Page 45 of Power & Punishment

What I say next goes against everything I’ve been taught, but sometimes you need to find common ground with your opponent for them to lower their guard—even if it makes you vulnerable.

“The DeLucas aren’t my birth parents. My real parents were killed by Enzo Caruso after they refused to sell their restaurant to him. He burned the place to the ground and rebuilt his kingdom on their ashes. I may have been lucky enough to be adopted by a nice family, but I wasn’t lucky enough to forget the memory of their burning flesh or their screams.”

His eyebrows raise cautiously. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It’s not because you deserve to know,” I explain, peeling away from the awful plastic chair, wrinkling my suit. “It’s because you need to know we share a common enemy.”

Dante leans forward and rests his elbows against his desk while locking his fingers together. It looks like he’s praying. “Why involve my sister then?”

“Fuck, you ask way too many questions,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets before I strangle him. “I’m using her because I can and I’ll keep using her until you learn your fucking place. Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. I still hold all the cards.”

The air in the room rolls around us—thrashing back and forth between two powerful and stubborn men.

“If you think telling me about your motivation for taking Enzo down is kindness, then you obviously don’t know the meaning of the word.”

I shrug, even though every muscle inside is screaming for some sort of release. “I guess you’re right. I’m not putting your sister to good use. Should I call her back in here and we can have some real fun?”

Dante jumps to his feet, and the grating sound of metal scraping against metal stings the inside of my eardrums. When he reaches for his gun and I hear the click of the safety being turned off.

I’m not surprised. Apparently, I have a habit of pushing Russos to the edge.

“Put the gun down, Dante,” I sigh, roughly dragging a hand through my messy hair. The gel I spent twenty minutes using this morning gave up hours ago. “You and your sister are so trigger-happy.”

That doesn’t elicit a laugh. All it does is feed the anger steaming inside his skull.

At least Mia found some of my jokes funny. Dante just stands there and keeps his Glock pointed right at my chest.

“Look,” I say, tone flattening to a more professional setting. “We can keep arguing back and forth like idiots, or we can get down to business. You can sit there and deny it, but I know you want revenge and to be free of the Carusos. It’s what your brother wanted. And I want Enzo gone too. Our goals align. We don’t have to like each other to get what we want.”

Dante studies me for another long second, his gun waving back and forth. Maybe I should be concerned I’m not more scared. He could pull that trigger any moment, and it’d be lights out for me. But somehow that makes it feel even more rewarding when he finally lowers his piece.

“Fine,” he says, unloading his clip and tossing it onto his desk, “but taking Enzo down isn’t going to be easy. If he gets a whiff that we’re planning something, my entire outfit will be wiped off the map.”

That last sentence causes something to click inside of my brain. If Enzo did give the order to kill Vince, then why didn’t he go after the rest of the Russo clan? Enzo’s been around for a while, and he knows loose ends will land you six feet in the ground.

“I have a plan,” I say, fiddling with my cufflinks.

Dante nods, a quiet understanding taking hold. “If I agree to work with you, then you need to leave my sister out of it.”

“Nope,” I answer a little too quickly.

I could fully accept his request.

It might be what’s best.

But I’ve become rather infatuated with the sharp-mouthed brunette, and if I’m being honest, I probably won’t let her go until I feel what it’s like to be inside her.

It’s barbaric.

Completely idiotic.

Unfortunately, self-restraint has never been my greatest strength.

Dante looks like he’s about to combust for the hundredth time tonight, so I quickly reach for an excuse. “She’s my in with the NYPD, and with Enzo owning half the force, we’re going to need her if things go south.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides, but then quickly unravel as he opens his mouth.

“If anything happens to her, I won’t hesitate to point that gun at you again,” he says, his eyes locking with the pitch-black object. “But next time you won’t see it coming until your face is down in the dirt.”