Page 23 of The Red Queen

She was oblivious to the people crowding the dance floor of the club as they weaved their way through. She ignored the remaining bodyguards who surrounded them.

Desi was so focused on the man at her side that she didn’t notice his son until she walked into him. As her head came up to glare at whoever dared to step into her path, his hands banded her arms, holding her in place.

Before she could say anything, Giovanni stepped in front of her, breaking his son’s hold.

“What are you doing here?” Giovanni asked coldly, his gaze straying past Antonio. “And who have you brought into my club?”

Desi stepped to the side so she could watch the interaction. Antonio had three other men at his back. They looked uncomfortable, like they were going for a tough-guy image but struggling to maintain the facade in the face of the Italian Godfather and a club filled with his people.

“These are my friends,” Antonio said belligerently.

Giovanni took the men in at a glance. “They belong to the Malta DiGregorios, and they’re not welcome in my club, as you well know.”

“They’re my friends, I invited them here.”

“If they don’t leave on their own within the next two minutes, they’ll be leaving in body bags.”

Antonio reacted in anger, shouting aggressively at his father and the unfairness of Giovanni’s edicts.

Desi rolled her eyes at the family drama. The more time she spent with his son, the more she understood why Giovanni wanted to wash his hands of him. Antonio was defective. He was useless, vain, puffed up, and stupid. He would drive the Savino family business into the ground if he ever got a crack at it.

Ignoring his son’s angry tirade, Giovanni turned to a bodyguard standing behind him. “Remove these men from my property,” he glanced at his son, whose face had gone tomato red, “And make sure none of them come back in. Let the staff know that Antonio is officially banned.”

He took Desi’s arm in a firm grip and led her from the club.

She followed willingly, her thoughts on the events at hand rather than focusing on escape.

Giovanni had handled the situation adeptly and with minimal fuss. The energy and self-possession pouring from him was intoxicating. She wanted to roll in it, bask in its glow.

He escorted her to the boat that would take them to their vehicle. Desi watched Giovanni as they sped through the canals. He looked handsome, sexy, in control. When the boat docked, he helped her onto the walkway and then ushered her to the car, opening the rear door and waiting for Desi to slide in. Rather than going around, he slid in behind her, his thigh pushing against hers. She moved to the opposite seat and turned to watch him.

He seemed calm, as though the altercation in the club meant nothing to him.

“What will you do with him?” she asked curiously.

Giovanni looked at her without concern. “The situation will sort itself out.”

“But he’s obviously plotting against you. I barely know either of you or the situation and even I can tell he’s up to something,” she pushed. “He wants your seat of power, Giovanni, and I don’t think he’s willing to wait until you’re dead, if his current attitude is any indication. You should be careful.”

“It’s sweet that you care,” Giovanni said dryly. “I have the situation well under control.”

She ignored his jab and asked, “What will you do about him?”

His dark eyes gleamed in the shadows of the car as he watched her. “You’re not good at taking a hint, are you? This topic of conversation is closed.”

She scowled. “I was second-in-command to a powerful cartel. I know how to plan, how to thwart takeover attempts. I can see this coming a mile away. Your loyalty to family will get you killed.”

He barked a laugh, but the sound wasn’t pleasant or kind.

A shiver ran down her spine.

“You know nothing but vengeance and violence, and you think to tell me how to solve my problems?” He moved to the seat next to her and when she tried to slide away from him, he backed her into the corner, slid his hand into the hair at her nape, and took it in a firm grip. He dragged her head back slowly until she was bowed in her seat, her head pressed against the leather. He ignored her fight to remain upright and leaned in close, his breath fanning across her face as he spoke. “I don’t need your help, Desi. You’re here because I want a wife who is under my control. I want your fire and fight, but only when I demand it.”

“I won’t marry you,” she snarled, flinging herself away from him as soon as he let go of her hair.

“You will,” he said mildly, straightening his cufflinks.

She hated how cool he was after everything they’d been through that evening. She felt disheveled and out of sorts. Her confidence knocked back a step at his demeaning words. She’d been an elite soldier in her cartel and now… now she couldn’t even fight off a single man fifteen or so years older than her.

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