Page 17 of Rubies and Revenge

Darius’s shirt, hands down.

But I don’t say that. This is a game, a negotiation of terms that will determine how we dance with each other in this house, in this city, in this deal. Zarina is a princess who has had the majority of her desires fulfilled at the snap of her pretty, manicured fingers. But me, I’ve fought and bled for what I want. If Zarina Gallo wants me on my knees, she must learn, like everyone else, that I don’t bend first.

I disconnect my brain from the lust heating my skin and arrange my face into an expression of disappointment. Like Zarina Gallo is behaving badly rather than making my body pulse with the beat of my heart. I sip my coffee and watch the red at her neck travel up to her cheeks as she reads the shift in my body language. Her brown eyes are shot through with gold that hardens the longer she stands in silent defiance.

I set my mug back on the counter and raise one, sardonic brow. “Your choice, princess.”

She drops the shirt and sighs. “You talk, I drink.”

I nod and pull my phone out of my pocket as if I have something more important to focus my attention on than Zarina. “A pair of black SUVs have been circling since early this morning. They have Gallo plates.” I slide the phone across the counter, video footage of the cars pulled up and playing.

Zarina leans over to watch, and I silently thank any powers that be that I can no longer see where the shirt ends and her thighs begin.

She hums and nods, resting her elbows on the counter.

My brain attempts to conjure up an image of her ass at this very moment, and I shut that down as swiftly as possible. “We need to nip this in the bud before they cross a line.”

Zarina picks up my phone, tapping on it.

I let her. “What are you doing?”

“Nipping it in the bud.” She raises the phone to her ear.

I drop my shoulders and shake my head. “Princess, that’s not what I meant and you know?—”

“Ssh”—she holds her finger to her smirking lips—“it’s ringing.”

“Zarina.” I rap my knuckles on the countertop with gritted teeth. “Hang up.”

“Mother.” She brings the phone down to tap the screen and suddenly a very stern voice floods out of the speaker.

“—na Giovanna Gallo. Where the fuck are you?” Alessandra Gallo’s voice is frigid in the otherwise warm kitchen, and the way it strikes through me feels like lightning. It’s been years since I heard it, but the sound loosens the soil covering the shallow grave of my memories. I stomp on their clawing hands until they fall back, leaving scratches down my mind. Now is not the time.

Zarina pulls in a deep breath, gold-streaked eyes finding mine and holding. “It seems you already know where I am.”

“What does that mean?” Alessandra snaps.

“Why are my cousins, Paul and Donny, driving around Sallay like tourists?” she asks. “There’s nothing to see on this side of town.”

“Apparently, there is.”

“Call them off.” Zarina’s gaze trips over the mole on my left cheekbone, my triple pierced ear, back to my eyes.

“Not until you’re safe.”

She snorts. “So that’s the angle.”

“It’s not an angle.” Her mother sniffs like the suggestion is preposterous.

“Call them off, Mother,” Zarina sighs, tired. I wonder if she ever calls her Mom, Mama, anything with more familiarity than the formal Mother. She stares at the coffee in her mug. “I’m more safe here than at home.”

I catch my frown before it twitches across my lips.

Alessandra Gallo is quiet for the length of one breath. “Is she there?”

“I’m here,” I say.

Zarina scowls. It only makes me grin.

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