snorts, “Yeah, and my titties are made of platinum.”

My gaze drops involuntarily to said ‘titties’. “I can testify that they taste like honey.” Fuck, why did I say that? Before she can reply, I move on, “Answer my questions, Cecilia, otherwise I’m not letting you leave this alley. Not in one piece anyway.” I add. It’s a lie, of course, but I’m tired of running around in circles.

“Y–you wouldn’t. Bree—”

“Bree would be devastated when I tell her that her best friend is a liar and a con artist.”

She pales at that. “C–con artist, what do you mean?”

“What else do I call someone who’s pretending to be someone else? I might even let it slip to your best friend that you sought me out a week ago under false pretenses.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” She snaps, wrapping her arms around her chest protectively.