I stared at my image in the mirror. My chin was covered in blood and more blood was dripping from the cut in my lower lip and onto my shirt. My lip was already swelling, but I was happy to find my eyes dry, no sign of a single tear.
Matteo appeared behind me, towering over me, dark eyes scanning my messed up face. Without his trademark shark-grin and the arrogant amusement, he looked almost tolerable. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” His lips turned into a smirk, but it looked somehow wrong. There was something unsettling in his eyes. The look in them reminded me of the one I’d seen when he’d dealt with the Russian captives in the basement.
“Neither do you,” I said, then winced at the pain shooting through my lip.
“True,” he said in a strange voice. Before I had time to react, he gripped my hips, turned me around and hoisted me onto the washstand. “That’s why we are perfect for each other.”
Back was the arrogant smile. The bastard stepped between my legs.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, sliding back from the edge of the washstand to bring more distance between us, and pushing against his chest.
He didn’t budge, too strong for me. The smile got bigger. He grabbed my chin and tilted my head up. “I want to take a look at your lip.”
“I don’t need your help now. Maybe you should have stopped my father from busting my lip in the first place.”
“Yes. I should have,” he said darkly, his thumb lightly touching my wound as he parted my lips. “If Luca hadn’t held me back, I would have plunged my knife into your father’s fucking back, consequences be damned. Maybe I still will.”
He released my lip and pulled a long curved knife from the holster below his jacket before twisting it in his hand with a calculating look on his face. Then his eyes flickered up to me. “Do you want me to kill him?”
God, yes. I shivered at the sound of Matteo’s voice. I knew it was wrong, but after what Father had said today, I wanted to see him begging for mercy and I knew Matteo was capable of bringing anyone to their knees, and it excited me in a horrifying way. That was exactly why I’d wanted out of this life, why I still wanted out. I had the potential for cruelty, and this life was the reason for it. “That would mean war between Chicago and New York,” I said simply.
“Seeing your father bleed to death at my feet would be worth the risk. You are worth it.”
