Page 23 of Intrigue

I should walk away.

But instead, I keep going, stopping just at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her.

She cocks her head, watching me, clearly enjoying herself. “What’s wrong, Vescovi? Am I making you nervous?”

“Nervous?” I let my eyes drag over her, slow enough to make her shift slightly where she stands. “You don’t have that effect on me.”

Her lips twitch. “Shame. Would’ve been fun.”

“I can already tell you’re going to be trouble.”

Her grin is all teeth. “And yet, you’re still standing there.”

I shake my head, looking away for just a second before meeting her eyes again. “Don’t patronize me, Selene.”

She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice like we’re sharing a secret.

“Or what?”

That’s it. That’s the moment.

The second I know she isn’t just trouble.

She’s the kind of trouble that gets men killed.

And worse, the kind that makes men want to die smiling.

My lips curve up before I step back. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And then I turn away, before I do something stupid. Like stay and beg her to smile at me again.

But as I walk toward the Don’s study, I can still feel her eyes on me.

Like she already knows.

Like she already owns me.

Chapter 8

Alessandro

I wait in the rank alleyway, trash cans overflowing beside me. Angelo emerges from the shadows, his footsteps splashing through puddles. I lean against a damp brick wall, one boot kicked up, arms crossed over my chest, watching Angelo light a cigarette with shaking hands when he stops. He’s nervous. Good. That means he’ll listen.

“This better be worth my time, Vescovi.” He adjusts his collar, keeping distance between us.

“Twenty grand to stir up trouble with your Moretti friends.” I pull out my own cigarette, lighting it with steady fingers. “Make it look good.”

He takes a slow drag, exhaling smoke through his nose. He looks me over, sizing up whether I’m playing him. He should know better. I don’t play.

Angelo’s lips twist. “You want me to set up an attack on your own shipment? What’s your angle?”

“My angle is money in your pocket.” I blow my own smoke towards his face. “Unless you’d rather explain to Moretti how you’ve been feeding me information for months?”

His shoulders stiffen. “You’re a bastard, Vescovi.”

“And you’re running out of time to choose sides.” I toss him a thick envelope. “Stir the pot. I’ll clean it up.”

“The Don trusts you.” Angelo thumbs through the cash. “Does this have anything to do with his daughter coming back?”