Page 20 of Revenge on the Mafia

What the hell? I jolted to my knees, knocking my head on the desk in the process. Had he touched my hair? He was leaning on his chair, elbows resting on his knees, watching me with unblinking intensity. This close, his scent filled my nostrils, bringing with it the unease of the night before. His eyes were the color of the Alboran Sea. It pulled me in and warned me off at the same time. A shiver ran through my body. This man was so fucking dangerous. Something crowded the space between us, and I didn’t care for it.

My frantic eyes searched the edge of the desk and found a metal lever folded beneath it, to extend it or something. Was it that? Had my hair snagged in it?

My body hummed with agitation. I was too overwhelmed to come up with a single coherent thought. Regroup and come back. With a vengeance. Crawling out of the cramped space, I jumped to my feet. Muttering something about getting the vacuum cleaner, I dashed out of the room.

My heart thumped like a drumbeat all the way to the storeroom. I found the vacuum cleaner and brought it back, together with Isidora. I told her that he had asked me to come into the office to clean some cobwebs, and I needed her help to move the desk.

But when I came back, he wasn’t there anymore.

Neither was the picture frame on his desk.

The only thing there was a set of batteries.

CHAPTER NINE

NICO

The sound of footsteps echoed, and I already knew it was her. She walked faster than Magda. Had less bounce in her step than the new girl. I had found Magda deep cleaning the terrace and asked for an espresso, knowing Anna would be the one to bring it. Even though I never allowed the staff to enter my office other than Magda. I might have also left the door open. Something else I never did. Barely three days in, and I was already changing the rules.

My attention was on the screen, pretending to work while I counted her footsteps as she approached. At fourteen, she paused in the living room for a full three minutes before she continued. Her pace slowed, reluctance her new companion.

I was going to hell for being so obsessed with this woman that I pursued her movements closer than her shadow. I wasn’t proud of it, but for the past fifty-eight hours, I’d been using the cameras in the house for other purposes than security. In fact, it might have been the best time to break into my home since the system was trained on my staff. One in particular.

The risk was worth it. For the three fucking days that she held me captivated between dread and yearning.

When she walked into the room, even the air fell under her spell. The screen blurred before my eyes. My peripheral vision hooked onto her electric beauty. She was dressed in a black skirt that reached her knees and a white puffy blouse that hid everything. I wanted to rip it off to reveal her fuchsia underwear. Then taste it on my tongue.

Fucking hell. She made me slip up. Numbers. Focus on the fucking numbers. The least I could do was not look at her as she approached my desk with the espresso in hand that I didn’t need but wanted because I knew she’d be the one to bring it to me.

Silence thundered in the room. I didn’t allow myself to move. Neither did she. That in itself was a surprise. Six seconds had passed, and she still stood in front of me. Frozen into a slot she’d allocated for herself. I looked up to find her focus on my desk. I followed it to the espresso.

I’d always been able to read her thoughts. Her face was an exquisite open book. An exclusive special edition made of tracing paper. Right now, it read intention, purpose, courage and perhaps just a drip of regret. But the latter might have been my delusion rather than her reality.

I’d stayed quiet for four days, but an ache built up in the back of my throat. I wanted a conversation. Our first and final one. I should have told her everything she didn’t know about her father. But just the thought of doing it terrified me. She’d never know why he died if I didn’t. Tragic. But then she’d never know my part in it either. Bliss. A vague memory of seeing someone in a room was far better than the bigger picture of it. That was all she had at the most, a vague memory.

I reached for the espresso. My heartbeat slowed. I wondered how she found out about my allergy. It wouldn’t have been something that Magda would let slip to someone new. I lifted the cup from the saucer. Her gaze followed it. I didn’t know how she managed it with my father because her face was transparent. Guilt showed through it. Zero percent opacity.

Some people ran from death. I faced it with a deep yearning. With my eyes on her, I tasted my poison. The taste was weird as shit. Worst espresso I’d had in a lifetime.

I followed the bob of her nervous swallow.

A tingle teased the tip of my tongue. Interesting.

Another sip, and her hands gripped my desk.

My throat turned to sandpaper.

Final sip, and the cup was emptied. My esophagus burned like hell.

Her irritated stare took in my blank expression, then she muttered under her breath. “La puta madre.”

I bit back the amusement forming on my lips. For fuck’s sake, indeed. This was extremely inconvenient. I was still alive.

We watched each other. Her look was agitated. Mine was turning into amusement. The moment I placed the cup down, she snatched it into her hands and was halfway across the room.

“Interesting taste.”

She skidded to a stop, hands clenched around the door frame. “Pineapple in coffee must be a Spanish thing.”