Page 21 of The Red Queen

“You will limit yourself,” he countered.

“Why?”

Nico had never set a limit on her alcohol intake. In fact, he thought it was hilarious that she could down a bottle of tequila before slaughtering a village full of rival cartel members.

“It’s not good for you.”

“And wine is?” Why the hell did he care what was good for her, anyway?

He tipped his head in a half nod. “Si, there are health benefits to moderate amounts of wine.”

“Are you a doctor now?” she asked sarcastically. “Because I only take medical advice from professionals.”

He smiled at her and nodded. “I am, in fact.”

“A doctor?” she asked blankly.

“Si, I have a doctorate of International Relations with a specialty in diplomacy.”

Desi didn’t know what to say. Giovanni was turning out to be far more multi-faceted than any other gangster she’d known. His appearance said one thing, his actions another and his words yet another. He was enigmatic, impossible to pin down, and despite herself, she was intrigued by him. She wanted the truth behind the Italian suits and the bloody reputation.

Which wasn’t good. She couldn’t get attached to the ideas her captor was planting in her head.

Desi was a realist. She knew the way she’d grown up in the Garza cartel was completely fucked up. She’d been brainwashed, gaslighted and had any other number of terrible psychological warfare directed at her. She had a weak mind. She must, to have been so willingly sucked into years of Nico’s torture. If she wasn’t careful, she could too easily fall prey to another. To Giovanni.

“Your education must come in useful in your line of work,” she commented.

He tipped his head back as he swallowed his wine, the notch in his throat bobbing with the action. His glittering eyes were watchful as they rested on her face. “Indeed. The skills I’ve cultivated have made it so I can look analytically at the world of trade and predict the market. It has made me a very rich man and influential across continents.”

“Were you born into the mob?” she asked curiously.

She knew little about the Italian mafia, but she understood enough to know that most Italians followed the family line of business when it came to working in the underworld.

Giovanni shrugged. “Is anyone born into anything? Those around us can heavily influence our decisions, but ultimately, we choose our own path. Was my father part of the Cosa Nostra? Si, he was, as was his father before him. The Savino family has a long history in this region. But I chose my destiny and continue to do so. No man will tell me what to do with my life.”

A shiver ran down Desi’s spine at the intensity of his words. They were directed at her, but the philosophy behind them was entrenched. He believed every word. Despite his family history, he was shaping his own future.

Completely absorbed in the conversation, Desi barely noticed as plates of mouth-watering steak, baked potato and greens were set in front of them and a napkin smoothed across her lap.

“So, you think you can shape destiny by force of will?” she asked, picking up the fork and steak knife from next to her plate. “What about nurture? You were raised surrounded by mafia. It would have influenced you as it did me. I was raised to eat, sleep, and breathe cartel life. No choice or force of will could change that.”

His dark gaze held sympathy, and she knew what he would say before it came out of his mouth. “You were not nurtured, Desiree. You were tortured. Forced to play a role you didn’t get to choose. You were a victim.”

She squeezed her steak knife in her fist as rage ripped through her, igniting a fire in her chest that threatened to explode if she didn’t release it. She knew better than to attack while angry, but rational thought flew out of her head as Giovanni’s words echoed through her.

Victim. Victim. Victim.

She was no victim!

She made her own choices. She lived a free life, both before and after Nico’s death.

“You don’t know me.” Her voice was harsh, her tone acidic as she snarled the words at Giovanni.

He didn’t react, but the surrounding men tensed as the atmosphere in the room ratcheted up. A boiling cauldron of anger, hate and vengeance within Desi threatened to spill over.

“This isn’t a test, Desi,” Giovanni said calmly. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Ignoring his words, Desi stood abruptly, shoving her chair into the man behind her.

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