Page 50 of Hostile Rival
There’s no room in my life for connections.
I made a vow to Blanco, and I’d die honoring it if I had to.
But this guy––for all my sins––has me hooked.
Abruptly pulling away, he drops onto his haunches, collects his jacket from the floor, rises to his full six-foot something height, shrugs into it, and quietly assesses his appearance in the mirror. Combing his fingers through his dark hair, he prowls to the door.
“Ten minutes, little firecracker. Don’t keep me waiting,” he calls over his shoulder as he unlocks the door.
Stopping for a second, he glances over at me just as I flip him my middle finger. Before my next intake of air, he stalks toward me, cuffs my wrist, and sucks the insulting digit into his warm mouth.
He smirks after he pulls it out. “Even your ‘fuck you’ tastes good. I can’t wait to taste your pussy next.”
I growl at him from the back of my throat, doing my best to ignore the wave of tingles racing over my scalp. “You say that like I plan to be on the balcony to feed your ego.”
“There’s that little tell of yours, Dani. I know you’re lying because you can’t look me in the eye.” He unhands me and returns to the door, wearing a victorious, smug expression.
Motherfucker.
If he thinks I’m going to meet him on the balcony, on his order, to add fuel to this pointless fire, he’s sorely mistaken.
Before leaving, I check my concealed weapons, turn my comms back on, rake my fingers through the ends of my hair to look less mussed, and head out into the corridor.
Turning left, I walk past a few guests and join the main party, content to have space and something else to focus on. I could usea drink, or five. Rather than reach for the champagne, I skirt the edge of the cavernous ballroom and avoid eye contact, reverting back to business.
Despite pushing Matheus away and refusing to meet him, my stomach churns when Giana Di Rossi sashays across the room, making a beeline straight for him.
I freeze, covertly standing behind a young couple who appear to be having a disagreement in Italian. Only able to watch as Giana hooks her arm with his and pulls him to the side of the room, getting way too close.
My heart stutters. In awe, she gazes up at him and bats her long, fluttery lashes.
Instantly, my blood hisses and an unwarranted temper ignites.
I should have put a bullet in her head when she was pawing all over him in the van. But killing an innocent girl would have made me the bad guy—not the Souza who helped her.
Deep down, I know he’s not like his father. Something else lies in Matheus’ eyes, a flicker of compassion and a whole lot of heat. Heat that only appears when he looks at me.
Now the seductive heiress to an Italian empire has her claws in him.
I grunt at that, thankful the music swallowed up the sound. In the grand scheme of life, she’s a better fit for him—the perfect candidate for his future wife. Her family could offer him everything I can’t, but hell…the burn of jealousy charging through me is out of control.
A possessive black mist clouds my vision when she slants her curvy body into his muscular suited chest, rises to her tiptoes, and speaks intimately into the side of his face.
He laughs at something she says and dishes out a heart-stopping smile. I hold my breath, cursing myself for letting itbother me and hating how her closeness to him makes me feel on edge.
Iamjealous––so damn jealous I might just strangle the bitch.
20
MATHEUS
“I can’t shake the feeling we’ve met before.” Giana blinks up at me.
“We haven’t,” I confirm, fixing the gold cufflinks Mama had given me on my eighteenth birthday. “I’d remember you.”
When I’d opened the gift box, I remember being pissed that a Souza ring wasn’t inside. Realistically, I shouldn't have been annoyed since I hadn’t killed anyone at that point in my life.
These days, I’ve more than earned it. Yet I’m still wearing a skull on my right hand and no family bloodstone.
