Page 12 of Dragonfly

But, fuck. I’ve waited months to confront this man, to unload all of my grief and anger and anxiety, to let him know he’s the only one to blame for ruining my life… and it might be a fucking awful idea, but that doesn’t stop me from pushing off from the brick wall and, with my head held high instead of cowering in front of the mafia leader, stalking over to him.

He’s pleased, and I have to resist the urge to claw my nails down his perfectly tanned face.

“I was wondering if you were going to finally approach me, Savannah. I’m so glad you have.”

What the?—

Forget the faux pleasantries this murderous bastard has going on.

My name. Well, my new name, but still. He knows my name.

How does he know my name?

FIVE

PROPOSAL

SAVANNAH

My hands flex on their own, and he notices.

Something tells me that this man notices everything.

Before I can find the words to demand he tell me how he knows who the hell I am, Damien pulls out something from behind him, lifting it up so I can see it as he says, “Wishing you had this?”

Screw knowing my name. I can deal with that. But when I see him holding my Glock…

“How did you get that?”

“No, my dear. The question is where did you get this?”

For some reason, he taps the butt of the gun, drawing my attention to the white snowflake that’s on the bottom, then shifts just enough to toss my gun through the open window of his car.

No.

Well, he’s not going to give me it back. That much is clear. So is the fact that his wasn’t coincidental at all. He drove down this alley, setting the perfect trap for me, and now he’s confronting me.

Good luck. He wants to know where I got my gun from?

I jut out my chin. “Screw you.”

Amusement dances in his pale blue eyes. “Very well. I have men working on tracing it. You could’ve helped me out, but I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.” He chuckles softly. “Though if you’re offering, I’d be happy to oblige.”

My snort comes out before I can swallow it back. Pointedly ignoring his come-on, I scoff as I say, “Yeah, right. You? Forcing people to do shit… isn’t that, like, your whole thing?”

He tilts his head toward me as if conceding my point. “True enough. In that case, I assume you know who I am.”

Mr. Hotshot in Springfield… doesn’t everyone?

Still, I could lie. I could tell him I have no idea that he’s one of the most powerful men in Springfield. But if he’s figured out who my new identity is and somehow knows that that gun used to be mine, what else does he know?

Pick your battles, Savannah. Don’t give away any more than you have to… but give away just enough.

“Damien Libellula,” I admit. “A Dragonfly.”

“The Dragonfly,” he corrects. “And the man you’ve been watching for months now.”

Shit. He knows.

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