8. Cristiano

C ristiano

My heart has been hardened against everything my family stands for. My brain has been rewired to focus only on what can be achieved without resorting to firearms and a ton of ammo. But my blood will always be Di Santo through and through, and right now, it's boiling.

I can barely conceal the tremor in my voice. "Say that again?"

"How many times?" she snaps impatiently. "I called myself a cab, and I paid the driver."

Chaos breaks out behind the solid wall of my chest. Utter contempt for the bartender who, with zero regard for her safety, let her stagger out onto the fucking street alone and pocketed nearly a thousand bucks of my money. I don't care about the money—although I vow to break as many bones as it takes to get that back—it's the damn principle. She was inebriated .

"Do you know where Rhett lives?" I narrow my eyes.

She blinks. "Is this a test?"

"No. Why would it be?"

She looks affronted. "I haven't ... been with him, if that's what you're concerned about."

Well, it wasn't, but it is now.

"He's not just the bartender—he's the landlord. He lives above the bar."

I grind my jaw and pull her away from the steps. "Come with me."

A slither of panic crosses her brow, but she does as I say. "Where to?"

"You'll see," I snap. "We won't be gone long."

Her skittering heels set the nerve endings dancing across my skin, moreish and unbearable all at once.

I pull her to where my car is parked on the street. "Get in."

When she hesitates, her baby blues as wide as saucers, I wrap my other hand around the back of her neck and push her into the passenger seat.

"Buckle up," I say before slamming the door.

Tires screech across the asphalt as I burn through the gates, and I try to block out the sound of her almost hyperventilating. She's marrying into the biggest crime family the States has ever known; what she's about to witness is nothing. Child's play. She should consider this Mafia 101 "lite."

"Have I done something wrong?" she asks as we round the corner.

"Nope. Someone owes me money, that's all."

"What does that have to do with me?"

I bite back a growl. "You'll see."

We draw alongside Joe's Bar, and I ram my foot on the brake. Her hands fly out to the sides and grip the window and the stick. I walk around to her side and open the door.

"Come on."

Her dress rides up her thighs as she steps out of the car, and I force my gaze toward the bar. I can't be distracted by the smoothness of her damn calves right now. It's hard enough averting my eyes when we're just sitting at her father's dining table.

"Is that the apartment?" I nod to a door next to the bar entrance.

"Yes." She goes to smooth her dress down, but I tug her around the front of the car, those skittering heels messing with my mind. "Why are we here? The bar doesn't open on Tuesdays."

I don't answer. Instead I ram my fist repeatedly against the apartment door.

I'm rewarded when, seconds later, the little shit who took my money opens it. At first he looks confused. Bless him. Then he gets over his temporary amnesia, remembers why I might be hammering his door down, and starts to back away.

There's a corridor behind him—he could run. So I reach behind my back, pull out my gun, and aim it at his head.

Castellano screams until I wrap a hand around her face, covering her mouth. Her hot breath dampens my palm, almost distracting me.

I cock my head to one side. "Remember me?"

"I-I . . . Yes, sir."

"I'm guessing you don't remember the instructions I gave you, though, right?"

His eyes widen and flick to Castellano. He knows exactly what I'm talking about. "Look ... I?—"

"You what? Had a change of heart?" My voice is thick and saccharine. "You took the money I gave you to get this girl into a cab safely, and you kept it for yourself. Was there something more important you had to spend it on?"

His mouth opens and closes like a fish.

"And if I were you, I'd think very carefully before answering that," I warn.

He entwines his fingers as though he's praying for mercy. "I'll g-give you the money," he says. "I have it right here."

"Hands," I demand, making him jump.

Castellano sobs against my palm. She's stopped screaming but is holding my hand against her trembling face as if to shield herself from what's about to happen.

"Wh-what?" He pulls his fingers apart.

"Show me your fucking hands," I say in a low, evil voice I honestly thought I'd buried a long time ago.

He slowly opens his palms toward me.

"This is what happens when you choose greed over a woman's safety."

I pull the trigger and send a bullet through his left hand. Castellano jumps and tries to turn her face away, but I hold it firm. She needs to see this.

Tears stream down the guy's face, and his mouth opens slowly, though no sound comes out.

"And this is what happens when you steal from a Di Santo."

I pull back the trigger a second time and put a hole through his right palm.

He finally releases a wail that sounds like a dying animal. Castellano spins into me, pressing her body to mine as if she can disappear into it. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and keep her there. I can feel her heartbeat thundering against mine, and it makes me want to kill someone.

"Now get me my money, or I'll take off your kneecaps."

Bent almost double, he turns to a jumble of coats hanging inside the door. With difficulty, he pulls out the same wad of notes I gave him. I don't bother counting it. In fact, I barely even look at it before I pass it to Castellano, who clutches it to her chest.

I tuck the gun back into my waistband. "Now get the fuck out of my sight."

He tentatively closes the door with a toe, and then I hear his footsteps as he runs the hell away.

Keeping an arm around Castellano, I walk her slowly back to the passenger side and help her in. She's shaking like a leaf, but as much as I want to hold her through this, I also know she has to thicken her skin against this shit. She's going to start seeing a hell of a lot worse.

Once I'm seated behind the wheel, I lean across her to grab her seat belt. Tears stream silently down her cheeks. Her salty scent drifts across my cheek, and I freeze. Our breaths collide in the small space, and neither of us move.

I become aware of a tightness in my pants and realize I'm hard.

When and how the fuck did that happen?

My gaze drops to the roll of notes she's white-knuckling. They're soaked in blood, and it's rubbing off onto her bare chest.

It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

I propel myself back into my seat, fastening her in at the same time, then I force myself to drive back the way we came.

I thought I'd changed.

I thought I'd buried the Di Santo side of me long ago. But no.

All it's taken is a cheat, a lie, and a coward's blood leaking onto a girl's collarbone, and it turns out I'm as dark and dangerous as I've ever been.