Page 4 of His Savage Ruin
"They'll have to expand their search," I tell her, watching understanding dawn in her eyes. "Welcome to New York. My territory."
The color drains from her face as the implications sink in. The kind of operation this represents, the resources required to move someone across state lines without detection. Her breathing quickens slightly, but she fights to maintain composure. "Do you know who I am?" I ask.
She studies my face intently, looking for clues. "Should I?"
"Most people would say yes."
We stare at each other, me patient as death, her trying to put pieces together. I can practically see the wheels turning—Chicago to New York, the kind of operation this represents, the casual way I talk about territory.
Then recognition clicks, and her face goes pale.
"Romano," she breathes.
I smile, and it's not a nice expression. "Getting warmer."
"Matteo Romano." Her voice is barely a whisper now. "Il Diavolo."
"Clever girl."
"What do you want from me?" she asks, and I catch something breathless in her voice.
"You're the reason the Morettis declared war," I tell her, watching her face carefully for tells.
Her eyes widen with what looks like genuine shock. "I don't know what you mean…"
"Sure you do."
She's quiet for a moment, processing my words. "I told them Lorenzo was murdered by unknown attackers. If they declared war on you, that decision was theirs, not based on anything I said." I study her with the patience of a predator, weighing her words, looking for the lies underneath. But there's something in her denial that rings true. Or maybe she's just a very good actress.
"Someone so small and gentle shouldn't cause such problems," I murmur, moving closer.
I reach out slowly, making sure she can see the movement coming. Her eyes track my hand but she doesn't pull away when I trace one finger along her cheek. Her skin is soft, unmarked by the kind of violence that shapes people like me.
"Don't touch me," she says, jerking her head away from my touch.
But I don't stop. I let my finger trail along her jawline, curious to see what she'll do.
Quick as a snake, her teeth close on my finger—hard, sharp, aiming for bone. I pull back just in time, genuinely impressed by her speed and viciousness.
I laugh, I can't help it. When was the last time someone tried to bite me? "There she is. I was wondering when the real Alessia Moretti would show up."
The sound of my laughter makes fury blaze in her eyes. "You think this is funny?"
"I think you're far more interesting than I expected."
"Interesting enough to let me go?" she shoots back.
"Interesting enough to keep you alive."
Her jaw tightens. "How generous."
"I can be." I circle her chair slowly, and her head turns to follow my movement, cataloging every step. "Tell me about your husband's enemies."
"I wouldn't know. Lorenzo didn't discuss business with me."
"Of course not. Good wives don't ask questions." I pause behind her chair, and her shoulders tense. "But smart wives listen."
"Maybe I’m not that smart.” Her shoulders lift in a small shrug, but her eyes cut away, lashes lowering as if to hide something she doesn’t want me to read. Her fingers curl tight against the armrest, betraying nerves her voice tries to disguise.
