Giovanni (Benedetti Brothers 4)

“What’s that?”

“Killian Black’s club.”

“Why do you want my back bare?”

“Because you have nothing to be ashamed of.” It’s true. It’s just not the reason I’m doing this.

“I’m not ashamed.”

“Right.”

We arrive. I climb out and help her out. With the flat of my hand on her lower back, I lead her inside. It’s noisy, the place is packed. And I’m sure there are spies here. Word will get to Alessandro one way or another that I have his sister. I look at Emilia’s face, see her take in the scene. See her look at each of the strippers on their stages, see her surprise at my choice of venue.

“This way,” I say, gesturing to the private meeting room at the back. Killian stands just outside with Hugo at his side. They watch us coming, eyes unreadable.

“Gentlemen,” I say, shaking Kill’s hand first, then Hugo’s.

“Giovanni.” Killian’s eyes slide to Emilia, who is cautiously watching. I don’t introduce her.

“They here?”

“Every one of them.”

“Give you much trouble?”

“Well, they didn’t come willingly, but we didn’t think they would, did we.”

“And the women?”

“Downstairs.”

“Good. Thank you for your trouble. The other matter…” I let my words trail off.

Killian’s gaze wanders to Emilia then back to mine. “I have some information and should have more in the next hour. Come upstairs when you’re finished. Hugo can watch the girl.”

I nod and guess Emilia should be fuming at his referring to her as “the girl,” but she’s too anxious to notice.

When we reach the door to the meeting room, she abruptly puts her hand on my arm. “Who’s in there?”

“Friends of Alessandro.”

Her mask of composure slips for just a second, just long enough for me to see that little girl underneath, the glimpse I had one other time. Except this time, she’s not lost. She’s terrified.

“Please don’t make me,” she pleads. She’s never begged before. Never let herself stoop so low. “Please.”

“I told you, you’ll be safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You don’t understand—”

I turn to her, take her arms, squeeze. “You had every chance to tell me what the hell you’re so afraid of. What it is that happened. But you didn’t. You wanted to keep your secrets. Thing is, Emilia, my asking, it wasn’t ever a request. So, unless you want to talk now…”

She studies me, searches my eyes, then lowers her lashes. I push the door open and step inside, pull her inside with me.

Six men are sitting at the table, two wearing suits, the others in T-shirts and jeans, all looking a little worse for wear. A dozen men stand guard around the room.

I look at each of the seated men, meeting each set of eyes in turn. I memorize the face of the one who has his locked on Emilia. I don’t look at her. I don’t need to. I know she’s staring back at him, the stranger in the dirty T-shirt and ripped jeans, the only one of the six who is leaning back against his seat, his greasy head resting casually against the back of the chair. When he moves his hand to scratch his armpit, I see how dirty his nails are.

But the thing that gets my hackles up isn’t any of this. It’s the one corner of his mouth that’s curved up into a smirk. It’s the fact that I feel Emilia tremble beside me. Feel her nudge closer to me, seeking safety. Protection. It’s in the small sound she makes that I know she hopes no one hears. That trembling exhale, the fear in the soft breath, the desperation.

“Vincent,” I say, not taking my eyes off the man who’s looking at her. At every inch of her. I feel my hand tightening around her arm. I know I’m hurting her, but it’s not her I want to hurt.

“Sir.” Vincent is beside me.

I hand her to him, make sure he’s got hold of her because I’m not sure she won’t collapse if left to stand on her own.

Once Vincent has her, I step over to the man whose smirk has widened into a grin. I instantly have my fingers in his greasy hair and yank his head back hard. I want to keep pulling. I want to tear his head off his body. Rip him apart.

“You keep looking at her like that, and I’ll pop your eyeballs out of their sockets and feed them to you, understand.”

It’s not a question. I don’t want an answer. I slam his face into the table then release him, step back, and adjust the sleeve of my suit jacket.

A quick glance at Emilia shows me her white face. Her eyes have gone huge, and she’s trembling, but she’s not looking at me. She’s still staring at him. Can’t take her eyes off him. Doesn’t even blink.

And I’ve never seen her this afraid.

This was a mistake.