Page 15 of The Red Queen

She stared at him. “You’re going to feed me at gunpoint?”

He shrugged. “If I have to.”

He waved the gun toward the door. “Now move. We’re going to walk up to the dining room where you will sit down and eat with impeccable manners and no complaint.”

The man didn’t know her well if he thought she would comply with such a stupid scenario. Still, being on the upper floors of the house could only aid in her knowledge of the layout and present opportunities for escape.

Desi stood and walked slowly to the door.

Giovanni stepped aside and waved her through, then followed her through the wine cellar.

As they passed the foyer of the mansion, heading back toward the dining room and kitchen, the front door flew open, impacting the wall with a bang.

Desi jumped and reached for a weapon, then realized she had no holster or gun on her person. She hadn’t been weaponless for so long that the feeling of vulnerability it inspired left her confused and aggravated.

The man who entered the mansion had Giovanni’s looks, though he was younger by at least two decades. He had the same eyes and colouring as Giovanni, but the younger man was stockier, shorter, and built more like a fighter.

“Padre,” the younger man said, eyeing Desi without looking at Giovanni, though she was sure he was addressing the Godfather. “You didn’t tell me you’d be back from America so soon.”

Giovanni turned to his son, annoyance etched on his features. “As we have previously established, my business is none of yours. Why are you here?”

“Because I heard you came back with a woman,” the man said bluntly, holding out a hand to Desi. “And I see the rumours are true. I’m Antonio Savino.”

Interesting. A son. One who seemed unwelcome if Giovanni’s reaction was anything to go by. Another facet of Giovanni that she could exploit.

“Desiree Garza,” she told him coldly, ignoring his hand.

Giovanni stood next to Desi, placing one hand on her back while pressing the barrel of his gun against her ribcage with the other. “Say hello to your soon-to-be stepmother.”

Chapter Seven

Desi knew Giovanni said it for shock, but still she gasped and tried to pull away from him.

His hold on her waist tightened, but his watchful gaze remained on his son, whose face had become rigid with anger.

Antonio’s eyes narrowed on her, then landed on the gun. “She seems uninterested in marriage.”

“What interests her doesn’t matter,” Giovanni said coldly, then added, his tone giving away his reluctance as he issued the invitation, “Will you join us for supper?”

Antonio grinned through his anger, showing a flash of teeth. “Of course. It’s been years since I was invited into the family dining room.”

“The day your mother passed was the day this stopped being a family home. Perhaps if you wanted to visit, you might have conducted yourself more respectfully.”

Antonio glanced at Desi, annoyance and embarrassment clear on his features. “I might show more respect if you acted like a father once in a while.”

A gleam entered Desi’s eye. This was going to be an interesting meal.

It appeared that there was a rather large rift in Casa del Savino, and she was going to do her absolute best to exploit it. She could already tell the younger Savino had a weaker mind, one that she could potentially bend to her bidding.

Antonio’s avid gaze crawled up and down her body as though he had a right to look. She wondered what he would have done with her, had she become his slave rather than his father’s. It took little imagination. He would think to fuck her and then perhaps pass her around to his buddies. She could easily kill him and escape.

Her glance landed on Giovanni. From what she’d seen of him so far, he was severe, but intelligent and thoughtful. A much more difficult prospect, stimulating even.

They sat at a massive dining table that could have easily seated a dozen. The paintings and heavy atmosphere in the room gave it an old-fashioned gothic feeling, one that she could have appreciated had her circumstances been different. She loved architecture. Her travels around the globe securing trade for Nico Garza had given her a taste for culture. Especially in buildings much older than she was used to seeing in Mexico.

She noted with some satisfaction a plastic sheet covering the doorway to the kitchen where repairs would be under way.

Mrs. Capelli, the dour housekeeper, set salad plates in front of each of them, dropping Desi’s with a thump.

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