Page 6 of Dangerous King (Savage Kings of New York #2)

Incredulously, I stare at the tiny girl who dares to make demands of me.

She's standing her ground, even with her hands trembling at her sides.

Dark brown hair tangles around her face, wild from whatever hell she's just been through.

Her amber eyes, no, whiskey eyes, burn with defiance, despite the fear I know she's swallowing down.

Bow-shaped lips draw tight over a jaw set like she's ready to fight me if she has to.

She can't weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds.

She looks like I could snap her neck without breaking a sweat.

But she isn't backing down from me. She's either crazy as hell or stupidly brave.

If what Izzy said is true, that this girl saved her, I owe her a debt.

A rare thing in my world. But not one I take lightly.

Giovanni and Ringo came up from the basement when we stormed the mansion.

They hadn't been hiding; they'd been looking for their victim.

I know in my gut they'd gone down there to kill my sister and erase the evidence before I could get my hands on them.

And this little… imp , this wild-eyed thing with a spine forged in fire, she got there first.

Where I would have failed, she saved Izzy.

I look her over properly now as she stands under the harsh beams of the backyard's floodlights, caught like a fox in a trap but refusing to cower.

She's far too young for me. Izzy's age, maybe a year more.

Instinct pegs her at nineteen, but the way she carries herself—the way she watches me—insinuates that she's much older, wiser, which makes her way too dangerous for how beautiful she is.

The clothes hang off her; she's wearing an oversized T-shirt and pajama pants that look like they were meant for a much taller, heavier person, but for whatever reason, it only makes her look more tempting.

The thin cotton clings just enough to show the shape of her breasts, and her nipples are faintly visible.

A sight that shouldn't affect me, not after everything I've seen, after all the women who've tried to tempt me with less.

But this? The sight stirs a low and feral hunger in me that I haven't felt in a very long time.

My cock hardens like it hasn't in years, like it knows she's not just another pretty thing.

Like I want to claim her, mark her, keep her.

I have no clue where those thoughts came from, but my gaze dips lower, just for a second. A dangerous second, before I drag it back up.

Her long, dark brown hair is half undone, spilling over her shoulder in a messy braid that looks like it's come loose from running.

Her face is pale, hollow under the eyes, lips pink and bow-shaped like they were drawn on for sin.

But those eyes —those goddamn eyes—stop me cold. Like whiskey in the sun.

They're huge. Luminous. Defiant.

Even now, after everything, she dares to hold my stare. There's something about her—something that pulls at a thread I didn't know I had. Innocence, yes. But wrapped around something sharp. Unbending. She looks breakable, but everything in her posture says try me .

And I don't know what I want more.

To protect her. Or ruin her.

"Let's find a better place to discuss this," I say, waving a hand at the bloodstained yard. "In the meantime, I'd be honored if you'd be our guest for the time being, Cat."

Her gaze lingers on mine, uncertain, wide with distrust, as if… she's contemplating it. Seriously?

That amuses me more than it should.

"Do you really have a choice?" I ask, smirking.

"Be nice," Izzy scolds, slapping my bicep.

Then, like the little royal she is, she grabs the girl's hand and pulls her away, or tries to at least, until Cat stops short, turning back to me, eyes full of a deep rawness and desperation.

"My parents, please. Giovanni will have them killed."

I nod. "What are their names and where are they?"

"My papà is Cesare Costa, and my mother's name is Loredana. My father is the mayor of Porto Sangue."

That makes me pause.

Costa. Porto Sangue. The pieces are falling fast.

Porto Sangue, also known as the Blood Port , is where Giovanni handles most of his human trafficking.

Lying between North Africa and Southern Europe, it's the perfect spot.

If Giovanni has been holding the Mayor's daughter hostage, it explains why he has been looking the other way for all these years, allowing our organization to cash in billions of dollars from blood and tears.

For years, Toni and I have been trying to shut down this antiquated part of our organization, but Edoardo stands firmly behind Giovanni on this. It makes me sick.

I grab my phone and scroll to Marcello Orsi's number, another up-and-coming capo, who recently returned from Sicily. He will have the resources to get the mayor and his family out. I'll owe him, but that's for another day.

This is risky because we haven't spoken much; we've only exchanged a few words during parties or meetings.

