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I need to keep Kennedy out of this mess. The fewer people that know we’re connected, the better. Whoever shot me knows I was there. And if I’m wearing a target on my back, I’m wearing it alone.
“A convenience,” I assure him. “She’s here for the week, and then she’s gone,” I state, though the words taste like cigarette ash on my tongue.
“Lie to all the people you want, Enzo. Even to yourself. But I’ve seen the way you look at her. And that look means only one thing . . .”
“That your vision is worse than your poker face?”
“That you’re speeding headfirst into the L-word, whether you like it or not.”
Chapter Fifteen
ENZO
L-word?
As in . . . love?
I blink, deeply disturbed. What the fuck? I’m not in love.
Sadistic psychopaths don’t fall in love. We maim, manipulate, torment, kill. We do not fall in love.
Ever.
Am I obsessed?
Perhaps.
Possessive?
Damned straight.
But in love?
Not a goddamned chance.
“Whatever gets you through the night,” the Scottish brogue taunts.
Bite me.
Ignoring my mental snap, I jab Dante in the chest. “Listen here, asshole. Don’t make me kill you in front of the kids. Accusations have consequences.”
“Lying to my face has consequences, jackass.” He cracks his neck. “You want a piece of me? Bring it on. But I’m in a take-no-prisoners mood.”
Without warning, he flicks me right at my stitches. Pain explodes, sending stars dancing in my vision and a howl of agony echoing inside my skull. I suppress the scream, not wanting the girls to hear.
I shoot him a death glare, my eyes burning with fury.
He arches a brow, a smug grin playing on his lips, and curls his fingers toward me, Matrix style.
At this point, I give up. There’s no point in arguing with Dante. Not unless I want us in an all-out brawl on the floor like eight-year-olds. And as his behavior clearly shows, he will take zero pity on me for the fact that I’ve been shot in the arm.
“Fine.” I wave a hand in surrender, the weight of defeat settling on my shoulders. “You win. She means something to me. What, I have no idea. But this”—I motion to my arm—“was no accident. The only reason I’m still breathing is probably because of their lousy aim. So as far as anyone’s concerned, I’m not seeing anyone.”
The gravity of my words roll across Dante’s face, his expression hardening. “What about us? Family. Or the guys,” he tilts his chin toward Bruno. “We can help keep her safe.”
“If Andre is gunning for me, no one is safe,” I say, my voice a low growl.
“So, what are you going to do? Cut her loose?”
