“Tough. He’s your guard. He stays.”
She glared at me like she could set me alight with her hatred alone. At least it wasn’t indifference, though, and I almost sighed in relief as her rage battered against me.
“I don’t need a guard.”
Fuck, her brattiness both pissed me off and made my dick hard.
I gripped her throat and shoved her back against my office door. Her breath hitched, glare intensifying. “Clearly, you do.” My thumb stroked over her flushed skin. “What did I tell you about hurting yourself, Emilia?”
She swallowed, her throat bobbing beneath my fingers. “What I do is no longer your concern, Giovanni.”
My teeth clenched at the sound of my full name on her lips. I hated it.
I leaned in and inhaled, loving the scent of my shower gel on her skin. “Everything about you is my concern, princess, because you’ll always be mine. No matter how much distance you put between us or how much you hate me.” No other man had ever touched her or ever would.
Her mouth gaped open, then snapped shut. She stared back at me with so much fire, and I wanted to spank and fuck the indignation right out of her.
I maneuvered her away from the door, fighting a smile. “Adamo stays.”
I opened the door and stepped inside before she could respond but halted when I came face to face with the barrel of a gun. The cool metal pressed to my forehead, and Emilia fell silent at my back.
I let out a sigh. Right now? “Una, do we have to do this every time? You’re in my fucking house.”
She lowered the gun, an emotionless smile working over bright-red lips. “I like to keep you on your toes.” She waved the weapon around. “You failed spectacularly, by the way. If I were an enemy, your brains would be all over your pretty friend right now.”
The floorboards creaked as Emila moved behind me, drawing Una’s attention. I fought the urge to wrench her back out of the assassin’s sight. Nero’s wife didn’t exactly define friend from foe well. If you weren’t in her inner circle, then you were an enemy, a hit, or a potential future hit. She kept things very black and white.
“Well, for a start, my men let you in.” I moved farther into the office, and she backed up a step. “They aren’t going to let in my enemies. And secondly, you and Sasha are the only fucking people who ever lie in wait in my office to put a gun to my head.” I had at least thought I only had one of them to contend with since he had moved to Sicily, but oh no, here he was in America, fucking shit up for me.
Una tucked the gun into the holster at her thigh and walked over to my desk, perching on its edge and crossing one long jean-clad leg over the other. “You called.” She spread her hands with a flourish. “Here I am.”
“That was fast.”
“I was free.” She shrugged. “And bored.”
I glanced toward the door and found Emilia still lingering there, her curious gaze locked on Una.
“Emilia, Renzo is probably looking for you,” I said by way of dismissal before moving over to the bar, trying to pull the assassin’s attention to me. I didn’t want them in the same room.
“Seeing as dear Gio clearly isn’t going to introduce us… Emilia Donato, I assume?” Una’s head tilted, indigo eyes sweeping over Emila with cool assessment. “The Outfit’s Trojan horse.”
“Una,” I warned before turning my narrowed gaze on Emilia because she was still here. Ignoring me.
“Also, the one who killed Roberto Donato and started a war.” The Russian smiled because she enjoyed antagonizing me.
There was something almost inhuman about Una. The way she moved, the way her gaze tracked you like prey she was about to tear the throat out of. Yet Emilia didn’t waver.
Her small fists balled against her thighs, her chin rising to meet Una’s gaze. “He was my father and my enemy. And I don’t regret it.”
I knew that was a lie, but looking at Emilia right now, no one else wouldn’t know it.
Una pushed to her feet and approached The Outfit princess like a shark eyeing an injured seal. “I’m curious.” She stopped in front of the younger woman. “Why did you kill him?”
“Because he allowed my uncle to sell my sister and me like cattle.” Emilia’s anger was evident in every strained muscle, her voice growing stronger with each word. “They drove my sister to her grave. Call my father’s death justice if you will.”
For a single moment, the psycho façade slipped from Una’s face. “I would burn the world down for my sister.” And she nearly had. She pinched a piece of Emilia’s chocolate hair between her fingers and murmured something in Russian. “And so the pawn becomes a queen.” She dropped her hand away, a smile pulling at her lips. “Fear not, lisichka. In this world, power is taken in blood. The strong survive, and the weak die, forgotten and inconsequential.”