I flipped onto my back and struck out again, harder. This time, the flat heel of my biker boot crunched against his face.
“Bitch!” he snarled in an accent I couldn’t place. Blood poured from his nose.
Still didn’t stop the beast from reeling me in.
“Get off me!” I shouted and kicked again, but he ducked his head into the blow, taking the brunt of the force with his forehead.
Seriously? Did this guy feel any pain?
I strained to reach for my pistol. My fingertips brushed the grip, but it was too far. With one last heave, my attacker threw his massive body on top of me, forcing the air from my lungs.
Before I got my arms free to dig his eyeballs out, he pulled another pistol from his waistband and pressed it to my temple. His hot breath assaulted my senses as he panted above me.
This was it. The Wolf Street Mafia had come for me.
I closed my lids and prepared for my final moments.
The sound of slow clapping came from the kitchen. Footsteps approached.
I opened my eyes to find Dante Moretti swaggering toward us. His gray suit looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe, and his short dark hair was styled like some pretty-boy runway model’s. I’d be a fool to underestimate him based on his sophisticated appearance and relaxed smile.
“Well done, Ms. Allen. That was impressive. It takes a lot to bring my Russian friend to the ground. Right, Maxim?”
The panting troll smothering me grunted in reply. His stoic gray-blue stare didn’t hold the same amusement his boss’s did.Bad sport. It was hardly a fair fight.
Dante closed the front door before squatting his tall, lean frame beside us. “I apologize for startling you with our presence. But if you hadn’t walked through the door with your pistol drawn, things might have gone smoother.” His gaze lingered too long on my face and heaving chest. It made my skin crawl.
“Who are you?” Somehow, I was still alive, so I wasn’t above acting dumb to extend my life.
Dante clicked his tongue. “I’d rather we didn’t play games. You know exactly who I am. And I know exactly who you are.” He stood and straightened his jacket. “Let the lady up.”
The Russian—Maxim—who was either a man of few words or didn’t speak much English, dragged me to standing, making no effort to be gentle.
In his favored black suit, the bodyguard shoved me toward the dining table and into a chair. I glared at him as he kept his weapon pointed at me. Dante handed Maxim a white handkerchief, which he used to stem the flow of blood from his nose despite the spreading dampness on the sleeve of his jacket. Black was a sensible color choice. I imagined a lot of people tried to stab him.
My shoulder throbbed. I was tempted to roll it to check for damage but didn’t want to give the Russian the satisfaction. I’d have one hell of a bruise tomorrow.
Dante removed his suit jacket and carefully draped it over the back of a dining chair before sitting opposite me. “We need to have a talk, Sage. Is it all right if I call you that?”
I leaned back in the seat, not bothering to answer his pointless question. “Can you have Shrek lower his weapon?” I turned to glare at the Russian. “Or is he still butt hurt that a girl half his size made him bleed?”
Maxim sneered. I guessed he spoke English just fine.
Dante nodded at his goon, and the pistol was put away.
I folded my arms. “What do you want?” I said, sounding like a sullen brat.
Dante watched me in silence for a beat longer than I was comfortable with, and I wondered if my smart-ass attitude had already pushed him one step too far. Mom had always said my mouth would get me into trouble. Maybe I should’ve listened to her. But Ihatedthese men and everything they stood for. My wrath for them overrode my terror.
A small, knowing smile formed on Dante’s lips. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. I don’t think it’s the latter, so I’m going to share some knowledge with you.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table, his dark-blue eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve known a lot ofbravepeople, Sage. They usually end up dead.”
I swallowed and worked hard not to look away from his penetrating gaze.
“But if you really want to know why I’m here, it’s to talk about your future. More specifically, if you might have one beyond this meeting, because that bravery of yours has gotten you into a sticky situation.”
My heart pounded, but I wouldn’t show this jerk any fear.
“One of my more astute men noticed you watching Vixens. He followed you, got a name and address, and discovered something very interesting.” He pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and fidgeted with the lid. Open, shut. Open, shut. “Three years ago, you suffered a terrible tragedy. Your boyfriend was murdered in a random act of violence—”