Page 5 of The Red Queen

She stuck her lip out in a pout. “Alright, but I insist you come back for the wedding.”

He smiled down at her. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.”

She hugged him again, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing. He kissed the top of her head, catching the narrow-eyed look of her fiancé, who stood in the doorway, his protective gaze on Raina. It was truly a pleasure to fuck with the new Miami boss. He pushed her back and reached a hand out to her dark, brooding fiancé.

“A pleasure, Mateo,” he said as the younger man shook his hand. “Thank you for having me in your home.”

“It was our pleasure,” said Mateo, though Giovanni heard the edge to his voice.

Mateo’s tone told him several things. Mateo did not appreciate having to host his fiancé’s older, wealthy, and single friend. He also suspected Mateo was warning him to keep Desi under wraps.

Much as Giovanni loved a good mob war, he wasn’t stupid. Age had given him perspective. He knew how to wait for his moments.

He walked away from the mansion, assured of an ally in Mateo, if a slightly unwilling one. New connections were never a bad thing. He would look forward to furthering this acquaintance and seeing how much he could extend his influence into America now that he had a foothold.

He climbed into the waiting vehicle and relaxed against the leather seat as he was driven to the airport.

For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to seeing what the next day would bring.

Chapter Three

Desi moaned, then bit her lips when she realized the sound had escaped involuntarily. She knew better than to make a sound when she was in the enemy’s camp.

The agony in the stump of her finger radiated outward, sending shooting pain through the bones and muscle of her hand, her wrist, her arm, her whole body. Someone had wrapped the gunshot wound to her shoulder, as well as the one through her thigh. Though the thigh was less serious, the bullet a through and through, it hurt like a motherfucker. Too many sensitive nerve endings there.

She wanted to moan, to scream, and to weep, but she had to keep it all in. She had to stay alert. Figure out where she was and how to get away from the people holding her.

She deduced she was on an airplane by the loud drone of engines and the gentle vibrations beneath her. She was lying on something comfortable and there was a blanket thrown haphazardly across her.

She could hear the gentle rise and fall of masculine voices. They sounded hushed but close. She tried to make out the words, then realized they were speaking in Italian. She knew a smattering of Italian, but not enough to catch the softly spoken conversation. Especially not while most of her concentration was on holding in her screams of agony.

Then she remembered. The Italian. Mateo had given her to the Italian godfather.

She racked her brains trying to remember anything she could about him. Not the things she’d seen in the bunker, but the things she’d heard about him in the course of her work as Nico’s second-in-command.

Rumour had it that Giovanni Savino was a shrewd businessman who didn’t suffer fools. He was brutal, but fair. Nico had once reached out for a trade deal, but Giovanni had sent him packing. Word of Nico’s nefarious, underhanded dealings had reached overseas. Desi had been angry on Nico’s behalf, but a part of her had understood Giovanni’s reluctance. Nico had a well-documented history of doing business, creating alliances, then stealing the business and killing his contacts. It was what had gotten him killed in the end. He’d double-crossed Sotza and tried to steal the Venezuelan’s business.

Desi slowly rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes. They landed on Giovanni and her heart sped up in fear. He was a handsome man. Polished, but with an underlying core of savageness that was intriguing to her. He’d gotten rid of his wet, blood-stained shirt and trousers, and replaced them with a tailored grey suit and charcoal dress shirt, the buttons open at the throat.

If he hadn’t been her captor, she might find him interesting. Not physically. He was handsome enough, in a hawkish, brutal way, but she didn’t care about that. It was his other attributes that attracted her.

Nico had fucked her up for men, had shown her that they were good for one thing only. The power they could give her. She wished it were different. Had often imagined how her life could have gone had she never met Nico. Would she have married a farmer? An accountant? Or a shopkeeper? Would she have helped in the shop? Raised her children to be strong contributing members of society?

It didn’t matter. Because of Nico, she would never have a normal life. She should resent him, hate him, but she didn’t. She missed him. Every day, she missed him. He’d been her anchor, and he’d been torn away from her. She hadn’t even gotten her revenge.

As if he could divine her thoughts, Giovanni turned his head, his dark gaze pinning her. He didn’t move at first, but sat looking at her. She couldn’t decipher his closed expression.

Then he stood, drawing his men’s attention, but he ignored them as he made his way to her side. He knelt next to her, brushing her hair off her head. She tried to lift a hand to swat him away, but the pain jolted her, and she lay still.

His eyes followed the movement and landed on her mangled hand.

“Are you in pain?”

She wanted to ask him if he would be in pain if she cut his finger off, but the sentence wasn’t worth saying. She had very little energy, and she needed information.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked in Spanish. It was easier, and he’d already shown her he knew the language.

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