Page 45 of No Sweeter Poison

“Imbécil,” Lettie catches him by the ear. “Let’s go.”

When they’re gone, I make my way to the other end of the table. Hands shoved firmly in my pockets, I lean against the edge and watch as she fiddles with a loose thread on her napkin. Despite our close proximity she doesn’t lift her head to meet my gaze or even acknowledge my presence. It’s as if she’s sitting in this room alone.

“Dahlia.” I expel a deep breath. “Please. Don’t ignore me.”

Her fingers still and she sets the spoon down. It takes her a while to find her voice. “I won’t do it again.”

“What can I do? What will make you happy? Tell me and I’ll do it. I’ll climb a ladder into the fucking sky and bring you the moon if you ask me to. Tell me what you want. I can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask.”

The sick, depraved part of me hopes she asks to be laid out on the table and fucked in every way I know how. Unfortunately, she doesn’t say that.

“I want to go home.”

“I want you to go home too. Preferably, without a bullet in your head.”

She looks up. “Stop threatening me!”

“I’m not threatening you,” I tell her. “I’m trying to get you to understand. This isn’t a game—you are not being held hostage. You’re here for your protection.”

“I—”

I cut her off. “You saw what happened that night. Or do you need to be reminded of the number of bullets that were fired in your direction?”

I hold her gaze and to my surprise, she doesn’t look away.

“Men like me, we don’t…our lives aren’t normal. Which means that situations pertaining to women have very specific rules. You were with me, alone, in my car, late at night. Two very dangerous men know what you look like and because you were seen with me, in the way that you were, they’ll think you’re a weapon. Something that could be used to hurt me,” I explain. “Flirtations, hook-ups, one-night stands, those kind of women in this lifestyle don’t meet the family. They don’t get a place at the dinner table or see the private homes. That’s a privilege reserved for someone who…someone who has stature, who holds rank. Someone valuable. Permanent.

“The kind of person who can be used to hurt me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Dahlia merely nods. I exhale and continue.

“Ibanez and Montenegro, the two men who made it out alive before Lettie and Diego got there? They are the last witnesses to my rival’s attempt on my life. Sandro’s family and mine are supposed to be at peace but he’s dug himself a grave by violating that agreement. Except, my family and our allies can’t retaliate unless we can prove he was really behind it. That’s how the law in our part of the city works. Has for decades. Sandro wants Ibanez and Montenegro dead.”

“But so do you.” She frowns. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that if Sandro gets his hands on Ibanez and Montenegro, they may use their knowledge of your existence as leverage to save themselves.” I grit my teeth. “Sandro and I don’t exactly get along. He’s dying to strike at whatever he perceives as my Achilles heel. And if he thinks I’m seriously involved with a woman and keeping it a secret, she’ll become an automatic target.”

For the first time, it feels like Dahlia is beginning to understand. All these weeks later, the truth of the situation seems to be permeating her mind in a way it hasn’t before.

“They saw me with you on the drive back from Vallvidrera. So they think I’m important.”

I almost sigh with relief. “Exactly.”

“Why did you do it then?”

“Do what?”

“Pursue me,” she asks. “Only important women are awarded the privileges I enjoyed after just a short period of time. We went on dates, I met Lettie and Diego, you invited me to Vallvidrera. Why?”

I’ve been trying to answer that question myself for weeks.

Why, in twenty-seven years, had I been so detrimentally stupid?

The only answer I have is, “Something about you was different. From the moment I laid eyes on you I…” My shoulders drop in a weak shrug. “Knew.”

Her breathing is unsteady. Dahlia drops her gaze to her palms where her fingers are clenched so tightly, the skin is red and close to bleeding. With extraordinary effort, she releases.

“We need rules. Boundaries.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Last night can’t happen again. It was confusing—”