Chapter 9 Make Me
❄︎ Viktor ❄︎
Giving the enemy an impromptu tour around the object of his desire was definitely a choice.
Locking yourself in with that enemy for the second time in days was even worse.
Rosalind Marlow would be dead by the end of the week if I didn’t come up with something, and fast.
I watched her glance toward the kitchen, correctly predicting her dash, her hands scrambling for a blade.
“Why would I kidnap and rescue you, only to bring you here safely and then hurt you?”
Her eyes danced wildly in their sockets as she turned the thought over in her head, the pointy edge of the knife firmly aimed at my chest.
“Who knows what twisted plans you have. You probably want to frame it as a suicide. That’s why you brought me here first.”
I scoffed and walked to the minibar.
“If I wanted you dead, Rosa, you’d be dead.”
Without looking, I pulled out a bottle, twisted the cap with my bare hand, and guzzled. The alcohol soothed muscles that had been taut with exhaustion. Torturing a suspect who wouldn’t break and pulling her out of that mess in one night had drained more from me than I liked to admit.
I should’ve been deep inside a woman by now. After a night like this, I usually was. But the last one sold me out in court, and the next tried to kill me for five grand. I was short on women I liked or trusted enough to want to fuck.
My gaze slid to the one in front of me. Frizzled hair, a black eye, swollen cheek. A soiled pink minidress clinging to bruised skin. I felt a stab of electricity through my loins. Even battered, she was beautiful.
“Your security is lacking. First you get snatched, then I get to you before your men. It doesn’t look good.”
Her hands dropped to her sides in defeat, and suddenly, I saw the tired girl underneath the stubborn armor.
I moved toward her.
“Let me help you,” I whispered, wiping off a dark streak off her arm.
“Let me guess. By marrying me?” she scoffed and yanked the bottle from my hand.
She tipped it back and choked instantly, coughing as she doubled over. I thumped her back, smirking, until she slapped my hand away.
“Why didn’t you warn me?!”
“Been trying to.”
She looked up at me, and I knew she understood I wasn’t talking about the vodka.
“What do you want from me?”
“First, I want you to clean up and sleep. You’ve been through hell.”
“You’re humoring me. I bet you’ve seen hell. I’ve only just glanced at the gates.”
“Fine. You’ve tasted hell. So make a choice. Marry and secure yourself, or sell. Go back to Boston, run your flower shop or whatever else keeps you out of this world.”
“How do you know I have a flower shop?”
I raised a brow.
“Never mind. Mafia and stalking and shit.” She waved it off and turned to walk toward the bathroom, stumbling slightly.
I glanced at my smartwatch. Adrian was still waiting outside. He’d just pinged me with a lead on Giancarlo Conti, who we were tailing on suspicion of robbing my routes.
But when I looked up, my breath caught. She had shed the dress, walking naked toward the bathroom. Her skin caught the dim light, her back smooth, and the curve of her hips accentuated by those damn Venus dimple piercings that caught the light.
A slow ache spread in my gut. Even half beaten, she had the power to undo me.
“You have a week to decide,” I bit out, my voice strained from the consequence of the gift of sight.
She paused. Whether from hearing me or remembering I was still there, I didn’t know.
“Or what?” she asked. Her voice was loose from alcohol. “You’ll kill me?”
Before I could answer, she added. “You killed your own brother and went to jail for it. Then you killed your father. I’m sure my father was just another checkmark. Don’t think you can kill me and walk away from it.”
My jaw clenched. “Watch your mouth.”
At that, she turned around, her left arm over her chest.
“Fucking make me.”
The heat in my chest twisted with the maddening ache of restraint.
Somehow, the knife was back in her hand, clutched in the perfect position to throw. The alcohol was making her overconfident, and I resisted the urge to push her around, not trusting myself with the outcome.
“Be careful with the wet tiles.” I said.
“Oh… you wish.”
With a dark chuckle and an aching member, I left to rejoin Adrian in the car.
Adrian Cole, an American my father had seized from his parents during a raid that left him an orphan, grew up to become a fierce enforcer and underboss under my father’s cruel hand.
Paulo, my brother, had been his best friend, and sometimes I imagined he remained loyal to me because I was the only one who had treated them both like humans, not weapons.
He sat beside me, the glint in his eye matching the one on his AR-15, held causally in his arms.
“Street cameras captured Primo blowing up two of our transport vehicles with our men inside. They’re currently looting the rest. Giancarlo was spotted driving by just after. What’s the call?”
I stared ahead, Rosa’s voice still echoing in my head.
“We send them to hell,” I said.
But as the car rolled out, I feared I might already be halfway there, with Rosa burning under my skin.