Page 149 of Wounded King

"Sounds like Fabio was a soft man. You should have chosen better," Enzo replies, staring Margarita down.

I turn back to Margarita, shaking my head. "Nice try. But Fabio diedafteryour first few attempts to have me killed failed. So he wasn't the motive."

She lets out a derisive snort, not the least bit perturbed that I've caught her in a lie. She shrugs, then shifts, summoning just enough outrage to sell the next line. But I can feel it in my gut, whatever truth she's about to offer, it's only a fraction of the whole story.

"You helped our leverage get away," she snaps. "You stopped Kingsley's assassination. Do you haveanyidea how much money those two stunts cost us?"

I get it—money talks. And in our world, it screams. Losing that trafficking hub in Sicily must have cost her millions. But stopping the hit on Senator Kingsley? That was the real blow. By assigning him a protective detail, I didn't just save his life; I shut down her family's pipeline. Kingsley didn't die as planned, and the bill went through and put an end to human trafficking. As far as leverage goes, I'm drawing a blank. "Leverage?"

She shakes her head dismissingly as if this is old news, and by now I suppose it is. "The Costas."

Ah, the Sicilian Mayor and his family. I did get them off the island and to the states.

"I might believe that's part of your beef against me, but that's not all, is it?" I challenge.

Her gaze turns to Enzo, "Who is this scarred henchman you brought with you, Marcello? Aren't you man enough to kill me?"

"My apologies for not introducing my guest, and future father-in-law, Enzo Carbone. You might know him as Il Macellaio," I fill her in.

Her eyes narrow. Margarita has always been a woman larger than life, but now I see the capo in her. Rumors have it that she's been running the Giordano family since her husband's death; rumors I didn't believe until now. This is not a woman; she's a capo, making it easier for me to get used to the idea of killing her. She's chosen to play in a man's world; she can die like any man would who dared cross my path.

"What does that have to do with me?" Margarita asks.

"In case you haven't heard, Violetta Carbone is the woman who was hurt in your latest attempt to kill Marcello." Enzo's voice is cold and emotionless; only a small tic by his neck betrays his hatred for this woman.

This time, when Margarita blanches, she stays pale for a long time. Her throat bobs under the strain of swallowing. The direness of her situation is sinking in with her one second at a time. I give her enough of them to come to terms with what is about to happen.

"Well, too bad then the little bitch didn't die." Margarita's chin jerks back up, and her spine straightens. "Maybe then one in the cursed Orsi family would finally understand how much it hurts to lose someone you love."

My palm itches from the need to slap her in the face. Never have I ever felt violent toward a woman before, but Margarita is changing my principles at an alarming rate.

Raw hurt now shows on her features. "If you hadn't stopped him from fulfilling his contract with Kingsley, he wouldn't have gone after Enrico." Her body shakes for a moment, and she glares at me full of hate. "It's your fault that he's dead."

"Who?" I ask, but a dark feeling spreads through my body, as I have an idea whoheis.

Her head tilts, her eyes challenge me, " Igor Pavlov."

The name hangs between us like the ghost he was—or is, since he doesn't seem to want to stay dead.

"Igor who?" Enzo looks from her to me.

"Ledyanoy Prizrak," I fill Enzo in, who stares at me in disbelief before he starts laughing.

"What the fuck? You boys have been busy, haven't you? Ledyanoy Prizrak? Dead?"

I let theboyscomment go for a second time, because there is something more pressing I need to know. My attention returns to Margarita. "Who was he to you?"

"The only man who ever cared about me," she screams, her walls cracking for the first time.

She takes in deep, heavy breaths, her eyes filled with a fury and hate I'm sure only men who were about to die have seen from her. For the first time, her age shows as her head slightly bobs from side to side, likely from the emotional strain. She steps to the table, which is anchored, and leans against it. Her left arm crosses over her chest, while her right comes up to prop on it to stabilize herself.

Had she not been the source of Violet getting hurt, I might have felt sorry for her. I can't ever forget the image of my Violet bleeding in my arms, though. The pain and fear of losing her left no room in me for even an ounce of empathy for her attacker.

"Why me? Enrico was the one who killed him." I point out.

"I'm not done with him either," she responds, once again in control of her emotions.

"Yes, you are," I fill her in. "You're not leaving this boat alive."