Page 83 of Undone

This time, he actually smiles. A genuine one that lights up his eyes. “You are, princess. We’re going back to the club. I can’t leave you here all alone. You might try to hide somewhere. We need to check out the club to make sure you aren’t lying.”

“The only place I’m going… is to bed.” I yawn, and sneak under the covers before he can grab me.

His left cheek tics. “Five seconds. You have five seconds to get out of that bed… or I’m coming in it. Like I said, there are many ways to make a beautiful woman talk. I’ve learned them all. It can be pain or pleasure,tesoro.Your choice.”

I break out in shivers. Images of this sexy, dangerous man “coming” fill my head. It’s been too long since I’ve been with Smith. I fling back the covers as if they burn—because they do. He’ll probably do either; pleasure me or cut me. Mothers in Chicago don’t scare their children with stories of the boogeyman—they just use this man’s name and it does the trick.

Without a word, I take my jacket from him and yank it on. I don’t wait for him, but open the hotel door so forcefully, it slams against the wall.

I make my way down the hall towards the elevator hearing him talk on his cell from behind me. My thumb jabs the down button so hard my skin turns white.

“I kind of like you…”

“Don’t.I’m not interested.”

“Liar.”

I turn, glaring, “I’m. Not. Interested.”

“We’ll see,” he smirks, as the elevator opens.

I walk in and turn around, facing him.

“Who is he?”

“Excuse me?”

“The man who stole your heart?”

“Why?”

“So, I can find it for you.”

I roll my eyes. “And why would you do that?”

“So, you can give it to me instead.”

“You’re quiet poetic for a gangster.”

He shrugs. “Did it work?”

“What work?”

He walks forward until the tips of our shoes touch. The tip of his index finger lightly grazes my sweater an inch above my heart. “Is it melting just a bit?”

“No,” I lie.

He doesn’t stop rubbing the spot above my heart and I don’t tell him to knock it off, either. Partly because his nearness still unnerves me. I thought Smith was dangerous, but Roque Salvatore is a known killer; a ruthless gangster who rose to the top of the mafia food-chain.

When we reach the lobby he reluctantly pulls away. Fifteen men greet us. All of them dressed in dark suits with matching pea coats. I’m not stupid though. They’re not just wearing them for the cold, but to hide the many guns I’m sure they have underneath.

“Vito’s already on his way to the club.”

“Why do you need me then?”

“Insurance.”

“Are you kidnapping me?”

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