Devil You Hate (The Diavolo Crime Family 1)

His arched eyebrow and deadpan look tell me exactly what he thinks before he even opens his mouth. “You’re about to be sold to someone who will most certainly keep you without clothes for his pleasure. Why are you worried about me?”

To be honest. I’m not. I’m stalling, trying to buy time.

He comes to that conclusion himself. “If you aren’t ready, Nic will just drag you out the door naked. He doesn’t care one way or the other. Let me help you into this, and you can make both our lives a little easier tonight.”

“Why would you think I care about making your life easier? As you say, I’m about to be sold. I don’t give a shit about any of you.”

He spreads his hands in the material pointedly, urging me to put it on. “I’m very good at reading people, Ms. Ricci, and I know for a fact you’re lying your ass off when you say that. You might wish you don’t, but you do.”

I step toward him just to get him to shut his mouth. We manage to get it up my torso and the thin spaghetti straps over my arms without too much embarrassment. Then he sets to work on the lacing in the back. It takes him minutes to do what would have taken me an hour.

He gestures at the bathroom. “Do you want to take a look?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t really care. Do I get shoes this time or what?”

“Barefoot, I’m afraid. But don’t worry, no one will let you step on anything.”

Nicolo’s second-in-command is much more formal today. He’s wearing tailored slacks, a black button down, and his hair is perfectly braided at the back of his head. With his matching scowl, he looks like a scarily sexy assassin.

When I’ve finished adjusting my dress, I stand awkwardly. “What now?”

He rips a long red ribbon about two inches wide from his pocket and gestures for me to spin around. “I’m sorry, but it’s protocol to ensure you don’t know where the house or the warehouse is.”

I do as he says, only because he’s been the nicest of the men in this house. “Can we set up some kind of signal system? I’ll pick a winner, and you make him bid.”

He finishes typing the ribbon and gently rotates me to face him again. “Sorry, the winner will be all about the money he’ll pay.”

“What if some old warty dude buys me?”

Soo adjusts a few straps on the dress and arranges my hair to fall over the front of my shoulders. Since I can’t see him, I assume he’s primping me for a reason. “We don’t know any old warty dudes if that makes you feel any better.”

“Marginally.”

I assume the little huff he makes is a laugh. It doesn’t matter, because he tucks my hand around his forearm and leads me out of the room. The drive to the location feels fast, but I can’t tell if it’s actually fast or if I’m simply terrified, and my brain is tricking me about the details to calm me the hell down.

After Soo helps me from the vehicle, I hear Nicolo talking nearby, and then he comes over to join Soo and me.

“Any problems?” I assume he is asking Soo since he made it clear this afternoon that I’m ornamental and shouldn’t be expressing my opinions to him.

Soo answers and lays a comforting hand over mine where it’s wrapped around his arm. “No problems. Have you seen Lucas yet? He wasn’t at the house.”

There’s a tension between the two men that seems to crackle along my skin. I keep my face down, not that it matters, since I can’t see. But when someone brushes my hair away from my face, Nicolo, by the subtle spicy scent of him, I shiver. He tucks the hair behind my ears, putting my scar on full display to everyone.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice low and deep.

He doesn’t take my arm, though. Instead, he wraps his hand behind my neck and drags me beside him like a dog on a leash. I try to twist out of his grip, but his hold is too tight. Any more pressure, and he’d start cutting off my air supply.

“When we get in here, you don’t speak to a single soul. Nod if you understand,” he whispers harshly as the cold concrete below my feet gives way to smooth wooden planks.

“Don’t do this,” I plead one last time but am only met with silence.

The noise of lots of voices speaking at once greets me, along with a sweep of warm air. Then Nicolo’s hand tightens, and the voices slowly die down to a dull murmur. I can’t make out any specifics, but no doubt many of them are talking about me.

When someone brushes a hand along my arm, I jerk away, stumbling right into Nicolo’s side.