Page 152 of Vow Of Fire

“Especially since you’re in bed with them now, if you’ll excuse the lurid pun.” He chuckled at his own joke.

The pain in my head was intense, and I closed my eyes against it.

“I don’t understand,” I murmured, waiting for the worst of it to pass. It was too much. Being kidnapped—again—tied up, and having a pounding headache. I felt hot tears prick behind my eyelids, but I squeezed them shut harder, determined not to let the tears fall. I wasn’t going to give this weasel the satisfaction.

“If it wasn’t them, then why am I here? What do you want with me?” I asked, slanting a look at him.

“I don’t want anything with you,” he said, gesturing with the pistol. “It’s the Marcellis I’m interested in.”

That’s when the pieces began falling into place. Vincent was using me to get to Dante, because he cared about me. At least, Vincent thought he did.

I gave a forlorn sniff. “If you think I can influence Dante in any way, you’re wrong. I mean nothing to him. He told me so himself just yesterday.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

For a moment, the confident gleam in Vincent’s eye vanished, replaced with concern. Then he regained his composure. But I’d seen it.

“He told me I’d served my purpose and that it was over between us. In fact, he was going to move me out of his apartment today, except you got in the way of that.”

I could tell he didn’t know whether to believe me or not.

“Nonsense,” he said after a beat. “I saw the way he looked at you at the charity gala, like he’d eat any man alive who came near you. Why do you think I kept my distance? Dante Marcelli has a possessive streak, which I’m sure you know. Once something is his, he doesn’t give it up. Ever. If you think you’re fooling me with your little act, you’re wrong.”

My heart sank. Not because I was lying, but because I wasn’t.

“That was then,” I said in a weak voice. “Things have changed.” Dante wouldn’t be coming for me because he didn’t care.

“You’re wasting your time,” I told Vincent, my voice hollow. “He feels nothing for me. In fact, you’re probably doing him and his family a favor by taking me off their hands.”

He scowled. “That remains to be seen.”

I fell silent, studying him. He looked worried, like something I’d said might have hit a nerve. What did he want the Marcellis to do, anyway? What was his objective?

I cast my mind back to the current turf war between the Bratva and the cartel—exacerbated by the Marcellis, of course. By me. I was also complicit in this.

It had been me who’d spoken to Mikhail and told him about the harassment from the Colombians. I’d voiced my concerns over the new customer who’d come to the gallery. I’d told him about the break-in at my apartment and the shooting in the underground garage.

But I hadn’t told Vincent any of that.

He was the Marcelli money-man. The one who laundered their drug money and used my gallery, along with other small businesses, to do it.

Then a thought struck me. If he was providing that service for them, who’s to say he wasn’t doing it for other criminal organizations too? Maybe he was freelancing. He knew enough about the Marcellis’ business to be a threat. They trusted him. Valentina trusted him. She’d never suspect him of double-crossing her.

Except here he was holding a gun on me.

“You were working for the Colombians too, weren’t you? You gave them the shipment information, you made the call from Alberto’s landline to make it look like he was the leak. You sold out the Marcellis.”

“Smart girl,” he said with a slow smirk. “I always liked that about you.”

“How could you?” I rasped out the words, fury overtaking my fear. “They trusted you. You’re old friends.”

He tilted his head. “You shouldn’t assume things, Evelyn. Have I taught you nothing?”

I stared at him.

“The Marcellis were using me, just like they were using you. To clean their money. To give them respectability. But it’s all a farce.”

“So you sold them out to the Colombians?”

“They paid handsomely for the intel.”