Page 55 of Power & Punishment

“I don’t consider that leverage,” I say, stepping a little closer and lowering my voice. “For me, it’s an invitation.”

Her smile drops, and color creeps up from underneath her collar. And this time instead of an icy glare, I receive open-ended silence that’s starting to feel less like a no and more like a maybe.

“God, you’re an ass,” she mutters, turning away from me. “Let’s get this over with. Show me where your lair is.”

“With pleasure, Cara Mia,” I smile, brushing past her and up the sidewalk. I don’t hear her footsteps at first and I’m tempted to turn around to see if she’s still there, but then the reaffirming sound of rubber against cement fills my ears.

Agreeing to come inside was a bad move on her part. If she thinks she’s going home tonight, then she’s obviously still underestimating me.

“If I didn’t already hate you, I definitely do now,” Mia mutters, standing in the foyer of my townhouse. It’s similar to my parents’ home, but there are fewer family photos and trinkets cluttering the place.

Correction, there’s none.

The only thing I use my home for is to fuck and sleep. All the senseless decorations and minimalist grey and black shades are all thanks to some interior designer I hired simply because I wanted to sleep with her.

She got a blank canvas, and I got a nice pair of tits to come on regularly, so it worked out in the end.

Except seeing the frown line on Mia’s face as she dissects every nook and cranny of the open floor concept makes me wish there was more of a welcoming feeling. I want her to feel at home. I want her here, period.

“If I didn’t already know you hire someone to do everything for you, I’d assume you were a serial killer,” she snorts, walking deeper into the space.

I toss my keys onto a random table and follow closely behind. “The best kind of serial killers find someone to take the fall for them,” I say. “If they’re good at it, then they won’t get caught.”

“Right,” Mia says unconvinced. She walks toward the couch but doesn’t sit. Instead, she brushes her fingers along the back of the barely worn leather, still carefully observing the space.

But even with her assessing glare, it feels unnervingly intimate to see her in my space. With other women, I want them out as soon as possible. With this one—I’m racking my brain on ways to try and get her to stay that don’t involve kidnapping.

“Sit,” I say, clearing my throat and heading toward the bar cart that Georgia keeps stocked.

She immediately purses her lips. “I said I’d stay if you started talking. I’m not hearing any talking, Leo.”

My hands clench around the glass decanter when my name falls from her lips. I shake the urge to coax it from her mouth again and shakily pour the amber liquid into my glass. “I told you I needed a drink first. Do you want anything?”

Come to think of it, I don’t even know if she drinks. “I’ll just take whatever you’re having,” she says, her eyes glued to my hands.

“Relax. I’m not going to poison it, Emilia.”

“I’ve already walked away from one predator unscathed, so excuse me for being extra cautious,” she snipes, her words dripping in malice and the tiniest bit of fear.

My chest expands as my entire body stiffens. It’s hard to know whether my anger is pointed at the man from the club or the fact that Mia thinks I’d drug her. Either way, I took care of at least one of those things.

I count the steps it takes to walk over to her, desperately trying to keep myself from touching her. I could easily walk over and take up all her space. But I don’t.

After I hand her a drink, she takes it and finally sits down. I force myself to sit across from her and ignore the dull longing in my chest.

“I didn’t kill Vince. I have no idea who did. But I promised you the truth and I’m going to tell you what I know. But it doesn’t start the night of his death. It started a few months before that.”

17

MIA

I’m in Leo DeLuca’s home.

No, his lair.

That’s a much better description for the Bruce Wayne-like interior surrounding me, like I’m about to find out that Leo is Batman any second.

I push the obscure and frankly nerdy thought aside to focus on his confession. “You have your drink; now it’s time to hold up your end of the bargain for once.”