Page 41 of Savage King

"Are you a reporter or something?" I try to deflect, knowing she's not. I've done my homework on her.

"No, I work for the Historical Preservation Center. I reconstruct and repair artifacts." She shrewdly tilts her head to the side, "But then, you already know that, don't you?"

With every minute I spend with this woman, I like her more. "Beauty, wit, bravery, and intellect, you're going to break my heart." To add to my dramatic declaration, I put my hand on my chest.

She chuckles, and the sound is like an aphrodisiac to me.

The air thickens between us.I hate to admit it, but with every passing minute, I like Antonio DeLuna more and more. This is not just the most amazing sex of my life talking—well, maybe a tiny bit—but my mind, too. He is everything I always dreamed of in a man being—aside from the illegal activities and killing people. There's that.

He is tall, dark, and so very handsome. His body is to die for. He saved my life, just like a hero in a movie. He's every woman's wet dream. But above all that, he's also charming, witty, caring, and… nice, at least to me.

He's also a killer, Scarlet, my mind reminds me.

A killer who killed the men who abducted and tortured you, my heart adds.

He's also the most satisfying cock to ever visit here, my pussy chimes in.

I hope my face isn't turning flaming red, because I really don't want to follow where my pussy is going with this.

Mafia, Scarlet. Fucking, murderous, scrupulous mafia, my mind reiterates.

Alright, alright, I get the message. Jeez. I catch myself before I roll my eyes at myself.

I know I should stop. I don't need to know this; it'll only complicate things, but my tongue won't obey me. "About Carlos?"

He leans back on the cushion I put on the floor and regards me through veiled eyes. "Are you sure you want to know about this? There's no going back once you do."

He's warning you. For fuck's sake, listen. You. Don't. Want. To. Know. My mind screams.

"No going back?"

A slow, almost lazy smirk tugs at his lips. "If I divulge family secrets, you’ll become family." His eyes burn into mine, sharp as a blade, slicing through any illusion of choice. "And in my world, family isn’t just a word. It’s a binding contract."

His fingers trail up my arm, deceptively gentle. "You want in?" He tilts his head, studying me like prey. "Then you’ll be mine. Not just in name. In every way."

A shiver runs down my spine, but not from fear of him. No, it's from the unspoken promise in his voice, the claim he has already made.

"I don’t share. I don’t ask. I take. And if you say yes, passerotta, you won’t walk away. Ever."

I feel dizzy, so, so dizzy. I take a drink of wine. Doesn't he have anything stronger? I'm a good girl, remember? I'm a curator, for crying out loud.But you also know how to keepfamilysecrets, don't you? I want to tell the voice in my head to shut up, but mercilessly, it continues. You've kept secrets for years—your mothers, your fathers, yours.

I swallow. I want the voices to stop, so I keep theconversationgoing. "And what do family members have to do?"

Deep green eyes penetrate mine as if he's searching the bottom of my soul. "Scarlet," his tone is still warning.

The wine is getting to my head. "Do you know what it feels like to hang from the ceiling for hours? Days? To be hosed down with water like an animal?"

Silently, he rises, moves to a dresser underneath the obscenely large TV, and opens it.Ah, there's the hard stuff.

He holds up a bottle questioningly. I have no idea what it is, but the liquid is amber, and I really need something stronger than wine. I nod. He fills two glasses and returns, handing one to me.

"I have an idea about the pain?—"

"Pain?" I interrupt sharply. "I'm not talking about the pain. Yeah, it was there, but I've dealt with pain all my life. What I've never gotten was justice. Did Hank and Marco suffer?"

He nods.

"Good." I empty the glass, and the liquid hits my throat, burning a path all the way into my stomach, burning out all traces of thegood girl. From there, it spreads out in a wave of warmth. I hold up the glass to him.

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