Page 20 of The Bonventi War
"What the hell is this?" I demand, the words sharper than I intended.
Gio turns, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Morning, Raven. You're early."
I cross my arms. "Uh, it's my gallery. I can be here whenever I damn well please. Now," I nod toward the crates. "You didn't answer my question. What are those?"
He waves a hand, dismissing the men. They leave without question, and suddenly, it's just the two of us. "Your shipment," he says, patting one of the crates. "The ones you conveniently forgot to pick up."
Confusion, then anger, flares in my chest. "Forgot? I didn't even know about them. How did you?—"
"I have my ways," he interrupts and shows that infuriating holier-than-thou smile. "The question is, why didn't you know?"
Maybe it's his tone—accusatory, suspicious—but something inside me snaps. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because my life is a fucking shit show right now? Or maybe, it's because I've got this big, tough mafia asshole making it his mission to invade every inch of my life. So, pardon me if tracking shipments hasn't been my top priority."
"You think I'm tough?" Gio ask with his mocking tone.
"For a thug, sure."
Gio's expression darkens. "Watch how you talk to me."
"Or what? You'll add another camera?" I gesture around the gallery. "Oh, wait, you already did that, didn't you? Seriously, are you trying to set a world record for most surveillance per square foot?"
I'm getting worked up, and I turn to see one of the cameras at eye level. I walk toward it with every intention of ripping it down. Before I can reach it, a strong hand wraps around my wrist.
"Don't," Gio growls.
I jerk my arm away, glaring up at him. "Let go of me."
For a second, we just stand there. His grip lingers on my skin, and I feel a jolt of something—anger, maybe, or something I don't want to name. But I refuse to back down. I meet his gaze, challenging him.
His fingers flex, and then he releases me. "You don't get to dictate what keeps you safe," he says.
"You're the only real threat I see."
A muscle ticks in his jaw. "You should be thanking me. If I wasn't watching you, who knows what the hell would happen? Dead, or worse."
"And yet, here I am," I snap. "Alive, despite all your so-called enemies."
His eyes flash with something unreadable. "For now." His gaze sharpens, scrutinizing me like he's searching for cracks in my story. "And that's what doesn't add up, does it? If you're such a target, why hasn't anyone come for you yet? Interesting."
I roll my eyes.
I can't believe this prick thinks I'm hiding something from him. I do not want to engage in this conversation any longer.
I turn to the crates, eager to move past all this bullshit between us. He studies me for a few more seconds before turning his head to follow my gaze.
"What's in them?" he asks.
"I don't know," I say, "And I don't care. I'll deal with it when my actual employees get here, not with you."
He steps even closer. "Open them."
I glare up at him.
"Or do I have to do everything for you?" he says and grabs the crowbar from the floor.
He steps forward, shrugging off his jacket, revealing the tattoos snaking up his forearm. He wedges the crowbar under the lid of one of the crates and pries it open with ease.
If I wasn't seeing red half the time, maybe I would notice how handsome he really is. Too bad he's a jerk and a bully. Definitely not a guy I would want around willingly. So I don't look at him, I focus on the contents of the crate instead.