Rumor has it that he's not interested in playing nice with anyone, but he seems to get things done.

I'm not a fan of his father, who killed Toni's, but Marcello has been in Sicily for the past ten years due to the fact that his father exiled him, so I can't imagine him being a big fan of Carlos Orsi either.

It's a chance I have to take. I don't have any other connections to Sicily.

None I could call up within the next few minutes, anyway.

It rings once, twice, then a deep, surprised-sounding voice asks in an amused tone, "Enrico Sartori, to what do I owe the honor?"

"I need an extraction," I say without preamble. "In Sicily, and you're the only person I know with contacts down there."

"Interesting. Sounds like it's not just urgent, but personal?" Marcello fishes.

I grind my teeth, not willing to give too much away. "Do you have contacts in or around Porto Sangue?"

"Maybe," he replies guardedly. "Depends on what you're asking."

"I need the mayor and his family out. Tonight. Without any headlines, bloodshed, or loose ends."

A pregnant pause enfolds. The bastard is letting me dangle, and my fingers drum against the butt of my Staccato XC. I'll give him a few more seconds.

"You're asking for political cleanup in a city crawling with dirty cops and freelance killers," he finally replies in a cool voice. "You realize that, right?"

"I'm not asking for favors," I bite out. "I'm telling you I'll owe you."

He lets out a short breath, almost a laugh. "You offering that means things must be bad."

"They're worse."

"I'll make some calls," he says after a pause. "I know a guy who can ghost them out by morning, but if it gets messy, I'm not wearing the blood."

"You won't have to."

"And what do I get?"

"I said I'll owe you."

"Hmm." He sounds satisfied, dangerous. "I like that."

The line clicks dead. No goodbye. Just a silent calculation and a promise to hold it over me. Fuck it, it's fine. I only make bets I can afford to pay.

I slide the phone back into my pocket. "They will be safe," I assure Cat after I hang up with Marcello, just as she and Izzy begin walking toward the balcony entrance to the house.

"You girls might not want to go in there," I call after them. "Oscar, Piero, take them around to the cars."

I watch them leave as Silvano slides up next to me. "What now?"

"Now we take care of Giovanni and Ringo. Nobody touches my family," I snarl and turn to the balcony door, the same one I warned Izzy and Cat away from. Bodies lie scattered inside the living room, mostly Giovanni's guards.

"Take them down," I order, pointing at the bound Giovanni and Ringo. I've been to Giovanni's basement before, but as much as I hate it, I must see it again. I have to see where they held Izzy.

Everything inside me turns to ice when my eyes fall on the metallic chair. The leather straps, meant to hold a prisoner in place, have been cut through. Two forgotten scalpels lie at the chair's feet.

They took my sister. Here! They tied her up in that chair.

I should've ended them the second I walked in.

I'm actually grateful that I didn't. Now, even more than before, I want to look them in the eye. I want them to see me. I want the last thing they ever see to be the man they fucked with. The man they thought they could cross and survive.

"Boss," Silvano says quietly behind me. "We can use them. Giovanni's still a capo. Ringo knows things. We kill them now, you know what Edoardo will do."

"I know exactly what he'll do," I reply. But even he won't be able to go against me; he can't stop me from avenging my sister's kidnapping. Even he needs the support of the other capos, and he won't get it. When we start taking family members, our organization will crumble, and everyone knows it.

It's rare to see Silvano hesitate, but tonight… he seems unsure.

"Let me ask you something," I say, turning toward him slowly. "If it had been your sister in that chair, what would you be saying right now?"

Silvano doesn't blink. He doesn't have an answer. None that would talk me out of my plan.

I take a step back and gesture to my men. "Pour the rest."

Gasoline splashes over Ringo's boots, but before it reaches Giovanni, I change my mind, "Take him to the warehouse. Nobody says a word about him."

Giovanni tries to speak, muffled by the gag and the blood. His eyes roll to me, wide and pleading. I bet he didn't give one fuck when Izzy looked at him like that, and neither will I. Later. I won't make this quick for him.

"I told you once," I say, crouching beside him.

"No one touches my family and lives. Not even a fucking capo.

" He jerks against his bonds. I nod at the men to take him.

"You made your choice when you put your hands on her.

And now you'll pay the price for it. When I'm done with you, you'll wish I burned you like this motherfucker. "