Page 72 of Thorns of Death

“No, you’re not.” Tatiana narrowed her eyes at Enrico, shooting him deadly glares. “That psycho daddy’s holding you at gunpoint.”

It had to be my nerves or terrible state of mind because a choked laugh escaped me, remembering how he insisted I call him daddy last time. Tatiana’s comment made it sound as if I shared my experience with her. If she only knew what Daddy Enrico could do with his hands and his mouth, she might not be so quick to call him daddy.

“Funny,” Enrico remarked, unamused.

I waved my hand. “I’m used to it by now.” Not exactly at having the gun pointed at me, but at this push and pull with Enrico. Confusion entered my sister-in-law’s eyes. “Tatiana, you go and get my brother. Okay?”

Tatiana let out a frustrated breath, her eyes on Enrico. “You put even one scratch on her and what Adrian wanted to do to you will pale in comparison to what I’ll do to you.”

“Really?” Amusement now colored his voice. “Considering you married Illias, you’re part of our organization too. And that means, you’re required to protect Omertà interests. When he married you, he signaled to everyone you’re off-limits and under our protection.”

“Now see, he failed to mention that.” I wasn’t sure how Tatiana was keeping her cool. My palms were damp, every pore in me sweating. “And I’m not much forall for one and one for all, you know. That shit has never been my thing, so I’m not gonna start now. Besides, if this”—she gestured between me and Enrico—“means being under your organization’s protection, please take it the fuck away.”

Fuck, she was such a badass. I was still mad at her, but I couldn’t help but be impressed.

Enrico let out a sardonic breath. “Go to your husband, Tatiana,” he drawled. “I’ll deal with Isla.”

Tatiana’s gaze found mine again, and I tried to relay that I’d be safe. That I wasn’t scared.

“I’m still mad at you,” I muttered. “But I’ll be okay. You go and find Illias.” When she didn’t move, I barked, “Tatiana! Go. Now.”

I watched her leave, praying I wasn’t a fool. But just like Tatiana, I had my own questions to ask, and they had everything to do with my mother.

TWENTY-FOUR

ISLA

With Tatiana gone, I gave Enrico my undivided attention.

“Are you going to shoot me?” I said, tilting my chin at his gun. He secured it into his holster without a word while my nerves short-circuited. I waited for him to say something, but he remained quiet. His gaze flicked up and caught mine, heavy and emotionless. He seemed so different from the man I’d met weeks ago who took me to his bed in this very house. Now he stood in front of me, his tailored Italian suit flattering his broad frame and making him appear in his late thirties, not forty-five. Even his leather shoes screamed power. Control. It was his features that made you question his age. Taut, hard, and fierce. His angular jawline spoke of his self-assurance. A slight stubble covered his face, giving him a harsh look that matched the one in his eyes. I felt like I was seeing him in a completely different light. “What do you want, Enrico?” I finally asked again. “I’m in no mood for your bullshit now, and honestly, I’d rather not see you ever again.”

I went to sidestep him when his strong fingers wrapped around my elbow. I froze, my skin searing from his touch. I raised my eyes, his presence wrapping around me and his gaze filling me with fear. He looked like a Roman god full of wrath, whose fury I wouldn’t survive.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

My heart turned cold in my chest, but I refused to show it.

Stay calm. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Well, I’m certainly not staying here,” I snapped, my ears buzzing with so many emotions. I had no doubt he could crush me under the soles of his leather shoes, but I had reached my limit of shit for the day. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Enrico, but I’m telling you, I’m done.”

He took a step closer and my body warmed, betraying me. My heart fluttered and I fought the instinct to lean into him. His strong, distinctive scent invaded my lungs, and I instantly recalled memories of when I trailed my mouth over his skin. It was almost as if I could taste him. Spicy. Powerful.

Apparently, I was into self-destruction.

“Doing what, little one?”

My cheeks heated, but I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Italian. You can cut that shit out now. And the cat’s out of the bag. I heard your conversation with my brother, and frankly, I'm done being left in the dark. So let’s make something clear, shall we? Fuck. Off.”

“Elaborate.” The deep tenor of his voice set my skin alight, but the smile on his face was downright ominous.

My spine stiffened and my temper flared. “Well, first you fuck, and then you off,” I said with such a sugary-sweet smile, I was surprised he didn’t immediately turn diabetic. “I don’t need any of your shit. With you and your supposed dead wife. Apparently, I have plenty of shit of my own.”

This time his gaze sharpened. “Donatella came to see you?”

I ignored him. “I want to know about my mother,” I spat out. “Is it true, what she—”

My words were cut off by another deep voice, and a man with the same dark eyes and dark hair as Enrico appeared out of nowhere.