Page 45 of Retaliation

She placed her helmet on the fuel tank in front of her and leaned her forearms on it, allowing a lazy smile to snake over her lips.

“Good morning, boys,” she said, “Any of y’all interested in buying Girl Scout cookies?”

“You have no business being here, little girl,” spat the guard closest to her.

“Now, how do you know that?” she shot back, her tone laced with sarcasm. “For all you know, I could be a highly sought-after escort, personally requested by the Don to entertain his guests.” She held the guard’s gaze, her eyes gleaming with defiance. “But I suppose you’d rather stick to your dull security duties than enjoy the finer

things in life.”

Her words were sharp, each one meant to provoke, to unsettle. She remained poised, her posture relaxed despite the tension that thickened the air around them.

The guard’s jaw tightened at her remark, his grip on his weapon growing more rigid. He glanced at his companions, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he weighed her words.

With a sly grin, she awaited his response. She knew she had struck a nerve, and the guard’s clenched jaw betrayed his simmering frustration.

“I suggest you leave before you find yourself in more trouble than you bargained for,” the guard warned.

She chuckled, a low, melodious sound that cut through the tension.

“Oh, sweetie, trouble’s my middle name,” she retorted.

“Leave,” he ordered, taking a step closer toward her.

“Relax your suspenders, or you’ll need surgery to remove your pants from your ass. I’m here to see the Don. I have an appointment.”

She swore she heard one of the guards suppressing a laugh with a cough.

“Brother, just phone it in,” the guard to the right of her interrogator said, lowering his firearm. “I have a feeling she might kill your ego before killing anyone here.”

The guard chuckled, his stern demeanor softening. Her boldness seemed to disarm them, at least momentarily. But she could sense the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

The first guard shot a warning glare at his companion before turning back to her, his expression hardening again.

“We don’t take appointments from stray cats like you,” he sneered, his words dripping with contempt.

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that the best you’ve got?” she mused. “I’ve heard scarier threats from a kitten with a hairball.”

This time, a few guards snickered. She crossed her arms casually, radiating confidence despite the tense situation. “Now, are we going to stand here exchanging recipes, or are you going to let me in to see the Don?”

Before the guard could respond, the heavy wooden doors to the mansion, a few feet from the gate, swung open, revealing a figure silhouetted against the warm glow of the foyer.

“Let her in, Vice,” he commanded with authority.

Vice begrudgingly stepped aside, allowing her to pass through the gate to the mansion. As she drove past him, she couldn’t resist blowing a kiss and winking over her shoulder, relishing in the small victory.

Inside the rich foyer, her adrenaline began to ebb away, replaced by a surge of anticipation. She was about to meet with one of the city’s most powerful men. No matter how often she’s been in his presence, it never got

less intimidating. Especially, given that it was usually at the Quarry and not at his house.

The Don’s mansion was a study in luxury, with marble floors and intricate tapestries adorning the walls. As she walked through the grand entrance hall, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the lavishness surrounding her. And they said crime doesn’t pay.

She hesitated. She was so amazed by the magnitude of the mansion that she didn’t pay any attention to where the Don had disappeared to. Turning to the right, she opened the first door she saw down a wide hallway, leading to a dimly lit study. Her eyes were drawn to a life-size oil painting of a younger Don, sitting in a black winged chair with a little boy on his lap.

She stared in shock. She had no idea that the Don had a child. She couldn’t imagine it—she nearly laughed at the idea of the silver-haired fighter playing catch with the little boy.

“In here.” The Don’s voice boomed from across the entrance hall, and she closed the door—hoping to hell he didn’t see her snooping around.

She found him waiting for her in a lavishly furnished parlor, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in an ornate armchair. His eyes bore into hers with curiosity and suspicion, and she met his gaze with unwavering determination.

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