Page 6 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
Gabi’s eyes slide to me and back again.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Years ago, my father agreed to wed Adelina to Salvatore Bianchi’s oldest son, Enrique.”
No, Daddy would never do that. “You’re lying!” I snap.
She closes her eyes, exhaling a sharp breath.
“He was buying time,” Nero muses.
Gabi nods. “The Bianchi’s have been growing for years, making deals with the Italians, expanding territory. Daddy was trying to make an ally of them, in case they gained too much power.” She looks at me again. “He let you play with Enrique. He hoped that the marriage would be a good fit, that you would love him of your own accord.” Oh, God. No.
“Enrique Bianchi is a psychopath.”
“I know. And Daddy knew…knows. But the original agreement said that you would wed on your twenty-first birthday.” That’s in two months. “They recently tried to meet and make final arrangements.”
I feel sick. All at once, I’m angry, sad, hurt, confused, betrayed. I’ve always felt safe, despite knowing what my father did and what our family was involved in. Now, that safety suddenly feels like a lie or maybe just an illusion. My father was ready to sell me like a broodmare. My sister knew. As I push myself to my feet, my eyes fly around the penthouse, looking for an escape. Across the room, there’s a balcony that wraps around the side of the building. I turn and stride toward the door.
“Adelina!”
“I need a minute.” I yank the door open and step outside. Ice-cold wind instantly blasts me, calming the thoughts racing through my mind. I don’t want to think anymore. No matter how I spin it, I always arrive at the same conclusion: my father is not the man I think he is.
3
Sasha
New York greets me with a blare of sirens and the incessant drone of traffic. Stepping out of my car, I hand the keys to the valet who leans over to take them. He mumbles something to the effect of “have a good day,” under his breath before he scrambles away to the car.
I step inside the ostentatious lobby of Nero and Una’s building. I never thought Una would live this life, that we would have any life outside of our duties and orders. We observed people like Nero Verdi, watched them in their ivory towers while planning all the ways we would end their lives. And now here we are.
As soon as the elevator doors open, I find a man standing in the entrance hall. He turns at my approach, reaching for a weapon.
My gun is pressed to his temple before he even gets his free of the holster. “Don’t,” I warn.
He slowly raises both hands, rambling in Italian.
“Sasha.” Nero appears in the kitchen doorway with a woman beside him. “He’s with Gabriella.” Nero gestures to the woman, and I cock a brow. “So, don’t shoot him,” he says on an exasperated sigh.
I lower the gun and put it in the waistband of my jeans. “Gabriella, this is Sasha.”
The girl steps forward with more bravado than I expected. She has the long, inky black hair of Italian women and dark eyes almost the same color. She’s a stranger, and yet I know her face. Gabriella Ricci. Heir to a Sicilian crime family.
“Nice to meet you.” She extends her hand.
I’ll never understand why people insist on touching each other. In my world, a stranger’s touch equals death.
“Uh.” Nero steps forward, angling his body between myself and the girl. “I wouldn’t. Sasha doesn’t like to be touched.” His body language is protective, and I narrow my eyes.
I like Nero, but I would cut every limb from his body before I let him hurt Una. Of course, he could never harm her physically. The thought is laughable, but my adoptive sister has become fragile over recent years, her emotions like an exposed nerve. Nero very much has the power to damage her.
“Who is she?” I ask. I know who she is, but I want to know who she is to him.
Nero’s eyes meet mine, and that storm that continually rages inside him now rumbles like thunder before the inevitable strike of lightning. If there’s one thing I know about the Italian mob boss, it’s that he hates to be challenged, and I’m testing him. I’d be lying if I said the thought of fighting him doesn’t regularly dance through my mind. I miss the bloodlust that comes with being a soldier, and Nero’s ruthless nature would feed that desire well. His suits and looks are a masterful guise for what he really is.
“Gabriella is an old friend.”
I know little of normal human emotions, at least not what they feel like, a result of my training. However, I was taught to read them in others, spot ties between people, weaknesses. Gabriella doesn’t look at Nero like he’s a friend. There’s a tie there—she’s weak for him.
