Page 4 of Ruined By Blood
I don't like the way his fingers dig into her side, don't like how she shrinks beneath his touch while forcing a smile that doesn't reach those blue eyes.
"Hello," she murmurs. "I apologize for the delay."
His gaze slides to me. He nods. "I hope my companion hasn't bothered you."
"Your companion and I were having a private conversation." My voice drops lower.
His fingers tighten around her waist, and something dark flashes in my gut.
"She's my property for the evening." He says this with a smirk that makes my knuckles itch.
The pieces click together in my head. A paid companion. Not my business, not my problem.
But the way she flinches when he squeezes her hip—that becomes my problem.
"Property?" I repeat the word slowly, letting it sit heavy in the air between us. "Interesting choice of words for a guest in my establishment."
He laughs, oblivious to the shift in temperature and the fact that he knows now I own this fucking place. "Come now, we're all businessmen here. You know how these arrangements work."
The woman keeps her eyes fixed on the floor. Her shoulders curl inward like she's trying to disappear inside herself.
I step closer, invading his personal space. The woman's eyes widen, flicking between us like she's calculating the blast radius of an impending explosion.
"It's time for us to leave," he announces, his voice hardening. "We have business to discuss."
He leans down, his lips brushing against her ear. His whisper is too low for me to catch, but I see her face pale slightly, her fingers curling into fists.
If she's in trouble, all she needs to do is say something. One word. One look. I own this casino—I can have security here in seconds. I can make him disappear permanently if needed. La famiglia protects innocents, even if we're not innocent ourselves.
I catch her gaze, raising an eyebrow. A silent question.
She swallows hard, then straightens her spine. "Mr. Feretti, it was nice meeting you, but we should go."
Something in her tone doesn't match the fear in her eyes, but her words are clear. I study her face, looking for any sign she wants me to intervene.
"You heard the lady," the bastard says, his confidence returning now that she's backed him up. "We have arrangements to finalize."
"Arrangements," I repeat, letting my disgust show.
He tightens his grip on the woman's waist, steering her away.
As they turn to leave, she glances back over her shoulder at me. The look in her eyes isn't something I can easily categorize—not quite fear, not exactly pleading. Something complex that speaks of resignation and secrets.
CHAPTER 3
Idrain my whiskey and signal the bartender for another. Saturday nights at the casino mean I'm stuck here playing host while Damiano gets his weekend off with Zoe. Lucky bastard. He's probably wrapped around his wife right now, forgetting the world exists beyond their penthouse walls.
Meanwhile, I'm trapped in this glittering cesspool, schmoozing with degenerates who think money makes them untouchable.
"Mr. Feretti." A nasal voice cuts through my brooding. I turn to find Harold Pemberton, some oil executive with more cash than sense, approaching with his usualsycophantic smile. "Wonderful establishment you have here. The renovations really elevated the ambiance."
"Pemberton." I keep my voice flat, uninterested. The man's been trying to buy his way into our good graces for months, throwing around investment opportunities like confetti. "Enjoying your evening?"
"Immensely. Though I was hoping we might discuss that petroleum transport venture I mentioned last month." He leans closer, whiskey heavy on his breath. "The profit margins are extraordinary."
I crack my knuckles, the sharp pops making him flinch. "Not interested."
His face reddens. "Perhaps if you understood the full scope?—"
