Page 13 of Venomous Throne

Something in my voice made him narrow his eyes.

Warning bells pealed in my mind.

Thinking fast, I added, “I hated that Vincent spent so much time here. I wanted to know if it was worth keeping or if I should sell.”

Marco muttered something in Italian that my ears didn’t catch. While I knew a little, it wasn’t spoken much at home.

“See.” I pushed the paperwork to him. “Someone is skimming off the books. It’s high time this place was better managed.”

Marco flicked a cursory glance at the spreadsheet but dismissed it just as quickly.

“You need a husband and a home. I’m going to fix that, and then you never have to set foot in this place again.”

I was tempted to take a bottle from the bar and smash it over his big, ugly head.

Only the sound of two guests shouting stopped me. Thank the saints for small mercies.

Chapter 7 – Jaxon

Isabella Caterina Rossi Moretti.

Isabella—Bella.

The Black Widow.

Although there was no evidence she’d offed her husband, rumors swirled the streets and darker corners of the city. Bloodthirsty and vicious, she struck him down, they said. Whether it was revenge for taking a mistress, for her own power grab, or simply to watch him twitch while the poison worked its way through his body, the stories varied.

The more I learned, the more drawn to her I was.

She fucking haunted me.

I buried myself in work, but the last two days were spent finding excuses to watch her.

So when the pixie decided to step into a strip club and stay there for far too long, curiosity drove me to trespass.

She wasn’t on the stage—thank fuck. I would have had to kill every red-blooded piece of lard slouched in the cheap chairs if I had walked in and discovered her in the middle of a dance.

Now that I was here, face turned to the stage but gaze angled to watch her from the corner of my eye, I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself.

The smart thing would be to stand and leave.

But it seemed common sense left the building.

There she was, sitting on a barstool and talking to a particularly grizzly individual, while a fat, jolly goon sat protectively behind her. Unfortunately, I didn’t think her bodyguard had many more fights left in his veins.

Of all the places…. I never expected someone like her, so petite and fragile, to be here. The way she spoke, that mystery began to make sense. There was a determined toughness about her.

A shout from two patrons at my left made my neck prickle with annoyance. They’d been arguing about a bet, and now, it seemed, they were going to brawl.

I could clap both their skulls together, shatter the bone, and end their quacking for good without breaking a sweat. Instead, I stayed firmly planted in my seat as the hefty bouncer waddled over.

Good thing I did, or I would have missed what happened next.

Isabella launched from her seat, a pissed off look steaming on her face. She took two steps in the brawler’s direction when the grizzly man made a grave mistake. He shot out his hand, placed itonher arm, and tried to stop her.

The room turned red, the killing haze sweeping in on a gust of rage.

Before I could snap, Isabella rounded. She picked up the beer bottle her bodyguard had been suckling, and with a wicked right hook, smashed it on the grizzly one’s head.