Page 17 of The Celtic Resolution
Instead, I’m here talking to her and unable to put my finger on why. Every single time she breathes in and her lower lip tightens with a pull of pain, guilt warms my gut. Is this because of Mary? One visit from her and she’s softened me up.
Fuck.
“Who are you?” she asks suddenly. “And why the fuck are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m not trying,” I say, cautiously easing my thighs apart to adjust to the painful throbbing between my legs. “I’m still going to. This is just a slow simmer buildup.”
Her eyes dart down to my crotch and she lifts one brow. “Really.”
“Really.” I nod quickly. “My name is Bruno.”
“Bruno what?”
“Del Prete.”
She’s in the process of stepping forward when she freezes and her sparkling, angry eyes narrow to slits. “DelPrete?”
“Yup.”
“As in Domenico Del Prete?”
“My one and only father.” Unfortunately.
“Father? Shit, I didn’t know he had a son. Since when do the Italians work with the fucking Triads?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Is that why you were there last night spying on my business?” One hand moves to her hip and rests there while the arm closest to her injured ribs remains loose by her side, ready to protect at a moment's notice.
“Spying is such an ugly word.” Each moment that passes eases the pain and I straighten up. “I’m protecting my interests.”
“Bullshit.” She steps forward once. “The Irish and the Italians have had an alliance for years and now you’re telling me that you’re Domenico’s son and you’ve been spying on us? And you’re trying to kill me because of the fucking Triads? You’re not protecting anything.”
Shit. I didn’t know she was Irish. It’s obvious in her accent now that she’s actually talking and not barking hatred at me, but they gave me absolutely no information on her. I had no idea.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then you have ten seconds to tell me exactly what this is or you’ll have to kill me.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll drag the truth out of Rocky. Hell, I bet even his father Matteo will have a sit down with me about this.”
“Wait—”
“Tell me what the fuck you’re playing at.”
“I don’t know you.”
“You know me well enough to try and kill me!”
“It’s not like that.” This situation is unraveling faster than I can control. What was supposed to be an easy assassination has turned into something much messier, and even though I’ve been in prison for the past fourteen years, I know the Irish reputation. Killing her would be a death sentence.
“Then I don’t give a shit,” she snaps heatedly. “Next time you try and kill me, you'd better fucking commit.” The fire is back in her eyes and that sharp tone cuts with the force of a real blade. In a half-second, she’s sprinting toward my discarded weapon and I have no choice but to tackle her to the ground.
We land in a heap and her pained grunt cuts through me like a hot knife, making me hesitate. She uses this to her advantage by rolling over and smacking her palm up against my jaw. I briefly see stars and narrowly avoid another blow to the balls by rolling away. I only make it a foot before she’s standing over me with her boot pressed against my chest and my gun in her hands.
Aiming right between my eyes.
