Page 6 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
After all, she still hasn’t answered my question.
She juts her hip out and places a slender hand on it, the epitome of sassy. She even manages to look poised while doing so, which tells me all I need to know about this woman. “Who are you to get into my business? Go away. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this”—she gestures to the guys behind her—“by myself.”
Even if I was just a bystander, I would be able to see that the opposite is true. She can’t even tell that these guys are acting like this because they’re too high to function properly. Luke and Tristan may be the best at installing security systems, but they’re also shit at passing up a joint. I’ve never seen them not high.
I debate whether or not I should be saying something, but I’ve seen her walking around the neighborhood a few times before. Once is enough to merit my concern, but a few times is disturbing. If I don’t treat this situation delicately, it may become a problem for me.
So, remembering to speak tactfully, I say, “You’re on my property,” which is a Hell of a lot better than “get the fuck out of here.”
Her eyes widen, and she shifts her body away from Luke and Tristan, turning her full attention on me. Behind her, they go back to their work, already bored with our conversation. Then again, it may just be me they don’t want to look at. Like most people I’ve met, they’ve always had trouble making eye contact with me.
“You,” she seethes, her venomous voice an invisible but lethal weapon. I can even imagine it slicing through the air.
A lesser man would back down. He would see the craze in her eyes and surrender. I’m many things—an asshole, a jerk, and a douchebag, to name a few—but a lesser man is not one of them. I can’t help but rise to the challenge in her voice, something in me wanting to draw nearer and match her anger with my own.
Truthfully, it’s not her I’m mad at.
I’m mad I had to spend a month in the middle of Nowhere.
I’m mad at Lucy for breaking in.
I’m mad that I have to revamp my security, installing parts from at least a dozen different companies in the case of another break in attempt using a master key.
And mostly, I’m mad that my little brother ordered a hit on me after word had gotten out that I had helped Asher raid a warehouse.
These are the things I’m mad at—not this firecracker of a woman. But man, is she an easy target. Huffing and puffing in front of me, I have no doubt she thinks she’s the big, bad wolf. Little does she know, I eat wolves for breakfast.
“Me,” I mock, my voice cold and belittling.
The condescension in my tone is obvious. After standing upright and taking a step closer, I lean against the railing closer to her and cross my arms casually. My face is the epitome of aloof as I, with careful precision, slowly run my eyes up and down the length of her trim and curvy body.
Anyone can see that, with her clothes on incorrectly and hair disheveled, she’s doing the walk of shame right now. I deliberately paste an amused expression on my face, instinctively knowing it’ll piss her off.
It does.
She takes a step closer, ballsy for such a little thing, and says, “You’ve woken me up every darn day for the last month. This is the last straw.”
I raise a brow. “Darn?”
She isn’t amused. “Yes. Every. Darn. Day. But not anymore. I’m reporting you to the city.” She frowns at me. “If you were nicer, I would have given you a warning.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” I say, unconcerned.
There’s a reason it has been a month of nightly noise, and my neighbors on either side of me haven’t reported a thing. We—John, Dex and I—have an agreement here. They turn a blind eye, field some questions about the mysterious neighbor, and should the need arise, I do favors for them.
Those favors usually involve bloodshed.
If you ask me, businessmen are worse than mobsters.
And between the three of us, we have enough connections in the city to do whatever the Hell we want. That includes making noise at 6 A.M., though it shouldn’t matter. Dex and John are my only neighbors close enough to hear.
They won’t say shit.
“B-but yo—”
I cut her off. “Listen, sweetheart,” I say, intuitively knowing the pet name will piss her off further, though I’m not sure why I want to. It’s probably because I’m an asshole. “You’re clearly out of your depth here. I’ll save you the trouble and let you leave now, with a quarter of your dignity still intact.”
She flounders for a long moment, staring at me with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. She really is beautiful. I’m not surprised to see her lurking around here, given the resident playboy that lives next door.
