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Turning to the goons at the door, I snapped my fingers. “Out. I have a deal your boss is going to want to hear.”
Bonetti laughed. But there was a tremor underlying the bravado. “Leave. I want to hear what the little princess has to say.”
They left.
The moment the door closed, I shot to my feet.
“You made a terrible mistake tonight,” I hissed, ignoring the pistol aimed at my chest. “I have powerful allies, and with one wrong move on your part, they’ll crush you.”
Bonetti shrugged. “The other mobs in this city only do what is good for their business.”
“While that is true, I’ve made it a point to ensure thatIam good for their business.”
That cruel mouth pinched as if my words tasted sour.
“There is only one way you survive this,” I continued. “Marry me.”
Silence ticked by for one, two, three seconds.
He laughed.
The sound burst from him like glass shattering—sharp, jagged, and utterly without mirth. It scraped against the walls, each harsh note a nail across my exposed nerves. His yellowed teeth gleamed in the dim light, his head thrown back to expose the thick cords of his neck.
“Marry you?” The laughter died, leaving only contempt in its wake. “What makes you think I’d want damaged goods like you? A woman who thinks she can play with the big boys?” His voice dropped to a mocking falsetto. “Oh, Bonetti, please marry me. Save me from my terrible mistakes.”
“You forget, I was married to a don—the other bosses in this cityproposedto me before I turned them down.” My words dripped with venom.
Bonetti snorted. “A used mare? No. I’ve got a virgin all lined up, ready to suck my cock, cook my meals, and breed a whole house of snot-nosed brats.”
He set the gun down on the table with deliberate slowness, the metal making a soft click against the wood. The weapon rested there between us, still within his reach but no longer pointed at my heart.
“Trade her for you? A wild card? A poisonous widow who I will always have to watch my back for?” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “Fuck you, Isabella.”
No…fuck you.
I lunged for the gun.
He caught me mid-move, but my fingers stretched to clutch the weapon. They closed around the cold metal as Bonetti’s hand clamped onto my wrist. We both tumbled sideways, crashing into the table and sending it splintering to the floor. The gun slipped, skittering across the carpet.
“You crazy bitch!” he snarled, his weight crushing down on me.
I clawed at his face, my nails raking across his cheek, drawing blood. He howled, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. We rolled across the floor, knocking over a chair, limbs entangled in a desperate fight.
Something warm stuck to my skin. I couldn’t allow myself to think about what that was.
The only thing left to do was make Franky proud.
Bonetti’s knee drove into my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs. I gasped, spots dancing before my eyes, but managed to twist my body and slam my elbow into his throat. He choked, his grip loosening just enough.
“I’ll kill you,” he bellowed.
“Not if I kill you first,” I spat, wrenching free from his grasp.
The gun lay just feet away, its metal gleaming like a promise in the dim light. I lunged toward it, fingers outstretched, salvation within reach. My fingertips brushed the cool barrel—so close—when Bonetti’s hand clamped around my ankle, yanking me backward with brutal force.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he growled, dragging me across the floor. My nails dug into the carpet, ripping threads loose as he pulled me toward him.
I twisted violently, kicking out with my free leg. My heel connected with his jaw with a satisfying crack.
