Page 5 of Trapped

Joe’s face fell. “Twenty points? Mr. Costa, that’s?—”

“That’s the deal. Twenty points on top of what you already owe. You miss one payment, and I own everything. Your business, your car, all of it. Take it or leave it.”

He hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Desperate fool.

I smiled, standing up. “You’ll have the money by tomorrow.”

Giorgio shouted.

What now?

I glanced at the velvet rope separating the VIP section. A beautiful girl walked past my bodyguard, ignoring his shouts to come back. Didn’t even glance at him.

Giorgio caught up to her.

I held up a hand. “It’s okay. Let her through.”

She wrenched out of his grip, smirking, and marched toward me. Confidence poured off her in waves. She knew exactly where she was going. A woman like her didn’t need permission to jump the line. Her looks were the ticket. Her bold eyes locked on me. They grabbed me by the balls.

I sat up straighter.

She stopped in front of me, beside the tool I’d made a deal with. I waved him off, and he disappeared. She wore a tight gray skirt that hugged her curves, cutting off above mid-thigh. Her legs seemed to go on forever. A black belt cinched her waist, accentuating her hourglass figure. But it was the top that got me. A polo shirt, of all things—something that would’ve been conservative, except she’d undone the buttons to tease her cleavage.

“I need to speak to you. Privately.”

Her frigid tone caught my attention. I leaned forward, taking her in. Most women who came through here wanted money. They’d flash me their tits, smile, and try to sit on my lap. She acted like she already had what she needed.

Now I was intrigued.

I motioned to a chair. “And who are you?”

She didn’t sit. Darkness lurked in her gaze. “Delilah Romanov.”

That name socked me in the ribs. I stared at her. The Romanov family carried a history I couldn’t forget. My chest tightened.

I gave her a hard look. I had every reason to hate the Romanovs. Old wounds I’d rather keep smothered in denial broke apart, stitch by stitch.

I sat back, crossing my arms. “So, you’re one ofthem.”

“I am.”

She wasn’t eventryingto charm me. No attempt to smooth over the tension she must’ve felt radiating off me. She stood there, proud, as if she hadn’t dropped a name I’d spent my whole life hating. Why was she here? Why me?

“Let me guess. You’re here to make peace, right?”

She shook her head. “No.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Then why the hell are you here?”

“Because I need your help.”

I laughed. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out.”

She didn’t waver, and that surprised me. Most people would’ve buckled. Maybe tried to backpedal or offer some pathetic excuse.

“You won’t,” she purred. “You’re too curious about me.”

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