Page 148 of Wounded King

He opens the door on his side of the car and exits. "Let's meet the bitch who thought she could hurt mi piccola Violetta."

Fuck.That seems to be the word of the day.

Marco has brought the yacht down to the furthest end of the dock, a place where nobody would see Margarita should she get out of the cabin she's being held in.

"Nice," Enzo comments, noting the sleek design of my boat,L'Ultima Mano. He notices the name and chuckles appreciatively. "The last hand?"

I shrug. It's a poker term. Indicating the last hand of the game. Which is fitting. For most people who get a ride on her, it is the end of their game.

"I like it," he says, slapping me on the shoulder. "Are you a poker player?"

"Only with worthy opponents," I reply.

"Come to Vegas. I'll provide the right opponents for you."

I have a feeling I'm going to take him up on that offer since Violet will want to stay in contact with him. An idea occurs to me. An idea to get Enzo back to Vegas and out of my hair, while fixing the wedding venue and planning. I'll have to run it by Violet first; it's not as romantic as the Maldives, but I can make up for it with a first-rate honeymoon.

"I might take you up on that. Isn't it the father of the bride's responsibility to pay for the wedding?"

He stops dead in his tracks. "Is this your way of asking for her hand in marriage?" He raises the eyebrow that is cut in half.

"I don't need your permission," I retort.

"I'll take that as you asking me for her hand." He ignores my response. "Let's see how my Violetta likes the idea."

His hand moves over the sleek white fiberglass of the yacht's hull. "Too bad I don't have a need for something like this in Vegas. She's a beauty."

"I might buy you one and put her out on Lake Mead for you."

If he's surprised that I know the lay of his land, he doesn't show it. "It would be a waste; she was made to be free and out in the ocean."

"How about I let you take her out whenever you come by to visit the grandkids?"

At that, he laughs. Loud and hard. He almost looks happy, as much as he can with his distorted features. "Deal."

"Well, let's have a word with that she-wolf." Enzo moves forward.

Marco waits for us by the entrance to the lower decks. "Do you want us to go out?"

"Yes, the usual spot and start chumming." I nod at him.

He looks grim. As grim as I feel. I've never hurt a woman in my life, and I never thought I would. Neither have my men. We keep women out of our business affairs. But for Margarita, I may make an exception. She hurt Violet, and I don't have an ounce of mercy in me for her. She could have killed her; that thought alone is enough to send my blood raging through my body. First though, we need to find out why the fuck she's been gunning for me for the last few months. I had no personal contact with her prior to these attacks, so I have no idea why she would form a grudge against me. A grudge hard enough to fuel multiple attempts to end my life.

"Chumming?" Enzo looks impressed. "I think I like your techniques."

I don't reply and lead him down to the lower salon, from where the other cabins spread out. Marco is standing guard by one of the guest rooms. He nods at us and opens the door. Enzo and I have to duck to get through the threshold, since it's only six feet high, but that's okay, it gives me a moment to take in the state of the room. Anything not anchored to the wall or ground is in shambles on the floor. Even the bedding has been torn off the bed. Feathers are everywhere, from the ripped pillows. Looks like Donna Margarita unleashed her fury.

She looks as beautiful as ever. She doesn't look a day over forty, even though she's in her late seventies. Her hair is not as carefully styled as usual, and her clothes are wrinkled from having slept in them for days, but she still holds herself with the haughtiness of a royal queen.

"Marcello Orsi, have you come to beg my forgiveness? If you think I'm about to forget?—"

I raise my hand and shut her up midsentence. "You tried to kill me several times, and you nearly killed my fiancée. Why?"

My tone is cold enough for her to realize how dire her situation is. That this is not a case of mistaken identity or me attempting to intimidate her. Her face turns ashen, probably at the realization that her life is on the line.

She recovers quickly. Her chin juts out, and her eyes blaze death my way. "I got your little message, Marcello. Fabio."

"Her lover," I turn to Enzo, explaining, "I executed him because she sent him after me." I don't owe Enzo an explanation, but it gives me a moment to regain my senses and not wrap my hands around her scrawny neck.