Page 41 of The Red Queen

The man flushed, but Desi didn’t blame him for his comment. Shewastrouble. Not always on purpose, but trouble followed her wherever she went. She blamed it on her curious spirit and her fearlessness. When a person feared nothing, they were willing to risk more.

The club wasn’t busy at that time of day, which Desi was grateful for. She could look around this time without the anxiety that had washed over her when Giovanni had brought her a few days earlier.

The building was nice; old, like most everything in Venice, but well maintained. One entire wall of windows led onto a balcony facing the canals. The interior was lit with a series of blue lights set into the ceiling and lamps hanging over each table and booth. The dance floor was empty, but music still pumped throughout the building.

The place reminded her of Giovanni. Elegant and gorgeous, with an infusion of vitality.

“Can I sit on the balcony?” she asked the hostess.

“Si, right this way.” The woman, who wore a tight, knee-length black dress, led Desi to a table outside. One other couple was seated on the balcony, but the hostess showed Desi to a table far away from them, for which she was grateful.

She sat, expecting Vitto to follow suit, but when she looked up, he was standing in the doorway leading to the balcony, his sunglasses firmly in place, his hands folded in front of him and his expression neutral. He looked like nothing else other than a mobster’s bodyguard. It made her lips twitch in amusement. The Italian mafia certainly had a type.

“Please, join me, Vitto,” she called out, waving at the chair opposite her.

“No, Signora, that would not be appropriate.” She nodded and subsided into her chair. She supposed Nico’s men hadn’t eaten with him, either. Except for Desi, of course. She’d been his girlfriend and his deadly secret. Most of his rivals underestimated her, writing her off as arm candy, which often led to easier takeovers.

Desi crossed her legs and tilted her body to face the canal. The club wasn’t in the main thoroughfare, but somewhat off the tourist areas. She supposed it made sense, given the clientele Giovanni catered to.

A sense of peace washed over her, not for the first time since arriving in Italy. The past year had been hectic. She’d gone into vengeance mode and hadn’t come out of it until the moment Mateo had cut off her finger.

As if in response, the stub of her finger throbbed. Wincing, she looked down at it, experimentally wiggling it. She’d been slowly regaining more dexterity in that hand as it healed and the pain had receded. She was hopeful the bandage would soon come off. She didn’t care about the finger. It was a small price to pay to come out of the Miami fiasco with her life, but she hated the big, awkward white bandage that drew attention to her new weakness.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a weakness for long. Desi would find a way to turn it into a strength. That was her superpower. Turning weaknesses into strength. When Nico beat her, she came back stronger, more ready to fight. Through repeated rapes, she learned how to wield her sexuality as a weapon, luring men, then laying them low, sometimes even killing them.

Giovanni wanted her, she mused, sipping the lemon infused water the server placed in front of her. Yet she didn’t think she could hold sex over Giovanni. He was too sharp. He would see right through her.

She admired his strength, and the more she saw of his empire, the man himself. He was a quietly authoritative man, but he was a king among peasants in his slice of the world and, if Paulo was to be believed, beyond. Which was why it had been such a shock to see him shoot his own men. He didn’t seem like a man who spilled blood with such little provocation.

Regardless, Desi was coming to realize just how in control, how plotting Giovanni was. He’d killed those two men to make a point: both to his own men and to Desi. With those bullets, he announced to everyone the value he placed on his new fiancé. He’d probably mentally sacrificed them before the two even entered the club.

A loud bang drew Desi’s gaze to the wide windows of the club.

A commotion at the club entrance caught her attention. She saw two of her guards arguing with someone. Frowning, she stood to get a better look and realized they were talking to Antonio, Giovanni’s son. Damn it, she hadn’t even eaten yet.

She pushed herself gracefully to her feet, smoothed her hands down her leather skirt and tugged her blouse into place. She ran a hand over her hair, ensuring every strand of the long, straight mass was in place. Striding toward the balcony entrance, she nodded at Vitto.

“Let’s do this.”

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, even as he moved to the side to allow her to pass. “No one would blame you if you ignored him. In fact, the bouncers will happily remove him from the premises. He’s caused enough trouble in this place.”

She smiled coolly. “One thing you should learn about me if you’re going to continue as my number one is I love a fight. And I suspect Savino Junior is spoiling for one. Let’s go make both of our days.”

Chapter Eighteen

Desi strode across the floor toward Antonio, ending his argument with her bodyguards as she approached. She knew what was holding his attention because she worked to project the exact image he was seeing.

Long, sexy legs encased in a miniskirt and knee boots. A sleeveless red blouse left unbuttoned to her cleavage and open at the bottom, giving peeks of a smooth, tanned belly as she walked. Her long dark hair was flowing around her in a shiny cape and her makeup, though light, highlighted her dark eyes and full pouty lips.

“Antonio,” she purred, stopping when her bodyguards surrounded her, blocking her from confronting Antonio. “Move,” she said to them, and when they obeyed, she took the last few steps, bringing her within arm’s reach of Antonio.

“Stepmother,” he snarled, sarcasm and ill-humour rolling off him in waves.

Desi raised an eyebrow and perused her soon-to-be stepson. Unlike his father, Antonio was stocky, bulky in the shoulders and belly and not much taller than Desi. He wore a suit, but it was cheap and fit badly. His dark hair was greased back and though he was clean-shaven, the patchy stubble on his chin told her he either didn’t spend enough time looking in a mirror or he needed a new razer.

“I see my father let you out of the cage.” Antonio’s tone bordered on hatred. She supposed he had a reason. Her presence in his father’s household was an upset to an already volatile situation. She might be annoyed in a similar situation. Still, she wasn’t one to take rudeness lying down. In fact, she usually exchanged rude comments with bullets, but alas, Giovanni wasn’t quite ready to gift her with a weapon.

“How old are you?” she asked, ignoring his comment.

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