Page 13 of Shadows of Steel
The officer rifles through his papers. “Marco DiStefano.”
“What exactly happened?” I ask, my voice hard, my gaze still fixed on her, though my question is once again directed at the officer.
She lets out a cold, humourless laugh. “The man attacked me. I defended myself. It wasself-defence.” Then her tone shifts, laced with something biting. “I see what you’re doing, flexing your authority, pretending I’m invisible, like I’m just another pawn on your chessboard.”
That earns her a smirk. She’s just caught my attention, and she doesn’t even realize what a grave mistake that is. A woman like her, bold and defiant, doesn’t last long in my world unless she learns the rules, and quickly.
The officer scoffs. “They all say the same.”
Her jaw tightens, her lips parting to hurl some sharp retort. But before she can, I cut in. “Who are you? And what’s your reason for being in Italy?”
Her attention snaps back to me, storm-grey eyes ablaze with spite. “That’s none of your concern.”
I step forward, each footfall echoing like a warning. “Oh, but I assure you, it is. Answer the question, or I’ll be forced to extract the truth through other means. And I promise you, they won’t be nearly as civil as this conversation.”
Her lips curl, caught between a sneer and a challenge. “I’m not afraid of you.”
A low, knowing chuckle rumbles from my chest. “You should be.”
I let the silence stretch, before I continue. “Do you truly believe you’re untouchable? You’re nothing more than an ember masquerading as a flame. Allow me to remind you just how powerless you really are.”
Ricci’s voice breaks through, accusatory. “Why conceal your identity if you have nothing to hide?”
Her response is swift. “I’m simply trying to live my life in peace, far from the chaos of the mafia. A name is just a formality. It neither defines me nor concerns you.”
I take another step forward, stalking my prey with intent. When I reach the woman, her name still unknown to me, in a swift motion, I draw my gun, pressing the cold barrel against her temple. My other hand grips her jaw firmly, forcing her head to turn until our gazes lock. The flicker of rebellion in those pale grey eyes falters, and tension rippling through her frame as I lean in, my lips brushing dangerously close to her ear.
“So, you do know about the mafia.” My voice is a low murmur, a lethal whisper that coils between us like a threat. “I’ll ask you once more, what is your connection to the Chicago Outfit?”
The heat of my breath grazes her skin, and I catch the slightest shift, the rigid defiance now laced with a flicker of unease. I smirk, savouring the control. To remind her exactly who holds the power here.
The fight in her posture falters, imperceptible to most, but not to me. I recognize the precise moment resignation creeps in, the instant she begins to understand the inevitability of this moment. “Vincenzo Moretti is my grandfather.” She spits, each word laced with venom. “And Michael Moretti? My cousin.”
The revelation amuses me, a ripple of dark satisfaction threading through my thoughts. “Hmm. So you are a mafia princess after all. And oh, how you’ve fallen.”
My smile sharpens, the kind that cuts, all teeth and quiet menace.
Her breath hitches, ever so slightly. But it’s the flicker in her eyes that holds my attention, insubordination.
Intriguing.
Before I can savour the moment, Ricci intervenes. I step back, my finger still tingling from the lingering charge of contact, then slide my gun back into its holster.
His mouth parts as if to speak, but something shifts when his gaze meets mine. Whatever words he had falter, swallowed by the unease stretching between us. His jaw tightens, his focus settling fully on me. “Leave.” The command is clipped. “What I have to ask next doesn’t concern you.”
A low chuckle escapes me, cold, devoid of amusement. “Doesn’t concern me?”
I tilt my head, holding his stare, unflinching. “She killed one of my men, Ricci. So I’d say that makes it very much my business.”
His gaze hardens, and his jaw tightens further. “I’ll deal with her.” He says, his voice edged with authority. “You don’t need to worry about it. She’ll be handled.”
I take a slow, step forward, refusing to let his words sway me. “That’s not how this works,” I reply. “If you think I’m going to walk away and pretend this didn’t occur, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
His posture stiffens, his eyes narrowing further. “You’re on my soil, Salvatore. Don’t mistake that for permission to undermine me.”
“Undermine you?” I smirk, letting the insult settle between us. “If you think this is undermining, Ricci, then you’ve underestimated me. I don’t need permission to do what I want, no matter whose soil I’m standing on.”
Ricci straightens, the weight of his dominance pressing against the room. “This conversation doesn’t require your presence.” He repeats, the edge of command is unmistakable. “Get out.”
